A day after the 29th November

Dear Ma,
This is a day after your supposedly 62nd birthday.

Do you have any idea how much I miss you?

I guess you have, since you are there in the ever after life, but also I guess it’s not matter to you anymore because the only things that will reach you from me are my prays and my good deeds.
Do you have any idea how much I need you now?

I have been married for almost 7 months now, Ma. I also have been pregnant for 4 months. I really want you to be here by my side through all this rollercoaster of life.
Do you have any idea how much I envy others?

They could be hold by their mother every time they want, yet they criticise theirs for any little clumsiness. They could talk to their mother all night long, any day they want, yet they protest for how much theirs are over protective.
Do you have any idea how much you’ve inspired me?

Your love for others, your love for sharing, your love for teaching, your love for your family, your love for many little things that won’t matter to others have aspired me to always fight for what I love and what I want in my life.
Do you have any idea how much you mean to me, Ma?

Not only after you’ve gone, but long before I could even speak, I know I love you and I adore you. I hope you know it too. I hope what I’ve done when you were still with me showed how much I wanted you to smile and always be happy.
I love you, Ma. Still love you. Will always love you

About losing someone

Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more. Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.


I was crying so hard when my sister joins me in our tiny living room.

“What happened? Why are you crying so hard that your nose is red as a tomato?” She asks me gently, trying to amuse me as well.

“Nothing, I am okay.” I stop crying and wipe the tears from my face.

“You look everything but okay. C’mon, you know you can trust me with anything. I won’t judge you, I promise.”

“I was crying because Fred passed away…” I say, trying to keep calm but failed : I start to sob again.

“Oh.. I am so sorry. Fred from your history class? The one that used to drive you home from school? What happened to him?” She looks shocked by my answer. I keep sobbing and give her no answer – we sit there in silence for a minute or so, until she finally breaks it and says “Sorry Dear, I guess I ask too many questions. I’ll leave you alone if you want to, just don’t be sad too long – Fred wouldn’t approve if you drowned in sadness. I’m sure he wants you to smile honoring his memories.” She is about to leave me alone when I finally answer her.

“No.. It’s not that Fred. It is Fred Weasley… He killed in an explosion in Hogwarts.”

“Wait, WHAT?”

To be continued…

 

p.s. The credit of this post’ featured image goes to this amazing artist!

It is an edited version.

Feels like Home

“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.” – Charles Dickens

My nostrils are dancing happily because of this sweet smell: the smell of a hot cup of coffee blend with cinnamon. I really love to taste the bitterness from that cup so I look around to find the source. The smell is coming from a house in the left corner of the street at where i stand now, which looks so familiar to me. The house is a two story house painted grey with a black fence and someone has left the front door ajar – probably the reason why I could smell the coffee.

The strangely familiar feeling inside me pushes me toward the house. Now I am standing so close with the house and realize its front yard is full of blooming jasmines and black roses, the gate also left ajar and I can see the path lead to the front door. My feet keep taking steps drawing my body closer to knock on the slightly open door- leaving my mind wondering what makes me doing something that so not me. My confused face is reflected in a man’s face that answers my knock. My rational mind tells me to apologize and to leave the house immediately but something in my heart makes me stand still and stare to the man’s brown eyes. Yes, I just stare to a strange man’s eyes and adore what I see. I must have eaten something wrong this lunch because I am acting so weird now.

“Can I help you?” ask the man nicely after he recovered from his confusion.

“Hm.. I don’t know, I smell your coffee from over there and my subconscious brought me here.. When I recovered, my hand already knocked on your door and here I am, standing in front of you, staring at your beautiful eyes and mumbling nonsense.” My own ears is amazed by my answer. I must have lost my mind because I never talk like that to a man before, moreover to a strange man I know nothing about.

“What a straight answer, I don’t know how to respond to that one. I guess my coffee is the one responsible for your awkwardness and it makes me feel that I owe you one cup. Come here then… if you want to, of course.” The man smiles, showing his bright white teeth. Oh My GOD, I am noticing his teeth now, what else will happen to me after this? The coffee needs to be very strong to wake me from this trance state.

I sit on the single sofa beside the front window while the man vanished to the back side of the house, probably to brew me one cup of his coffee or maybe he is calling 911 to inform them that his house is invaded by a strange woman. My eyes are scanning the living room. The whole wall is painted white but one side of the wall- the one directly in front of me -mostly covered by black and white photographs in black frames: the exact way I want to decorate my own house. The familiar feelings creep back inside me. I turn my eyes to another side of the wall because I feel my tears are coming. On my left side, I see the front door – the one that left ajar – and one big window beside each side of the door, are all in the black and white monochrome colors. Minimalist style with much space left empty and a giant vase stands alone in my right side.

Almost five minutes until the man is coming back to living room bringing my coffee. The same sweet smell filled the air and my heart feels warm. He offers me the coffee but my hand is shaking heavily that I couldn’t take the cup. Suddenly, not only my hand but all of my body is shaking, as if it is shaken by an invisible person and I feel my eyes are full of tears now.

“Honey, are you okay?” I hear a voice asking me softly but it’s a different voice from the man before and I also feel a hand caressing my cheeks as if trying to calm me down. I open my eyes to see my brother face full of concern and his eyes is softening when meeting my eyes.

“Yes, I guess I am okay now. I’ve just had a dream, a nice one actually”, I told him as calm as I can, trying to assure him that I am okay even if I’m not really okay right now. I know now why the house looks familiar to me, because that was my burnt house and the man with a cup of coffee was the love of my life.

“Of him?” My brother ask tenderly.

“and our warm home. I am home again..”

It is an edited version.

Flashbacks

My plane has just landed. I step onto familiar surroundings. The heat feels familiar. The sky looks familiar. Everything looks familiar as if nothing has changed in this city. It feels like yesterday, even though I’ve left this city for years. The arrival lounge is also similar to my memories of it, men holding the name-tag, people offering a rent car or queuing for taxi. Everything seems frozen in time.

I walk to my assigned meeting point, through some kind of underground tunnel, connecting the airport and the parking lot. I love this tunnel, it is large with a minimalist ornaments. It gives me a calm feeling with its pastel paint. Sounds from the railway above it give me thrill sensation, like I am going to crash the train. I wait for a driver from my client’s company outside the tunnel and when I look around me, I realize that the parking lot is larger than I ever remember. Finally, a minor change that reminds me this city is no longer the same.

Traffic outside the airport is not so crowded, maybe because it is an early Saturday morning. The driver asks me whether I want to stop for breakfast. I don’t feel hungry, but a cup of coffee would be nice. He stops in a small coffee vendor not so far from the airport. I feel glad that this driver is not a chit-chat person, I already feel exhausted with all the memories that are flooding my mind since I arrived here, in Yogyakarta, a city once I loved so much.

The sun is shining so bright this morning, but the breeze is cool and the coffee taste so good. Lovely morning, if I don’t remember that I am in a city where my worst nightmare happened.

Clear horizon with Mount Merapi as background takes me to years ago when I arrived here for the first time. Nearly 10 years ago. I remember coming here with high spirit and big hope, exploring this city with a great excitement and laughed at everything I never see in my hometown. I hope I can re-experience those feeling again, maybe those are the remedy for my bitterness feeling of this city.

Yogyakarta. Special District. Cultural City. Full of students, from around Indonesia and overseas. Famous for its diversity. Famous for its myths. It has an imaginary line that goes straight from Mount Merapi to Kraton Ngayogyakartahadiningrat (Yogyakarta Palace) and finish in Parangtritis Beach. The most southern part of yogyakarta is a line of beaches. Many beautiful beaches.

My mind takes me to one fine afternoon, when my thesis deadline was getting closer and i didn’t have enough spirit to finish it on time. Instead of writing it, I drove my car to Depok Beach. I love Depok Beach even though the sand is not white but it has fish market which sell fresh fish from the sea. I arrived at the beach in time to watch the sun started to set. Magnificent. The sky’s color was changing from bright blue to orange and finally lost in the darkness of night. I love spending my early night at that beach. Fishermen were getting ready for night fishing. People were packing their bags to go home. Sea waves were getting higher and the sound of the wave soothed my chaotic mind. I felt calm and my mood was much better when I came home that night. I am longing for that place, even more, I am longing for that calm feeling. I am longing for my happiness.

The car is back on the street, smoothly driven to Malioboro Street. The most famous tourist destination in Yogyakarta. The place where my client is waiting for the briefing. I guess Depok Beach has to wait a little longer.

I miss you!
I miss you!
This is for the Day 2 assignment of writing 101.
 Can you see Yogyakarta as I see it?
It is actually a fiction and I intend to keep it going through this month challenge..
day by day

Night’s Lover

Night is my loyal friend. I love Night. Night could always understand me. I feel very safe in its embrace. Silence and cool breeze are what I miss the most from night.

I love the night, but I am afraid of the moon. I can’t exactly figure out why I fear the moon, maybe it is because its arrogance. Moon is only reflecting sun’s light, but it seems like those lights are its own. I don’t like it. It is so artificial for me.

Still, my fear for the moon never make me hate the night.

Stars. They probably are another reason why I love night.

twinkle twinkle little star

how I wonder what you are

I wonder.. Stars are shining. They shine their own lights, but never defeat the fake moonlight. Even though their lights are not as bright as moonlight, starlight is giving me hope. For me, stars are tough. They taught me how to keep shining, even if others won’t understand why you do it. They taught me that even if you seem to only accomplish small thing, you did accomplish something and there are people who are inspired by your efforts. Just like how stars keep inspiring me to make steps toward my seems-like-impossible dream.

Tonight, I sit in my backyard. Black coffee is my only companion in enjoying the night. I usually have trouble sleeping in a new place. I just moved to my new house today and i have given up sleep hours ago. My watch tells me that it’s near dawn and i have to be in the airport early in the morning. My bags are not packed yet, I really like to procrastinate everything, even packing.

Oh how I hate to say good bye to the night and back into the lights of my bedroom. I hate it even more because the reason of this good bye is my morning flight to a city I secretly hate.

..because the night owns me
..because the night owns me
This is my post for the Day 1 challenge of writing 101.
I feel like i want to make a fiction.
Wish me luck!
🙂

My Self – The Side Story

IMG_5942
I couldn’t give up, even if I have to.
I don’t believe in miracle, even if I supposed to.
I can’t focus on one thing, even if I am forced to.
I won’t choose speaking over writing, even if I need to.
I couldn’t even if I could.
I don’t even if I do.
I can’t even if I can.
I won’t even if I will.
Believe what i tell you..
Since I believe what I don’t suppose to.

It’s Just Another Way to Communicate

It’s a fast respond for this post from one good friend of mine

Courtesy of Gustilaya Riza

H.O.N.E.S.T

is a way you should do when you communicate

Look closer

Open your heart and mind

U.N.D.E.R.S.T.A.N.D.I.N.G

is what you need while you communicate

You and Me,

different person and different personality

Don’t push someone to understand you, when you are not willing to do the same

J.O.K.E

is not a BAD way to communicate

Life is gonna be hard if you are really serious

You just need to take a right time to do it.

S.H.A.R.E

How do we communicate, you said?

Well, I have no Idea how to do it the way you want

But hey..

Sometime, when you really need it,

just tell it all in the simplest way.

LET IT GO.

SHARE IT.

H.E.A.R.T

and when everything is going to be really bad,

believe me.

You always have someone who love you by your side,

understanding you. Even when you say nothing.

That is what happen, when your heart communicates.

P.s Thank you very much for these lovely words, Agust!

I feel blessed to have friends like mine.

Love,

@darkjasm