Twenty Six: A Gift

I never thought I'd spend the first minute of my 26th birthday hundreds of feet up in the air, among the clouds, surrounded by a bunch of strangers whose language isn't my own. 

I never thought I'd leave my hometown, thousands miles away from where I used to live, having such a long journey alone. 

I never thought I'd be able to make it, I never had the confidence, since this used to be a battle I have against myself, of which my cowardice always won.

But I never question God and His plan, and that it will always be better than my own.

The scenic sun rise was a beautiful reminder of what Daddy used to tell me over and over:

"Nis, never underestimate a prayer."

So I did. I trusted Him. I trusted me.

Mr. Who

He's a painting, almost,
a perfect imperfection, an abstract combination,
of all of my favorite colors,
each line tells a different story,
which meaning only those who are willing to learn can understand.
It takes more than a good closer look to see,
that every engraved flaws of unfortunate apathy,
marks how much of a delicate art he is.

Us Versus the Distance

The word "don't" was nothing but a mere whisper, and the thin line the endless sea makes was barely visible, faded by the growing ambition to conquer the world together, to own it like the pairs of comfortable Chucks on our feet.

"Where to start?" They asked.

"French fries at Mcdonald's!"

We won that night, and the next days could only lead to more victorious ones. Or so I thought.

"I miss us, guys."

It's no longer us versus the world now, looks like distance is a way tougher opponent.

"Guys?"

Whisked Me Away, Enthused

The universe seemed to have such an unfair conspiracy with him that night; the grey clouds suddenly decided to gather out of nowhere, trying to act all heroic for crying the tears she couldn't let out just yet as the wind breathed out an inaudible sad song, failed to whisk her pain away.

A Silent Cry

Dear December.

At times my Daddy used to wake up in the middle of the night for a prayer, he'd beg in whispers, and it made me wonder. For our nation he'd rest his head on the floor, sometimes for minutes, other times for hours, while our government keep up with their cold shoulders, barely listening to the poors. So what for?

Not until I work in the system did I know, these people's lives are not more than an opera show, collecting money as if they have forgotten that what we have in this world- we only borrow, and Allah always watch His tiny human below.

But then again, is it for the money or the fame? Is it really about how much they gain? When people start to drag others into their game, only to later put them all to blame, weren't their hearts shaken from watching the innocents' future burnt to flame?

Dear, Daddy.

It is too much for my heart to take, could it be mistaken? Is this what's really happening now, our initial qualities have been broken? Where's the truth when you need them given? Why would they keep it hidden? Is this why God always give tests after tests to our nation?

Against their own will, they have to bear it all, doing nothing but good, now they have to watch their long-time career falls, only for those they respect so much, who ironically never give a fuck or such.

I'm crying my heart out, I will not hide away so people can see. These horrible creatures, greedy for cash and power, they disgust me. I can only use your way, Daddy, lifting both of my hands and pray, "Oh, Allah! Our God Almighty! Please help the innocent ones, and ease their pain away."

Dear, Truth.

Please come out soon. So I could close this year with a smile at noon.

8:39 PM, home at last.

We constantly nag to ourselves and to others about how we wish for a job that hypes us up so much in a point where we wouldn't sigh at the dawn of every Monday morning thinking, "Where are you, Friday?"

Not until recently I started to figure out that it's not about our jobs (since mine consists of: 20% of administration process that always seems to have a very short deadline, 10% of "yessir!", 40% of foreign policy, and 30% of pure laughter with friends because the ride is crazy- which is, of course, exciting!)

It's about these people who act like they're the only ones that need to be hurry in the morning (God bless them) and those who think they're the most tired ones in the evening (God bless me) that annoys the shit out of me every single effing time, both on my way to and from work; the type of earthlings you would meet (sadly, because it reaches almost half of the world population) every day of your life (even weekends!!)

God sure knows how to test His people. Oh, Jakartans, where did you leave your patience and manners at?

K.O in 3...2... *drops mic*

5:51 PM, breezy.

Oh, how he is so unaware, that the universe conspirates with these lyrics my heart writes for him most of the times.

How the sun gives him warmth in the cold morning breeze, how the sky paints its whole-self with amber when he walks out of the building at noon, and how the stars form beautiful constellations just for him to adore and to look at.

But how he is so unaware, he could only see them as a gift from someone else, another woman his heart longs for, and not as the universe's conspiration with me, the girl only whose name he knows.

2:39 PM, cloudy.

He's all the pauses: the almost, the in-between, the what-if; he's a regret, leaning in so close but still too far to be reached out just yet.

Will he get scared if he knows about my longing to touch? About the admiration, about how much?

He's lack of love, I'm out of luck, our words are overdue, and sometimes saying goodbye is way easier than to say "Me too."

6:11 PM, humid.

It was a mess.

There were thousands of words, spoken in various strings of melodies, all uttered together at once, creating a disturbing buzz in sync.

The small place filled with people passing by like a dark flash of rainbows, swiped the dusts off of the ground with their soles and heels as they move in a hurry, creating puffs of white among those tocks and thumps.

"Holy, and it's still Monday!" I lifted my chin up a little, only to see where the words came from.

Didn't figure it out in the end, but I answered him back in murmurs, "Same."

Amber

She was there, blocking the window, her silhouette looked like it was glowing while the sun behind her began to kiss the day goodbye. "Isn't it beautiful?" She asked. That was when I realized, she came to watch nothing.

She was the view.