on Roses

I used to look down on roses.
I suspected them of lacking some sort of mystery.
I might even well wrote a verse on how I despise it.
Ubiquitous roses, thus audacious Casablanca.

Yet people change,
after some series of trials and errors. People change.
They get to know themselves better. Likes and Dislikes.
Strengths and Weaknesses.

I do not have as many demands and judgments as years ago. The demands and judgments aged along with the palpables.
So with my vicious affair with roses.

I regularly get myself fresh cuts of Roses now. A beautiful gradation of white, soft pink, and peach. Musing the graceful petals, drifted in their delicate fragrance.

Flowers have a serious soothing effect to my mood. And though books give a good deal of distraction, they can be treacherous at times.

“Books feed you mind,

Bread feeds your body,

but Flowers feed you soul”

-rosas encantadoras-

Reading and Escape

I read an interesting post on Facebook the other day about why people read fiction, and at the end of the post the writer asked a question, “So, Why do YOU read fiction?”

I found one answer that stunned me because of how eloquent his/her answer is. Munirah Muhamad said:

“I read for a few reasons.

To know, to understand.
When it comes to fictions, I read mostly to be moved and get lost.

Sometimes it’s not just to have a clearer perception given a situation nor would it be to understand better for foresight because sometimes we already know how it’s (the story) going to be and we’ve been there. My main motive sometimes is to unlock the sensation of intensity, assuming that I will be moved.”

 

Then it got me,

At times such as these, I forget how it’s like to even feel, and reading is a means of escape.

So, i’ve been reading Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, for -perhaps- the tenth time… trying to cut short the fragile what’s, why’s, and how could’s.

Anybody think the same? 

Iqtihamul ‘Aqabah

Yup! It’s my first joyful Sunday after months of struggling with myself…

So, here I am, holding my journal. With pages of stories showing different colors of emotions. From the careful questions, a spring of wonderful compliments (the best kinds you could ever expected), on and on to a page of 18th October 2008:

“Life hands you many different things. And I never expected this. I wish someone would and could stand up for me. Now there is this glass splinter spinning tremendously slow through my heart, breaching multiple layers of red foliage. Leaving a hole which nobody or nothing could mend. Words hit my forehead the way the rain hits a blistering road, the concrete surface is so hot, it makes a hissing sound.

Sadness blooms in the air. This is the time when you fall on your knees, wishing an end to be put to all of your sufferings.”

So that was when i kept everything to myself, and repeatedly chant a mantra, “I can still handle this, I can still handle this” for months. Until an unexpected friendship made, and I exploded with sadness, talking in tears, in a heavily abridged – poignant voice. So there it is. I pleaded guilty and desperately needing help.

But anyway, I wanted to write today, to let my friends know that I am proud to have them in my life. For all of their sacrifice for saving my life, for sitting through my tears in silence, for not showing the slightest expression of discomfort even after knowing that I am capable of committing gruesome mistake to my own self, for sending messages of care and sympathy.

I know I can’t lay things on the table, and not many of you know what actually happened. And I will not speak a word of what happened, it’s time to be strong enough to say “enough is enough” and really mean it. Despite the fact that I can’t name them all, I still want to modestly embrace those I really want to… kiky for always reassuring me that I have you no matter how far we are parted , dedek for being so patient and understanding with my giving space and blocks and keeping things in secret even up till now (you are my best best friend, but this one I promised myself not to tell), For You who have relentlessly been sending long messages of how to stay sane; for enormous care with my health (thank  you soo much for the herbal pills), mba oliphe-mba ratih for waking me up from each nightmare; for knocking my door when i locked myself in for a battle with tears, for caring me while I had my two weeks fever, My lovely lovely Fafa… mi bella Fafa… thank you for teaching me what beauty means, Mba Ai… So an end of a story is a beginning of the other… I love our friendship, To You for knowing how to give me consolation and security when I trusted nobody, for lending me your strength and wisdom to survive a storm, My dear Teacher for setting an example of winning over sadness (i look up to you very much). All in all, for the two of You, i know i hurt you so much by openly saying that I can’t trust you, attacking your decisions, and not replying your messages, but i do and do and do respect and appreciate them all with all of my heart.

So…

I’m back with life. I’ve shut that door of angst, anger, and wretchedness. I’ve learned to accept unfulfilled promises, my inability to make them happy whatsoever the reasons are. Eventhough sometimes I still wake up feeling like i’ve been hit by a truck, or continuously losing some friens and acquiantances, but I have my control.

I’m back with my latte, books, journal, painting, and God.

Good God i am back with God.

I am here. I am present.

And I am calm.

February

i would like to spend hours talking (with you),
i would be more than willingly to hike mountains and cross oceans (for you),
for three years i know i had thought that i would be glad to give up all material happiness only to get what i got this February.

flashbacks.

steps come and go
faces met
convivial trail of introductions
swimming in palpable ignorance.

why should i bother?

the pain of separation
being in the middle of strangers’ battlefield
and then days of constant midnight waking
weeping!
longing with one deep longing

reflection

i perceived that i have not really understood anything
not a single object

if you often meet a stranger in the streets and love her
why
i often meet strangers in the streets and love them.

it is not the matter of being with
it is the matter of being
absorbing the pain
of de-commitments
of re-commitments
living with it
‘growing’ is a cheap word,
yet it takes a lot to do.

This February of your life,
this February of her life,

this February of my life
we are parallel.

 

 

I will be even with you
and you shall be even with me.

falling

to whatever extent the lover’s feeling goes,
when it loses values, it binds no flows,
words drop dead-
life falls white as bread-

suffer!
and do us suffer in every beginning–
of contentious joy.

madeira

Have i mentioned that rainy season begins this week?

well actually last week, considering that today is already Monday at my end…

When it rains during the day, everything looks more vulnerable. The green leaves of mango trees along the road side that i walk through to get to the bus stop seem to hold unknown reveries and longing, and purple petals of blooming Mrytle suddenly become a manifestation of celebrated sadness.

I want to read you lines from The Rubaiyat,

Enchanting verses of a whole different world.

Yet my wish to be next to you is defeated by invincible distance of vast time and space..

When will you cross that ocean of the unknowns and reveal yourself to me?

todo mi amor,

me

standing in…

I’ve shut down on talking. 

I have no words to describe it. 

I want no words to describe it. 

My hands shake. 

My heart shakes. 

The words I do feel will comfort no one, 

not even myself. 

They will only add more suspense and more pain, 

neither of which I want to feel more. 

My stories have stopped in their tracks.

Halo dunia!

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