Sunday, September 27, 2015

Secrecy for The Sake of Solitude

"What we conceal is always more than what we dare confide."

So much what we live goes on inside. The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches of unacknowledged love are no less real. For having passed unsaid.What we conceal is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write. Even though sometimes we realize that the world told us differently in a melancholy way. Left unspoken, tacenda. I thought it was a good deal. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.

When did I become such a poet these days?
I was only talking about the beauty of unexpressed thoughts, and it turns out differently.

Sunday, September 20, 2015


How's life been? No, no, it has nothing to do with the picture above nor the title, but I adore Haruki Murakami (村上 春樹) as much as his books~ which I believe is his soul as one. I probably not a poet or literature geek who has a thousand of collection and etc etc, but my huge admiration and honor towards classic literature may be bigger (or it takes the most) than modern writings nowadays. Classic literature has something that you can't find in any other genres, like it has its own true soul. Something called honesty and sincerity. There's something way bigger than it looks, hiding between every pages of solitude or between the spaces in one and another words. Something lighter than the air. Clearer than the water. Something that I couldn't describe in words. Something that are magical when you look upon the lines. Something that carried you away. Inevitably.

Nonetheless you might be asking why do I seem to use some Japanese characters here. Honestly I also have huge gigantic massive colossal excessive interest in languages. J'aime les langues! Exactly. For me, language is like a gate to another version of the world. You're not only going to learn how to speak or write in another language, but you also understand their way of thinking. Because when you speak in another language, it is like you switch some parts in your brain to their way of thinking. So I think language is amazing. Some people even consider me as a weirdo because I like to switch language when I speak, the words and phrases I personally don't understand myself. 私の友人に、ごめん. I just love how it sounds. Yesterday I thought that I should try to write in another languages other than English in order to improve my writing skill. My English isn't good either I recognize a lot of mistakes (it happens every single time I dare myself to read my previous posts, I forever be like "ew, what was I thinking!? Why do I write such things" and etc etc), but I'd like to try French and Japanese too as I believe that practice makes perfect, I hope so? I would love to write in Arabic, Russian, or a little German. But mind would completely messed up. Please tell me if I make mistakes!

Forthrightly, language is difficult. I want to cry sometimes.  ã‚の。。。なかないIt's true that "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." thanks to bunch of animes, tv shows, and games that light up the whole day and keep remind me how important languages are. Beside that I really want to study abroad (beaucoup!), another goal of mine is to be able play online games in Japan server and to watch animes without subtitles. Sounds horrible, ne? Pas étonnant, je suis bizzare. Anyway there'll be mid-term exam this monday (time is running so fast, huh?) and that means games  and movie marathon all day long I have to study for the best. Bye.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Which of the favors of your Lord would you deny?

My heart breaks to pieces whenever I witness my Muslim brothers and sisters fight to enforce sharia law in their country. Yet, I live peacefully and all I care about is this temporary dunya. They struggling to survive with no food or family, but all I did was wasting food and say bad things to parents. They always trying to pray on time in the Masjid, in the country which its security is not as safe as where I live, yet I didn't practice as much as them. Their dream is to live without bombs and sortie so they could practice Islam properly. And yet, I am wasting my time with useless things. My conscience weeps whenever I saw them living with no legs or hands or eyes, and I still being ungrateful with this countless blessings. All day and night some children in my age are thinking what to eat tomorrow, while I busy complaining the endless school tasks, the education they're always dreaming of. They might still roaming in highway in this cold weather with no decent clothes, thinking where to go on the rest of the night, sleeping in a though road? And I am... again being all ungrateful. I am a sinful servant. I am being ungrateful at things somebody else might pray for it to be theirs. Ya Allah... 

It hurts.

Ya Allah...

فَبِØ£َيِّ آلاءِ رَبِّكُمَا تُكَØ°ِّبَانِ 

"Which of the favors of your Lord would you deny?"

-Q.S Ar Rahman 55

Tuesday, September 01, 2015

"It looks like this storm will be a doozy" - Anne of Avonlea

"That's just how I wonder about the world and its beautiful covered mysteries. I've never experienced the permeated feeling whenever I read how another person's mind works. Learning how to not  to blame everything gratuitously and being so judgemental. When did we become so harsh?"

Just before the dust fell to the ground as if the pile of dry leaves knew it would hit towards the gravity. As well as my mind works like the rushing blood veins trying to caught up in miseries miserably. Sometimes we fall in love with things strange to the eyes of this world. Like falling in love with autumn leaves, wilted roses, dusky skies, silent pathways. Just as when you see the birdies are trying to break through the overcast. Sinking in the white sheet blankets on a sweather-weather kinda day. Call me a pluviophile because I see the beauty in petrichor, the smell of the earth after rain. All these chemicals stirred up by the weather can carry messages; because I am in love with the rain and its scent. 

Classic books and a cup of tea, and my attraction towards it wouldn't change any less; Lucy Maud Montgomery will forever be the swirling cricket in the diminishing scent. My all time favorite poet, Sir Edgar Allan Poe, the true genius shudders at incompleteness — imperfection — and usually prefers silence to saying the something which is not everything that should be said. Or incandescently Mr.Bennet's possession in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. That's just how I wonder about the world and its beautiful covered mysteries. I've never experienced the permeated feeling whenever I read how another person's mind works. Learning how to not  to blame everything gratuitously and being so judgemental. When did we become so harsh?

As the dim lights crept in a suburban side. The clinging scheme in a boldness of the dark seems like they're owning the world to their own.  How can a person forget their childhood? I used to had mine catching the butterflies, not in the stomach but around the front garden. The butterflies were put in a glass box and I'd observing them all the rest evening. I do remember how my eyes expanding as I crooked a smile to saw a beautiful chrysalis coming out inside the box. And when it came to a time where I really had to let go of my little Anne, because even in a younger age, nature taught us to be sincere.We used to talk in a low voices and running as I said "1...2...3...Peek-a-boo!" and my old flanel shirt was full of chocolate milk stains. But we didn't care at all. Because all we could think is getting new adventures before the sun set. Where in the world I could live without freedom hierarchy when the arches of the ancestors built were all ruined by our generation?

But then again, love comes in different meanings. Maybe this world is too fast to understand.

Just so you know, 
I am in love with the rain and its scent.
And you.