Bogor Botanical Garden
Posted: February 14, 2013 Filed under: Indonesia, Love, Posts in English, Travel | Tags: indonesia, Travel, bogor, outdoor, garden, greeneries, plants, bogor botanical garden, botanical garden, spotted deer 21 Comments »Bogor Botanical Garden is one of my favorite places in my hometown. It’s always nice to get lost in the lush canopy of green, daydreaming by the lotus pond, or reading some good books while sitting cross-legged on the grass. Built during the Dutch colonial period by Stamford Raffles, the garden houses more than 15,000 species of trees and plants, covering an area of 80 hectares. I always love to see my City of Rain as a fried egg: the yellow part is the Botanical Garden, and the white part is the town–all around it. I went to the Botanical Garden again with Patricia, Ewan, and Vidi. It was a spontaneous decision, actually.
A few days before, I had just decided to let go and move on from something that had tied me down and made me sad. It was difficult, but like my dear friend Ollie said, we’ll get better in overcoming heartbreaks. And she is right. Being in the outdoors was good for me: laughing, walking for hours, taking pictures, telling stories, making jokes, eating out. For the first time after such a bad few weeks, I felt whole again. I felt genuinely happy and free. Suddenly the world turned beautiful once again.
In two days, I’ll be off to India, visiting Mumbai, Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. Again, I am hitting the road, meeting people, enjoying life, reuniting with old friends, counting my blessings, and loving myself. And when people ask me how-are-you-doing, I can just give them a huge smile and say I-am-doing-great and it’ll feel so damn good because I know that this time, I am telling the truth.
Happy Valentine’s Day, lovelies!
xx,
H.
Retrouvailles
Posted: February 7, 2013 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: creative writing, cw, february, journal, literature, Love, prose 9 Comments »
February unfolds with raindrops and pillows and that feverish feeling of missing something you can’t really put into words or shapes or figures and makes your stomach churns. Those fluffy rain clouds looms above you as you sip your first cup of coffee in the morning and your last cup of tea in the evening, heavy with million droplets of memories. Everything is silent, like waking up in a hotel room at 2.15 in the morning or standing alone inside an elevator rushing to the 27th floor. But there’s something slightly convenient about wandering around the house listlessly with your pajamas on when the sun is high, listening to Jonathan & Charlotte while reciting Laksmi Pamuntjak’s poems from The Anagram. You retreat to your bedroom when the storm hits and think about that French word, retrouvailles: the happiness of meeting again after a long time. You wonder if it’s worth the wait–people change and you’ve been hurt before. So you keep yourself busy doing almost everything you can think of, just to distract yourself from the weight of not knowing. You clean and dust and vacuum and mop and cook and water the plants like it’s the last time. You don’t write another unsent letters because they are too sad. But you keep your words nonetheless: home is simply a place where you’ll be missed. And though he carried these words with him that day, you are not sure if he remembers or if he knows that you really mean it, or if he actually cares; and so despite the cold and the downpour, you leave the front door open, ready for the retrouvailles.
I Won’t Give Up on Us.
Posted: January 17, 2013 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: creative writing, cw, I Won't Give Up, jason mraz, Love, music, musings, prose, song, writing 10 Comments »
It was 4 AM when you found yourself awoken to the sound of thunder and the pouring rain outside. You pulled your blanket closer, tighter; the dark clouds were looming over your bed as you fixed your gaze onto the white-painted ceiling. You scratched the back of your right leg with your left toes and you remembered the days when things were not as silent: when there were other sounds but rain and emptiness. That breezy summer-like desire that was so intense you could feel its passion over the distance. You grazed your fingers following the floral pattern of the unused pillow next to you–listening to the zip zip zip sound as your nails traced the lonely lines. It was so darn cold, so you turned to your left, reaching for the aircon’s remote control only to notice that you didn’t turned it on last night. You closed your eyes again but the weight of your feelings made you decided to tiptoe to the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate instead. In the dark, you fell for the faint hum of the refrigerator which you found comforting for some reason, and you sat there on the cold floor, resting your back against the warm refrigerator door, watching the raindrops fell into the little stone-garden next to the kitchen. As you sipped the hot chocolate from the small red mug, you realized that all you wanted was just to show how much affection you had inside of you; but it wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, not now, not after what had happened. Something was welling up inside of you as you came to this point: you wanted to let things go, but you realized that you were not ready. You were not ready to give up. You had given up many times, but this time, you didn’t want to be that someone who walked away too easily. You wanted to know how it would feel to stay when you were being pushed away. You wanted to be loved for who you are, not what you can be. You should have said them all a long time ago instead of holding things back. You were thinking where you would be at the moment if only you had. Nothing seemed to be going right. There were too many misunderstandings that all you could do was laughed it all off even though you blamed yourself for the fact that they kept happening. You watched the shadows on the wall, the way they stood there in the border between existence and non-existence, and you tried to understand which was real and which was not. But it was too complicated at times. The only thing you wanted was for things to be okay; but they were not and you just had to deal with it. It was just too much and too overwhelming for you to handle. But no, you would not break down and cry. Not this time. So you chased away your tears and shut down your mind, and for a moment, there was silence all over, as if everything stopped moving for a while; but then your heart started singing. It sounded like Jason Mraz’s I Won’t Give Up, and you hummed along until the call for morning prayers broke in the gloomy sky.
I won’t give up on us / Even if the skies get rough / I’m giving you all my love / I’m still looking up / And when you’re needing your space / To do some navigating / I’ll be here patiently waiting / To see what you find… [I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz]
When I Called You Handsome.
Posted: January 8, 2013 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: cw, Love, memoir, musings, prose, writing 31 Comments »When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to a pair of wonderful eyes that you have: not because they are light brown or protected by such gorgeous eyelashes or stuff like that, but because whenever they looked at me, gently, I could see my reflections there; smiling back at me, and it made me feel so loved.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your nose: sometimes, it brushed my cheek when you were about to bury your face on my neck late in the evening, after a tiring day–and it made me feel so comfortable, knowing that you were near.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your shoulders: not because they are broad or whatever, but because you would bring my head to your left shoulder when we talked, so I could just lie there comfortably and sniff the familiar smell of your perfume. It made me feel so warm—listening to you, having someone to share my fears and dreams with.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your chest: not because it’s wide and muscular, but because when I got sad or angry, you would hug me tight and I would find my face—damped with tears, resting on your chest, sobbing there until your shirt got wet, until I was able to breathe again. It made me feel like… around you, I was allowed to be sad. That it was alright to be sad every once in a while.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your lips: they kissed me silently on the bus when nobody was looking, they voiced some intellectually-stimulating topics we could argue upon, they read the hand-written poems you scribbled for me out loud, they uttered stupid jokes that made me laugh, and they said simple things like thank-you or you’re-amazing; or other sweet things so casually in front of your friends, as if I wasn’t there. It made me feel like the happiest girl on earth.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your hands: when you held mine in yours as we walked, when you brushed my hair or my cheek mindlessly as you typed on your laptop or made a phone call, when you grabbed my waist and lifted me up a few centimeters above the ground as we danced. Those were the times when you made me feel tall.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your feet: not because they are strong and athletic, but because they had walked miles and miles away to find me, and walked towards me again, and again, and again. Those were the times when I felt wanted, when I felt like this time, someone was actually making an effort.
When I called you handsome, I was actually seeing something beyond the way you look. I was referring to your back: because I had spent so many times staring at it as you slept, grazed my fingers along your spine to convince myself that you were real, and even at the time it turned away from me and disappeared under the drizzle one day as you bade farewell, it left traces of memories from the days I cherished, and it made me feel blessed for once in my life, I had known someone like you.
One Day, When ‘We’ Disappeared.
Posted: January 3, 2013 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: cw, loss, memoir, photography, quote, writing Leave a comment »Ours is a bumpy road. Wait. No. Rewind. To be brutally honest, let me put it this way: mine is a bumpy road. Yes. Mine, and mine alone.
Because one day, “we” disappeared in front of a small alley in a small island, the two characters, W and E, being washed out by the drizzle. Suddenly, everything became discolored. Reasons were no longer exist. Things were losing meanings. Words were breaking into pieces. I lost my sense of being. And it was just like that; as simple as something that disappeared in silence one afternoon under the cloudy sky; just like all things temporary. But that’s the rule of life as we know it: everything will come to its end. It’s just a matter of how, and how long. And maybe, subconsciously, that’s what we’re doing: we’re all just waiting for something to end.
One day, when “we” disappeared, I found myself—and my heart (that had been broken many times but always refused to give up) embracing that familiar pang of sadness: of having to let go. No matter how often you experience such thing, surprisingly, one is never immune to such pain. Of course you know that you’ll be fine again—because your experiences have taught you so (been there, done that)—but still, you find it very tiring to begin again. I will definitely find it very tiring to begin again. And maybe, I won’t. Not now. Not so soon.
I know we love to begin something new (maybe this is the reason why we celebrate New Year with parties and drinks and fireworks and all things cheerful), but most of the times, we forget the art of loving an ending: to appreciate what we have got and what we have lost, to celebrate the memories and the traces of “us” that once were, to romance the things that stayed with us—that sooner or later will become us.
One day, when “we” disappeared, you told me that in the end, all that we’re going to remember is the beautiful things we’ve experienced, the beautiful places we’ve seen, the beautiful memories we’ve shared, the beautiful moments we’ve seized. I told you that it’s true, because one can always find simple happiness in everything—no matter how small; even in an ending.
And so, that one day, when “we” disappeared, I knew that we’d find each other again. When we’re ready. When the time is right. And when the time comes, it’s going to be just me and you—no such thing as “we”—because in the end, I have left something in you and you have left something in me. And even when “we” disappeared, those things we’ve left behind with each other would remain to be a part of us. And isn’t that such a relief? To know that there is something eternal even in the most temporary things, that there is something precious even in the saddest of endings. And such knowledge, to me, is more than enough.
Happy New Year 2013 and Happy Old 2012!
———–
*) inspired by the title of Astrid Reza’s posting, “If Tomorrow We Disappear”.
{in}side
Posted: December 17, 2012 Filed under: Life, Love, Posts in English | Tags: cw, prose, rain, water Leave a comment »There were moments when people just took off and left you behind; and you thought they were being unfair and selfish. Other times, it was you who decided to pack your bag and leave, and when they said, please, stay, you thought how annoying and unfair they were for trying to tie you down. And now you realize that maybe people are just afraid. Afraid of being alone, again. Afraid of being forgotten. Afraid of being a history…
And it reminded me of that day when we were about to swim in the pool one afternoon, but it was raining cats and dogs; and so we stood there, at the edge of yes or no, with our swimsuits and towels and flip-flops and all. The sound of the rain was deafening, the water was gleaming under the raindrops, the wind was blowing hard and cold, and so we hesitated for a while but then we exchanged a few if-not-now-then-when glances and nodded and hand in hand we plunged ourselves into the freezing water and we could hear ourselves screaming and laughing and water was splashing everywhere and we just knew that we won’t regret this because it was too effing awesome and we were not afraid to take that first leap of faith.
Sometimes it feels.
Posted: November 28, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: cw, Love, prose 21 Comments »Sometimes it feels like we are not going to make it. There are too much uncertainties ahead of us (and between us). Sometimes it feels like a sweet dream, and that I will wake up one day, realizing that you are no longer here. That our time is up. Sometimes it feels so temporary, so all-of-a-sudden, it scares me to the bone. Sometimes it feels like we’re hanging on a very thin rope, almost touching—just as close as almost. Sometimes it feels like we are just two lonely souls hovering around the earth and find a clear reflection of ourselves in each other. Sometimes it feels like we’re as distant as stars, as hopes, as wishes, as memories.
Sometimes it feels like we’re meant to be together—not just in the now, but 6 hours later or 10 days later or 8 years later. Sometimes it feels like the world is ours and nothing else matters. Like we understand each other so well we need only to look at each other’s eyes or squeeze each other’s hands or rub each other’s shoulders. Sometimes it feels like we can talk for hours, for days, for weeks, as if we’ll continue to discover new things about the world every day. Sometimes it feels like wanting to slow things down because every moment is way too precious.
Sometimes it feels like I am going to get myself hurt again. Sometimes it feels like I have found what I have been looking for. Sometimes it feels like I will cry again. Sometimes it feels like having the chance to laugh out loud and having fun. Sometimes it feels worrying—like risking my heart to be crushed into pieces again. Sometimes it feels liberating—like not caring about the future because the now is effing awesome. Sometimes it feels like I am going to lose you anytime soon. Sometimes it feels like we’ll be like this for a very long time. Sometimes it feels confusing because I have no idea about what is actually happening. Sometimes it feels relaxing because things just happen naturally, without anyone forcing.
Yes, sometimes it feels like that.
But most of the times, it feels like being thankful.
Like being blessed.
Like being happy.
Maybe love is.
Posted: November 26, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: cw, ingredients of love, Love, maybe love is, what is love 20 Comments »If there is such thing as “ingredients of love”, maybe mine would look like this: Love is 60% companionship, 30% romance, 5% solitude and 5% of the unknown.
I think love—and all great relationships are about companionship. It’s about watching movies together, cooking meals for dinner, shopping for groceries, deciding on the countries to visit for the next 6-month trip, arguing about which is best: tea or coffee, attacking pastries in a small bakery, driving around listening to the radio and singing stupid songs, laughing on the floor to some random jokes only the two of you understand, stopping for a while on a crowded street to pet a stray cat or dog, cleaning up the mess at the terrace after last night’s rain. It’s about someone with whom you can talk for hours about different things, someone who can be your best friend at all times, who will always be around to support you. Best friends are those who will always become a clear mirror of yourself, showing your true reflection. They are not bound to you, yet they will always be near because they like you and you like them (you can “love” someone you don’t like, though—that’s why some women and men are still involved in abusive relationships). Best friends like you for all your great qualities and embrace your flaws without any terms or conditions. So, when it comes to best friends, no matter how long you haven’t been talking to each other, and no matter how bad your latest argument has been, when there’s something very pressing, you’ll know whom to turn to, whom you can count on, whom you can go home to. So, what I want from love is someone I can grow old with, gracefully, and that the two of us can be best friends to each other, no matter what.
Now romance, why only 30%? Because that’s enough. You know how we always want something that is scarce, but when something is abundant, we tend not to desire it as much? Imagine eating too much chocolate. Or tart. I think romance (including sex) is like a good dessert. The portion is small, thus you’ll always crave for more. It’s not only about the taste, but also the way it is served, the ambience of the restaurant where you have it, and the person with whom you’re sharing it. So, I guess, 30% is enough to spice up things, rock your world, and keep you craving for more.
Then comes 5% of solitude. I think no matter how close a couple is, the healthiest is to keep a certain distance; a space to breathe. It’s about having your own time: you and your thoughts, you and yourself, you and a good book, you and those soccer games, you and your friends. It’s about being alone. It’s about being with someone else. It’s about being apart. It’s about being somewhere far. It’s about balancing things out, to leave something for a while so that you’ll miss it—so that you’ll appreciate it more, so that you’ll want to go back home.
And the last 5% goes to the unknown. I think loving someone is like peeling the layers of an onion; to find out more about your loved ones everyday, and to fall in love more and more and more as you unveil their true self. It’s about discovering new things every steps of the way. Great couple should never think that they know everything about each other. Because there is always something new, something great, something sweet, something fresh, something surprising, something wonderful, waiting for you when you least expected it.
The farthest distance is one that is not crossed.
Posted: November 23, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: photography, quote 3 Comments »
unsent letters. heart-shaped memories, bursting in words. lonely sentences, never leave those torn pages. crumpled secrets, inside a stack of envelopes. silent phrases and faraway wishes at the back of your plane tickets. the farthest distance is one that is not crossed.
And this is the exact reason why you got those letters.
You left something behind.
Posted: November 7, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: cw, Love 12 Comments »What do you know about sadness? About being left-behind? About seeing those backs, those steps, walking away from you, over and over again, and you found yourself looking at them with your eyes welled up with tears every single time, hoping that they would stop and look back but they never did? And you tried to brace yourself and looked up to prevent those tears from falling, but no matter how hard you tried it didn’t work because it still hurt?
What do you know about opening up and letting your guards down and falling in love and getting hurt? About how it sucks, and about how the fact that you can’t get away from it makes it sucks even more? About not being able to trust anyone ever again because you have been betrayed so many times you can’t even cry anymore? About how you kept thinking that you should have killed the feeling right away?
What do you know about trying? About wanting to believe in something good, something special, something real? About wanting to believe that people actually mean what they say when you keep on hearing lies? What do you know about wanting to believe that some people will actually stay when you are always the one being left behind?
What do you know about disappointment? About thinking that this is the one and that this time it should be different and that this is real and later on knowing that everything is nothing but the same old lies?
What do you know? What do you know about me?
Nirvana.
Posted: October 29, 2012 Filed under: Love | Tags: cw, Love, moments, nirvana 3 Comments »Tentu saja, ada hal-hal yang tidak kukatakan padamu pagi itu, karena. Rasanya terlalu lekas. Sementara aku sedang tidak ingin bergegas-gegas. Ada sesuatu yang lucu dan menggemaskan (juga mencemaskan) dalam menunggu. Tetapi aku suka; menikmati kamu sedikit demi sedikit supaya rasa ini bertahan jauh lebih lama. Aku tahu aku banyak tertawa dan bilang ‘hanya bercanda‘, tetapi. Sebenarnya tidak juga. Tidak sepenuhnya. Katakanlah lima puluh lima puluh. Mungkin saat ini aku mulai bersungguh-sungguh (dan sebenarnya tidak ada tanda titik koma dan kurung tutup atau titik dua dan huruf P di belakang semua perkataanku).
Jadi. Sulit melepasmu (atau kau melepasku, atau sesungguhnya kita saling melepaskan) pagi itu. Sesungguhnya aku sedikit sedih. Dan sedikit kehilangan. Dan sedikit terkejut karena bisa merasakan semua itu. Dan kita berkali-kali mengucapkan ‘selamat tinggal’ tetapi tidak ada di antara kita yang beranjak pergi dan aku menemukan diriku di sisimu lagi, dan kamu di sisiku lagi, dan kita menendang-nendang kaki satu sama lain di bawah meja secara sembunyi-sembunyi, lalu menyelinap ke taman untuk mengucapkan ‘selamat tinggal’, lagi, tetapi. Kita bahkan masih tidak ingin berjarak meski hanya satu senti.
Lalu aku pergi. Kamu pergi. Aku pikir aku akan kehilangan kamu selamanya pagi itu. Aku sudah terbiasa melihat punggung-punggung yang menjauh, tetapi sesering apapun tetap saja masih terasa sedih. Jadi aku tidur saja seharian itu. Karena aku tidak ingin menangis. Rasanya terlalu dramatis. It’s not me. Maka, keesokan harinya, aku sudah siap mengucapkan selamat tinggal (betapa aku benci perpisahan yang dilakukan seorang diri), tetapi.
Kamu kembali.
Dark and bright.
Posted: September 18, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English 9 Comments »Maybe this is a thank-you note, or maybe this is just a note, but the thing is (and you don’t know this) when I spotted you for the very first time, a poem from Silverstein came into mind, instantly, as if you were made out of these words:
There are no happy endings
Endings are the saddest part,
So just give me a happy middle
And a very happy start.
Oh, and when I said “I spotted you”, I wasn’t referring to the moment when I was seeing you for the very first time (well, didn’t I tell you once that looks can be deceiving?).
Rather, I was talking about the moment when I realized how comfortable it was when you were near.
***
You know how neat encounters with random people you’ve met along the way could change you somehow—giving you worthwhile life-lessons as they brushed upon the walls of your life. My encounter with you is one about being.
I know that life is what you make of it—and most of the time, it’s about shutting down your perturbing mind and letting your heart takes over. To do so, all these times, I thought it was more about having to be brave, courageous or adventurous (even reckless). But I was wrong. Turned out it was more about being comfortable—to feel content, certain, and light. You realized that your mind was still, and you didn’t hear contradicting voices, and your heart was calm and you felt peaceful, as if things were meant to happen and were meant to happen this way.
It feels as if a new chapter of my life is opening up right in front of me: the sun is bright, the path is clear, the breeze is cool, and the future seems enchanting. Of course, I was intrigued to question things, to indulge myself in the thoughts of us, to want more… but soon I felt guilty, as if I weren’t being thankful. Why want more if we have just enough? Because one day, when we meet again, I’ll whisper to your ear that I have no regrets, and you’ll understand.
***
Some people would ask me what the point of this note actually is, and what’s the closing would be.
But, really, do we need any?
A cup of espresso on such a serene afternoon. Embracing the silence by the window, staring into nothingness. The residue of the past turns into dust; and everything’s sparkling under the sun.
I’ll just say: thank you.
I Stop Making Promises
Posted: July 18, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English 43 Comments »I stop making promises because nobody knows what the future holds. I stop making promises because promises are over-rated. I stop making promises because I don’t want to lie. I stop making promises because I don’t think it’s necessary. I stop making promises because promises aren’t real. I stop making promises because the only thing that is real, the only thing that I know for sure, and the only thing that I can give you is the now. I stop making promises because I know that it’s impossible for a person or a feeling to not change or evolve over time. I stop making promises because I know forever doesn’t last.
I stop making promises because what’s important is this moment. I stop making promises because I want you to know that the moment I say I love you I really feel it right there and then. I stop making promises because I miss you right now—not tomorrow or the week after or the month after. I stop making promises because I know that nothing is certain. I stop making promises because I know how bad it feels when things don’t go as planned. I stop making promises because it hurts much more when someone doesn’t do what one has promised to do. I stop making promises because you are too precious to be kept waiting.
I stop making promises because there’s no better place for me to be but here, and no more perfect moment for me to seize but now. I stop making promises because honestly, I don’t know whether I could really keep them. I stop making promises because I don’t believe that fairy tales ended at The End. I stop making promises because life is full of surprises. I stop making promises because you’ll meet a lot of interesting people in your life and I’ll be meeting a lot of interesting people in my life—and so, who knows? I stop making promises because we are here to stay when we feel like it and we are free to leave when we feel like it.
I stop making promises because it doesn’t matter. I stop making promises because your feeling matters. I stop making promises because the clock is ticking. I stop making promises because people spend too much time worrying about the future and whining about the now. I stop making promises because we still have a long way to go. I stop making promises because the last thing I want is for me to tie you down or for you to tie me down. I stop making promises because I know freedom is one thing that we both cherish; either the freedom to be here or the freedom to be anywhere but here.
I stop making promises because when it’s time for us to disintegrate, we should disintegrate beautifully—with no burden, no guilty feeling. I stop making promises because you cannot tell how everything will turn out. I stop making promises because I believe in us. I stop making promises because we are committed enough to keep each other at arm’s-length; to give each other enough space. I stop making promises because it means nothing. I stop making promises because I don’t want to live in a dream. I stop making promises because we should not be bound by a vague idea about what we expect to happen. I stop making promises because I may leave you one day and you may leave me one day and we should be able to do so without having to end up feeling terrible.
I stop making promises because I want to say the things that I know, the things that I feel, and these things are all in the now: when I look at you staring back at me. I stop making promises because you deserve to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And this, no matter how straightforward this may sound, this is the truth.
Moonlight Dance
Posted: July 5, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: dance, moonlight, prose, words 7 Comments »Each of us changes when placed next to each other.
We place ourselves, or are placed or paired creating stories,
a new idea, sometimes love.
—Every Atom, a poem in Full Blood by John Siddique
Maybe we were actually dancing back then; but we just didn’t realize it. We were too immersed in our silent conversation as we looked up to the sky, admiring the moonlight, discussing about time: how it flows, stops, jumps, elongates, stretches, switches… and how it flutters. Just like the words we uttered that day, the alphabets we managed to decipher (they shone above our heads like a thousand of fireflies), the meanings behind each gesture we struggled to understand. Nonetheless, we hovered around each other like a-pair-of-lovers-wannabe, dancing under the moonlight.
Your words led my steps; my words followed your lead. Your incomplete sentences spun me around, we moved in circles, our hands were tangled together as I felt myself being swept off my feet. For a moment, there was a distance between us, but then you drew me closer and took me in your arms again as we continued to talk; without a pause; until the break of dawn. You talked about the universe that envelope us, I talked about poetry that set us free. You talked about the future, I talked about the past. But here we were, two souls, fluttering in the present: one, two, three, step, one, two, three, step.
I want my moonlight dance.
Lovebits.
Posted: May 10, 2012 Filed under: Life, Love 12 Comments »
I miss us. And all the things we’ve accidentaly missed | I Miss You. Much,, 2005
Why do people understand this world merely in black and white—
while other colors are there to beautify life itself?
| Question Everything, 2006
As I started to think that I should have just ended it all, I realized that it was impossible:
because nothing has ever begun after all.
| Scrapblog, Scattered, Broken, 2006
Deep down inside my heart, there’s this feeling…
a kind of lonely feeling that comforts me instead of making me feel low.
A silent place where I could find myself who’s loving you. Just us, as I always love it.
| Gone, 2006
Your chaotic life is like a stain over my spotless canvas | Cinta (1996-2007), 2007
Nietzsche: “Anything that doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger…”
Dan perempuan itu menyahut: “Stronger, but not happier…”
| Pulang, 2007
Bukankah kita semua membutuhkan jarak? | Enam Dua Puluh, 2008
Untuk lelaki itu, diam adalah depresi. Tetapi untuk kamu, diam adalah afeksi | Bandara, 2008
Wow, you are meant to be here.
And I want to spend the rest of my life to know how to love you more.
| What the Hell Is She Doing Here, 2008
“What are you doing the rest of your life?”
“Loving you.”
| What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life, 2008
Kehilangan telah mengajarinya bahwa tak ada sesuatu pun di dunia ini yang sungguh-sungguh ia miliki
| Melepaskan Cinta, 2008
Perempuan-perempuan dalam hidupmu itu akan menjagamu dan memastikan bahwa kamu takkan terluka.
[Tapi ternyata mereka melukaimu juga]
| If I Were There, 2008
Tetapi siapakah yang berhak mengajariku tentang mencintai kecuali hatiku sendiri?
| Back to Where I Belong, 2009
An all-access ticket to do whatever I want with you (and your heart). I couldn’t ask for more.
| Coffee-flavored Kisses, 2009
That particular kiss—the kind where the fireworks show is happening here;
right here: sparkling, it fills the tiniest gap between our flaming lips
| Fireworks, 2009
Pujangga hanya memantulkan keindahan yang ada di hadapannya lewat kata-kata.
Jadi, aku cuma bisa ada kalau kamu ada.
| The Departure of a Loved One, 2009
Karena yang aku cari bukan bahagia, tapi kenangan buat disimpan | The Departure of a Loved One, 2009
Life is about chances you’ll never get back (Dawson’s Creek) | The Ferris Wheel, 2009
Mengetahui akhir ceritanya sejak mula ternyata tak bisa menjadi pengurang rasa sakit
ketika kamu sampai pada halaman terakhir.
| Tears are Words the Heart Can’t Say, 2010
I’ll close my eyes, I’ll find you by following my heartbeat… | The Pavement of Our Lives, 2010
The best gift someone could ever gave me is the clear view of the night sky.
| Hadiahi Aku Langit Malam, 2010
Sometimes I wonder, whether lovers are made for a lifetime or (only) for a lovetime.
And memories, are those actually traces of our long-gone past, or silent prayers for the wishful future?
| Oh, Hi, 2011
Ada saatnya kita tak tahu kapan harus memagari hati atau menitipkannya pada orang lain | Jarak, 2011
Tapi jarak adalah teman yang baik. Pelan-pelan, jarak mengajari kita bahwa sesuatu yang indah akan tetap indah,
baik ketika dilihat dari jauh maupun ketika dilihat dari dekat.
| Jarak, 2011
Mungkin kita memang masih berjalan beriringan,
tetapi tanganmu sudah terlanjur lepas dari genggaman.
| Sebuah Jalan, 2011
The more you let things flow, the more you ‘surrender’ yourself to Life and accept things as they are,
the easier life would feel and would be to you.
| Flow, 2012
You can’t come closer. Because you’re afraid that reality might turn ugly on you.
Because you’ve learned that some things are more beautiful to be seen from a distance.
Or maybe you’re just afraid of getting hurt, again.
| Bokeh, 2012
I write because I know no other way to show my love for you | I Write Because, 2012
I write because you can keep these words even long after I’m gone.
I write because one day—whether things will work out between us or not, I’ll put these words underneath your door.
I write because when that day comes, I want to show you how much you are loved.
| I Write Because, 2012
Namamu berjatuhan di atas kepalaku. Ribuan keheningan.
Seperti doa-doa yang sampai ke tujuan.
| Liturgi, 2012
Kamu bilang kamu ingin bersama seseorang yang impiannya menyentuh bintang-bintang,
namun kakinya tetap menjejak tanah.
| The Place I Like Best in This World is Beside You, 2012
Kau sudah sering terluka. Kau sedang tak ingin terikat pada apapun, pada siapapun.
Dia bisa tetap tinggal jika dia ingin, tetapi kau tidak akan menjanjikan apa-apa.
Dia bisa pergi jika dia ragu, dan kau tak akan kehilangan apa-apa.
| The Art of Looking Sideways, 2012
A dancer knows that life is the magical tunes he had been carrying in his heart since the day he was born,
and as always, he will only need to follow the tempo, surrender to the sensation and dance it away.
| The Gift, 2012
A lover loves and nothing else matters | The Gift, 2012
A sky-gazer knows that looking at the future is like gazing at the night sky.
Deep down inside, we’re actually looking back in time to who we were and who we used to be.
A sky-gazer receives this knowledge like something that has been written in his DNA:
that life always flows to the future carrying everything from the past along, and nothing is left behind.
| The Gift, 2012
Mungkin selama ini, Tuhan hanya menunggu waktu yang tepat. Waktu ketika saya sudah benar-benar siap.
Tidak ada yang terlambat. Doa-doa saya dikabulkan tepat ketika saya sudah belajar melepaskan.
| Circles, 2012
Aku menemukanmu. Kamu sedang berdoa.
Sesungguhnya, kamu sedang memanggilku.
| Nada, 2012
The gravitational pull of your thoughts draws me in.
It envelopes me in such a dreamlike mood: the world seen from a lover’s eyes.
| I am Lost in You, 2012
A Kamikaze Pilot’s Love Letter.
Posted: May 1, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English | Tags: kamikaze, love letter, movie, restless, unsent letter 9 Comments »Unsent letters are sad. Depressive. Melancholic. But these letters are hopelessly romantic as well. I have a stack of unsent letters in my drawer. Sometimes, though I have expressed my feelings to a particular person, the unsent letters I wrote for that person remain unsent. Maybe I’ll send it one day. Or maybe not :D
The ocean breeze feels so cool on my skin. That very ocean is soon to be my grave. They told me I will die a hero. That the safety and honor of my country will be the reward for my sacrifice. I pray that they are right. My only regret in life is never telling you how I feel. I wish I were back home. I wish I were holding your hand. I wish I were telling you that I have loved you. And only you since I was a boy.
But I am not.
I see now that death is easy. It is love that is hard. As my plane dives, I will not see the face of my enemies. I would instead will see your eyes. Like Blackrock frozing in the water. They tell us that we must scream ‘Banzai!’ as we plunge into our target. I will instead, whisper your name.
And in death, as in life, I will remain forever yours.
——————-
*) by Hiroshi Takahashi—a Kamikaze pilot. This unsent letter dies with him.
[From Gus van Sant's movie, RESTLESS, 2011]**) the picture is an edited snapshot from the brochure of my Lomo Super Sampler.
Bokeh.
Posted: April 25, 2012 Filed under: Love, Posts in English, Taiwan, Travel | Tags: bokeh, lights, photography, taipei 21 Comments »Bokeh (originally /ˈboʊkɛ /ˈboʊkeɪ / boh-kay, and also sometimes heard as /ˈboʊkə/ boh-kə, Japanese: [boke]) is the blur, or the aesthetic quality of the blur, in out-of-focus areas of an image.
I’ve been in love with those lovely bursts of lights for a long time—even way before I knew that they were called “bokeh”. The term itself comes from the Japanese word boke (暈け or ボケ), which means “blur” or “haze”, or boke-aji (ボケ味), the “blur quality”. The Japanese term boke is also used in the sense of a mental haze or senility. The term bokashi (暈かし) is related, meaning intentional blurring or gradation. The reason why I love “bokeh”? Maybe because it gives the impression of things; seen through a pair of teary eyes. There’s this certain sadness, certain beauty, certain silence… like not fully knowing someone you love. Like being drawn by a secret. Like the curiosity of wanting to see things clearer. But you just can’t. You can’t come closer. Because you’re afraid that reality might turn ugly on you. Because you’ve learned that some things are more beautiful to be seen from a distance. Or maybe you’re just afraid of getting hurt, again.
A short trip to Taipei gave me a wonderful opportunity to capture that certain feeling: like… the feeling of missing someone?
H.
Cards & Packages
Posted: April 14, 2012 Filed under: Life, Love, Posts in English | Tags: cards, friends, mail, packages, postcards, snail mail 18 Comments »I find pleasure in hours and hours of strolling around a bookstore or a stationery shop, buying books and gifts and ribbons and envelopes and beautiful wrapping papers—oh, and of course, cards with neat design and wordings!
When everyone can send you an email, a tweet or a Facebook message in just one click, I find the joy in receiving postcards from friends in faraway places. These postcards will be a bit crumpled when it reach me, but this just adds up to the authenticity of the thoughts, the journey, and the experiences—something that has traveled the distance of hundreds or even thousands of miles. The crumpled postcards are just the best and I love them oh-so-dearly.
There are times when I am in a bookstore or a stationery shop, and I’ll spot a nice card and my thoughts will go to a certain person, a friend, an acquaintance, a colleague, and I will just grab that card and mail it away. I’m not really into sending cards and packages for special occasions in someone’s life. Birthdays, graduations, promotions, weddings—err, no. Not really. What I love the most is just to send cards and packages on an ordinary day. Like a totally random day. And for no particular reason.
A lot like love, no? You don’t have to wait for a special day to show your love, and you don’t have to reason about why you love someone.So, my pile of cards and packages, fly, fly, fly, and fly away. Travel the distance safely, and please tell the people who receive you all that I care about them, I am thinking of them, and I wish them well.
