Love Letter

For the window in my room and the melting clouds behind,

For those who forgot and those who kept me in their mind,

For the old trees along the streets and its friendly shades on the pavement,

For those who shared their stories and those who sat with me in silent,

For a poem about a morning and another poem about listening to a band,

For all the songs that I sang along to and all the songs that I found comfort in,

For my people-hating brother and my adventurous sister,

For the lessons from my tireless and humble father,

For all the photographs of a mother that I can’t remember,

For those who left their words in a sandwich and those who love the sunset on December,

For those who simply let me be and those who didn’t mind stretching their hand,

For some certain kind of perfumes and the memories that live within,

For the street lights and home, wherever it may be,

For all my friends; still, will, or used to be,
For every Radiohead songs, especially those in the 'In Rainbows' album
For those who have faith in the struggle of a seed that tries to bloom,
For the hushed conversation we had until dawn and the starry night sky

For the little love letters (and how we didn't need to ask "why?")

For those who showed me that it is okay to cry as it is okay to laugh,

For those who were honest to my faults and those who assured me that I’m enough,

For the strong waves on the sea and the ships which kept sailing anyway,

For those who left and those who (are mad enough to) stay,

And for everything that answering my heart’s call;

All I want to say is: thank you, and I love you all

Each in its own way, as imperfect as it is real.

I do.

-Yogyakarta, 23 November 2017

tick tock tick tock tick tock

listen, listen
to the ticking time
the silence got you
banging on a door
and with it, another promise
broken

who's there
the sound asked

nobody
please don't let me in

not sure if it can hear me
because voices become bubbles
when I'm under the water.


-Yogyakarta, 23 September 2017

a little note for the night

i'm gonna write some real talk here and it might sound meh but i will write it anyway.

they say that, in life, you need a little bit of madness. i think i will never think it the same way again. i mean, there are times when you seem to be fighting for a lost cause. another day, another new low. people might laugh at you and question your dream. they might hate you. even YOU might do that to yourself. but the thing is, no matter what happened, be it shit storm hits and whatnot, as long as you are being true to what you believe (whatever it fucking means to you) and dearly hold on to it, then you're gonna be okay.

it seems bullshit, right? i mean, you might think, "are you mad? there's no way i'm gonna be okay. i have cracked my nerves thinking about this and i can't see any way out of it, there is NO way out of this. i mean, are you fucking mad?"

well at least that's how i thought about it, until my best friend, cecep, convinced me otherwise. he said to me that the problem isn't in the world or anyone, it's in me. my self-doubt is crippling me badly and at this point no one could really help me if i don't start helping myself. if i really, really hold on to what i believe in, i will find the way. i need to believe myself more. that's it (well, he actually talks way a lot more but that's the points i got. dude, thank you. thank you very much). i guess i finally ready to actually listen to it and think it through.

i will happily and proudly admit that i cried myself in bed just now. but it's not bad. well, things are quite bad, but at least i can see clearer now. that crippling self-doubt is still there, though. it already creeps back in me the second i arrived at home and it will takes time and bloody effort to break loose from it. turns out changes could sounds this much scary. but i'm all for it. i know what i should do. i know what i believe in. fuck you, i will make my dreams happen.

shit i was about to make it short but it turns out to be quite long. whatever. hit the bed now, night night.



-yogyakarta, 6 september 2017

Merah dan Biru

kau mungkin tak mengerti, tapi
aku selalu membayangkan diri sebagai
laut, atau puisi yang marah
atau segala yang tak rapuh; diri
sendiri yang kuingkari dan kau amini

hidup dan ketidaksempurnaannya
terus bergerak dengan atau tanpamu, waktu
bukan ibu dan beberapa lara tinggal dan
tidak membiarkanmu lupa, menjadi bekas
luka; pengingat bahwa kau benar-benar hidup

namun, sungguh, aku marah terhadap
segala dan apa dan entah dan diri sendiri
kau tak mengerti, tapi aku akan marah
dan terus marah hingga pada suatu hari
seisi kepalaku meletus, berhamburan
menjadi kembang api di tengah badai

mungkin kemudian kau akan mengerti.


-yogyakarta, 12 juni 2017

three words bloom through the cracks all over the floor and wall of an old ruined house where a boy took shelter from the heavy rain and eventually fell asleep dreaming about becoming one of the trees in front of your house

i miss us.

Sabtu Siang, di Hadapan Jendela

jendelaku pusara bagi mimpi-mimpi yang gagal menjadi. kata-kata yang kutulis di sana menjadi bukti kekalahanku. daun-daun pohon nangka ditiup angin sambil menyanyikan lagu penghiburan. memandang langit bukan lagi pekerjaan yang sepele.

(ada yang  berontak meminta bebas dan aku hanya tahu cara menahannya di kepalaku.)

keresahan adalah denyut nadi kehidupan. karenanya manusia bergerak dan mencoba mengarahkan takdir, mengalahkan nasib buruk. mungkin sebagian lain yang tenggelam dalam keresahan sampai kehabisan napas adalah mereka yang gagal berevolusi dan dimakan kehidupan hidup-hidup? mungkin keresahan adalah salah satu cara alam menyeleksi kehidupan?

(ada tenang yang tumbuh di sana: eliminasi sederhana kehidupan. ia tak jahat pun baik, hanya melakoni peran.)

jendelaku pusara bagi mimpi-mimpi yang aku kecewakan. kata-kata tak lagi mengandung makna. daun-daun pohon nangka bergoyang ditiup angin, tak acuh. memandang langit tak pernah sesulit ini.


-Yogyakarta, 20 Mei 2017

huh what

i have learnt that all you need to repeat your same mistakes all over again is to never learn from it. i have learnt how to push people away from your life by simply disconnecting. i have learnt that ideas are merely ideas when there's no act. i have learnt that you can't love other people unless you can love yourself. i've learnt too much, i haven't learning enough. what's the point?



-yogyakarta, 29 april 2017.

shut up you stupid heart

feelings are stupid. you can't just throw words into your heart and hope it will make something eventually. at some point you will realize that "we can make it work" is too much a hope to holding on to. i realize it now. watch as everything fall apart.

shut up you stupid heart.

this is unreal. there is this thing squeezing inside of me, asking for blood, creating storm. the more you fight it, the deeper the scars. and i'm all alone in this. stranded, withdrawn, just like the last time. this is stupid, this is real.

steady, you stupid heart.

i have been here before. departed with a confused belief that i won't be here again. but then, promised with soft, warm sunshine and occasional hard rain, this deceitful heart made me chose the path of love yet again. not long after that, love asked for its price. i paid it with all i have left that i was forced to turn back, to hide once again in this dark cave decorated with frames and frames of bad dreams inside of me.

what have you done, you stupid heart?

it is no surprise. i should not be surprised, i should have expected it. love is a losing game. throw those i love yous scribbles away, that is where i should start. i will get better eventually. i will handle this loneliness some time later. words will find their way again. the storm will pass. this too shall pass. repeat it again and again: it will get better. it will get better. it will get better, right?

oh, shut up you stupid heart.

Midsummer's Day in a Graveyard

 Easyjets crawled across the sky, into the west wind. I read; in loving memory of. And; what will survive of us is love, love is eternal, here rests for a time.

Perhaps the dead lie happily in the well-tended plots, or perhaps they prefer the forgotten, overgrown corners. Perhaps they prefer their names obliterated by time and the weather. Perhaps not. 

There was only the sound of the strong west wind in that place, and I wasn't there for very long before I thought that I should leave.

-Stanley Donwood