the late-night roof philosophy

I love the fact that i love sitting here in the dark, at the roof. The quiet and the dark give me peace. The feeling of warm ceramics on my heels. I love the way i can hear the crickets and a hint of the television downstairs. It makes me feel home and at the same time faraway for adventure with my own thoughts. The sky now is amazing. I can see the clouds on navy sky. And some stars. I love seeing the shadow of the leaves from the garden lights on the wall. I am able to just observe my mind wander, and see the stars. Ive always loved the night sky. And moon. And clouds. And stars.

The stars; i know why poets and storytellers write about them. It is when you are alone and staring at the sky from your roof, and feel everything else dissapear. If you tilt your head a little, it's as if your neighbors' roofs dissapear. And suddenly it's only you and the sky. And you get this strange feeling as if you look into a whole future, or the whole past; it's like staring at a whole eternity.


words out of rain

i remember on one rainy day, under a dim window light and the smell of wet soil there were words that i conscientiously wrote for you with the hell and heaven from my veins. i remember how i hoped and closed my eyes at the end of each sentence and my eyelashes fell onto the paper and i secretly made wishes on them. i remember how each word tasted like home and how the spaces between words felt like a place to stay.

but then all of sudden the rain stopped and the smell of wet soil was gone and i spent quite some aching time wondering why and where they'd gone or whether they were even really there because i have always felt like they were watching me like a trusted friend when i was writing words about you.

it was only when i stopped questioning i suddenly heard there was a strange music in melody i oddly felt familiar with it seemed like calling me from places that are close to my soul.

so i tossed those words to a passing boat that was sailing to the ocean. they said it went to one of those floating old libraries at sea and would never come back.



saya tidak suka mengunci hujan di luar jendela. rasanya seperti menelantarkan kawan yang baik hati.


tentang luka dan sepi.

dalam sedih manusia akan melarutkan diri dalam bising. karena bising akan memberi ilusi bahwa engkau masih memegang ujung tali kontrol. semua tampak ramai dan cepat dengan kilasan lampu-lampu dan cahaya; bisa saja ujung tali itu sudah lepas dari genggamanmu, tanpa engkau menyadarinya.

namun mereka yang sedikit lebih berani akan memilih sunyi. sunyi itu jujur: ia menggemakan bunyi kesedihan di dalammu sehingga engkau akan merasakan kehadirannya, begitu panjang dan nyata, seperti bunyi angin yang menyentuh daun-daun di jalan. ia menggoyangkanmu agar kau sesadar-sadarnya menyadari kesedihanmu. menerimanya, merengkuhnya, membiarkan ia mengikis dan membentuk keberadaanmu.

lalu pada suatu titik, engkau akan merasa tenang.

sedih itu tidak pergi, melainkan entah bagaimana telah menjadi bagian dari dirimu.

kesedihan yang kau rasakan dengan sunyi telah membentuk jiwamu; ia merobek-robek dan menatanya kembali. dan kau akan menjadi satu lagi. namun selamanya engkau akan membawa garis dan bentukan yang disebabkannya.


teras rumah

kau mulai mencintai kembali kegelapan halaman rumahmu, mencium aroma malam dan daun menguap dari keramik terasmu. dengan lagu yang kau senandungkan di pikiranmu, engkau perlahan berdansa dengan pagar rumahmu, berjingkat di atas bayangannya. kau tidak ingat menghitung berapa langkah dan satuan waktu yang berlalu semenjak kau berada di situ.


before you sleep.

there are memories that are crystalized, kept somewhere in the corner of our mind. those memories are like a warm drink, eternal in the part of your heart.
sometimes you cannot help it but, in a gap between time, take that memory, pour it into your cup, and seep it into your soul. you need warmth; and it warms your soul.

for me, those memories are when i really looked into your eyes for the first time. when you kissed my lips, gently, for the first time.


sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensamble

someday you will find happiness just by laying on the grass and breathing. and you do care for a yellowing leaf falling on your head: you notice how sometimes sad and fragile and beautiful things are. and you silently admire the sun light on your hair. and you learn that daydreaming is the time in life when your mind is bigger than your body. bigger than your world.

like you see treetops and skies through the eyes of a child on the back of a bike.

Have you ever daydreamed about the world, the era you will never see and feel and know; the world of past; the world of future? Have you ever daydreamed about the people who never see the world you live in, the world you wake up to? Doesn't it make you want to grasp every tiny moment in your life?

and to be honest, you are my favorite thing to daydream about.

of every tiny blood vessel. of skins. of night promises. of a raindrop on your cheeks. of silent moment before you get out of bed. of a tiny ship sailing through the sea in a bottle made up of glass. of your lover's whispering in your ear.

and your voice. your voice is like a cup of latte on sunday mornings.

and you see through the window. you see your tiny ship in a bottle, with your messages on a piece of paper, filled up with questions you seek. what do you want? how to be happy? why did it happen? but now you let go those questions; you still watch the tiny ship going slowly to the sea, but you dont expect it to come back with answers like you used to. you just watch how peaceful the bottle sailing to the place that your mind cant reach. and your lips murmur a tiny prayer.

let it go, let it go. sometimes your own mind is a trap door.

lets sleep tonight in our rooms, with hundreds of pictures of tiny ships in bottles on the wall: we are grateful for questioning. we let the answers to be owned by the sea. so now lets cry, lets laugh, lets shout, lets run. uncontrollably.

and i hope you find your tree.


through my window i can see a half-lit cloud