Day 83 – forgiving past

I may have written bout this before. About picking up crumbles of past stories, tracing the dried blood from past wounds that never turned to dust, sniffing drawn images of past emotion that never completely turn to rock. But it is more like picking up a number from shuffled bowl, unparticular. Every piece picked had become nothing but fading colors, sliding off my fingers i cant never contain as a story to tell. But i suppose it is better that way. 



Day 69 – deforming 

Images stack randomly flapping by the breeze of my thoughts; faces with forgotten names, names with fading faces, moments with no track number, shameless hopes, forbidden desires, bundle of happiness, past forward anger…

and dust thicken inside…

yet i still refuse to go down on my knee

to make my cry.


fragments – about one life

There are moments in my life that i feel i am changing into another state, like adjusting into something else i was not. It may sound like simple changes like putting on dresses and or make up more often than i used to. My friends who know me for sometime would notice the change, and their reactions would be my mirror to reflect, some would say “it’s not you!” , and some would say ” i like it better”.

I never quite do anything or change to impress anyone, i just do it because i feel like doing it,  so sometimes people responses surprised me. It did make me think or wonder how actually people define me, how actually i define my self. Does it even matter? It does not for me, but it does tickle me sometimes.

“exploring…defining…being” used that words since i created this blog, but only recently it struck me, despite the fact that i have been using the words pretty often in different term and or situation. I try things to explore what is in there for me, or whether i am that or this, that it would change the way i define my self, being my self.

So what i am really, but the compilation of selves that i created then replaced; a living storage of stories or memories or fragments that made me who i am now.  And in time i can start more consciously feel what i am, how i am, it feels like i am building a new puzzle, or reformulating a self or an individual that i can be. And down deeper inside there is this core that stays the same, no matter what wrapping it is covered with; and it will stay fluid.


for a moment

when i am in his arms, everything seems right, the universe seems to be in align  to grant my unspoken wishes

when i look into his eyes, i want to preserve the moment, i resist the coming minutes when everything….starts to fade into cluster saved in my memories box

i was there before…for hundred times it seems…tho

for a moment…….it feels new still

when i kissed his lips, time seems touching my back shoulder as if saying ” i am here, and i will take you away” 

for a moment….. 


It was I

who sneaked into an empty classroom at lunch break, and slipped a letter (well okay close to an admiration letter) into a bag which belongs to my senior who was kind of cute (he was cute, but i guess if i meet him now, he would be totally not my type, as i picture him he would curly short lil bright skin, and as he’s not into sport). I did get a response, we hang out a bit, but it was kind neutral feeling. I forgot how we ended up, i guess it was he graduated from the school.

(Senior High School)

* *  * * * *

who abused my bench mate when i was at elementary school. Like asked him to take my bag to the desk just as i arrived at the school and straight running to the yard to play, brought my homework book to the front class, and told him loudly that he needed shower (cuz honestly he was kind of stink). His name is Mahmud, and everyone knows how cruel  i am to him. But he would just smile around, didnt show any struggle. We sat at the same bench for 6 months, at our 6th grade, i think.

* * * * * * * *

who cut eye lashes cuz heard some friends saying, we can get nice long eyelashes  if we cut them.

(Junior High School)

* * * * * * *  *

who had to write 1000x a sentence saying : i am not going to do the same mistake again; as punishment to have made 2 boys (one classmate and the other one was my neighbor who study at the same school but in the different class) continue their duel, and both of them saying i was saying something bad about each other. What i did, was telling my classmate that my neighbor was saying to me that my classmate is a chicken or something that against his manlicher , i forgot.

(Senior High School)

* * * * * * * * *

who pointed at my toddler sister when mum was mad asking who made the cutting hole on the curtain. ( i was 5 and she was 3)

* * * * * * * * *

who hide in the bathroom while playing hide and seek, and locked her self in there while the lock was rusted and stuck. I cried hard, then father broke the bottom part of the door for me to get out.

(Elementary School 2nd grade i think)

* * * * * * * * *

who simply loved to climb : the doves house which was 4 m high; neighbor’s fence, any tree that has branches (rambutan, mango, starfruit), neighbor’s level bed, the house roof (watching the stars with my elder brother, or watching kite playing with my brothers (untill mum found out that it was me (the girl cant play boys game) ) )

(Junior/Senior High)

* * * * * * * *


Unsaved , unwanted memories

Have you ever wondered on why there are certain things that remain in our memories no matter how long it has long past, or certain people we would remember the most and others are just as a glance? 

I read a quote from a female poet ( i forgot the name) : You would forget what one said or done to you, but you would never forget how one made you feel. 

Maybe because she is a poet and she is a female, we, female poet put out our feelings almost above our mind. We consult to our heart than our head, or maybe just I, who do that. 

I recently looked at my friend list in my couchsurfing (, the people i have hosted, which also meant spent so much time with me, hang out, met (short/long) . Each of them  drew some memories in my life; some i can mention their name without looking up the list and things we had together, some i only remember when i happened to  go thru that list again. Looking way behind those time, i can remember few faces, few names, few events….but i dont think it is the same feeling that i feel now, than it is that time. 

So, why those particular faces, those particular moments? 

Some people, in the past, begged me : Dont forget about me please! At that moment, i made my words that i wont. I do keep my words, i guess. I dont totally forget about them. If i look behind far enough i will still find them, or sometimes some images would cross in mind and i just stop at wishing that they are all alrite. 

I, personally, never quite minded, or rather wish, to be forgotten. But yet, couldn’t bear the feeling to be left behind. And tho it has been a great pleasure to get a short message saying : i thought of you, and hope you are well. 

A close friend slapped me on the face (spontaneously and lightly) when i said, ” you will forget about me sooner than you thought” when we bid good bye. I, somehow, dont want to be preserved in one’s mind; knowing i cant promise the same thing. 

But some people simply remain and living in my memory wall, i love to have some, not the other, but again, how can we choose? Even throwing the stuffs that remind us of the bad to the junk doesnt banish what had been drawn in our memories. 

But then, what i would even dwell on this thing rather than appreciate the un-particular order of our saving mechanism.