In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.

You came to me like a glimpse of soundless rain in the middle of the night. It would resemble those nights—the nights when I was already in bed, with my pajamas on, reading Murakami while sipping a cup of hot sweet tea, waiting to drift off. And then I felt as if something had changed. Like the atmosphere had shifted. It was the feeling of being embraced by something warmer. Something brighter. Something serene. Something beautiful.

So I crawled lazily from my bed, stood in front of my bedroom window, opened the blinds, and realized that it was raining silently outside.

Do you find it beautiful? The contrast view of the silvery drops of rain, glistening under the mercury lamps, pouring down from the pitch-black sky. I breathed the fragrance of the wet soil, the cold wind, the stillness… like I was never going to have enough of them.

You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you.

You came to me like an old friend, like nostalgia from a distant past. There was something inside you that captivated me in an instant: it was as if we’ve met before, as if we’ve known each other for years. I knew that you’re the kind of person who would appreciate silence; and we could just sit side-by-side in a deserted beach somewhere, gazing at the horizon for hours, saying nothing. We’d be too immersed in the beauty of what lies in front of us. At the same time, I knew that shall we had a chance to go out together—attacking street food and one litre of ice cream somewhere, we’ll be cheerily and comfortably talking to each other about almost everything, leaping from one subject to the next, non-stop. The conversation would flow naturally like a stream in monsoon season, and the range of topics would just be endless.

but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.

You came to me like someone who accidentally brushed my shoulder as we walked past a crowded street. You didn’t even realize what had happened—and you didn’t even see me. I was just another girl walking down the street—and there was nothing special about me that caught your eyes, that made you want to slow down a bit, step back, and turn your head around to see me more closely. But I noticed you, probably way before our shoulder brushed on that crowded street. I noticed you because I could feel the atmosphere changed: like those nights when the rain was pouring down silently outside my bedroom window.

You were shining.

And though we might never see each other ever again, and though our lives had crossed path for only a few condensed minutes, I was glad for I have been given a chance to know you.

In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems

You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you.

but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.


4 Responses

  1. kalo Rumi sgala puisi dan cinta konteksnya untuk Tuhan
    kalo kamu untuk syiapa Han ?

    kayaknya berdasarkan cita rasamu Han beberapa langkah lagi jalan Rumi bisa kamu tempuh , smoga yaa 🙂

    1. aku… untuk keindahan Tuhan yang kulihat pada mereka yang dikirimkan-Nya padaku #aiiissh :)) semoga ya, kita semua berusaha menempuh jalan masing-masing, sebaik yang kita bisa ^^

If you made it this, far, please say 'hi'. It really means a lot to me! :)

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.



We tend to shape our memories of them based on the limited time we spend with them—and our memories of them, over time, will be replaced with one single word, one single interaction, or one single feeling.
Beradadisini Love Letter to Self
I took up a personal journaling project this week: writing a love letter to myself before bed. I work on a thin A6-size handmade paper journal I got from a paper artist, Els. The journal is thin and small enough, so it doesn't overwhelm me. It feels like I am only going to work on a small project.
Standing up for yourself does not have to look aggressive. It does not have to feel like a fight. It's not always about convincing others or explaining yourself and your decisions with the hope that everyone else understands or accepts your choice.
Hanny illustrator
I am an Indonesian writer/artist/illustrator and stationery web shop owner (Cafe Analog) based in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. I love facilitating writing/creative workshops and retreats, especially when they are tied to self-exploration and self-expression. In Indonesian, 'beradadisini' means being here. So, here I am, documenting life—one word at a time.