Smile, Beloved, smile.
It’s a luxurious gift
For you and for me.

I was checking my educational docs and was in awe to see my photos in each of different docs. How I am touched by physical transformation and what experiences attached to it, that makes me stay loyal with my own self whatsoever.

Tell yourself that your life is a journey that if you need buddy, you should pick those willing to share wonder. Otherwise, travel alone. 💝

Thank you!


sleepy, angry, yet stop telling me to take a nap! 😂😂😂
classroom, my party time; playground, my party time, my childhood was everyday party! 👯‍♀️
no smile, no mercy 😃
length of hair defines how I treat the world; i love my pretty silly me! 😃

Love & Luck

My love is mostly dumb, stubborn, too thin to see, and makes you hate me.

My luck is often loud, sudden, too huge to miss, and makes me love you.

I’m not a gambler, yet think you’re a dice rolling numbers for a prize.

my love and luck grows for and bows to you

Love Is

Two love birds singing
In a cage full of good food.
A choice to a love—

Love is…. ?

Love is…. ?

Love is…. ?

Damn! I can’t define it except that it is sometimes misunderstood with lust.

That it is often symbolised with a heart shape. Maybe most human beings believe love comes from the heart. Hey! Is that really the shape of a heart? Or just how we agree that it is a shape of the heart?

That it is discussed everywhere but also wasted everywhere.

What I believe love is a verb not a noun so without action, it is muted sooner or later. At the same time love is an energy that cannot be created or destroyed so it is there and will be there, yet it can transform and/or transfer between subjects. Compatibility (chemistry), heat (intensity), motion (intension), what else can change the form of love? (oops forgetting all the physics learnt when younger)…. Anyway, it transforms and transfers (circulates can be another word) between (or among if circulated) human beings. So, accept it.

I believe love is about interest that human being cannot select voluntarily. It is a blessing at the same time a curse. it can be love between two love birds inseparable, or Tom and Jerry entertainingly cruel for either of two, or as cold as Antarctica.

I believe love is the core power generator of life that if removed, life will disappear. Never give up love. Broken heart is just a milestone that brings a human being to deeper and deeper understanding about him/herself. Broken because of a crush? Broken because of family? Broken because of friendship? Broken because of work? Broken because of world reality? A human being can always fix it gradually with anger, disappointment then acceptance. Just don’t be broken because of yourself – you are the most precious for yourself.

I believe that the way someone loves evolves through time, and it will suit the person’s intention never not. There should not be regret of what has happened because of love. Yet it is a regret that some people still choose to constantly send covert or overt humiliation and torture to hurt intentionally and/or to disrespect further to those they don’t love, while the best way should be forgiving or clearly declaring clear disagreement. War is one of them. Yet liked or not, that is the evolution of loving.

This weekend comes with a basket full of lessons learnt, a heap of ideas to pour as blessings in writings that I can re-read someday in the future.

Thank you, Love. You are never wasted.

Alfatihah to all whom I love.

a love locket with a pair of love birds seen in Bangkok airport – I could not resist its charm! now it is a daily friend to my T key love pendant


Manusia mengembarai langit
Manusia menyusuri cakrawala
Tidak untuk menguasainya
Melainkan untuk menguji dirinya
Apakah dia bertahan menjadi manusia,
Tidak untuk hebat kuasa atau perkasa
Melainkan untuk setia sebagai manusia.

(Emha Ainun Nadjib)

Good morning, Surabaya. You did a lot of moulding to this human being. Thank you!!! 💝

thank you 💝 for making me a human being; I won’t give up moulding this self to be loyal to being humane

A Path

A path to a place
Is walked through trees and uphills.
A meadow is waiting
Opening another path
To a warm home filled with love.

My friend sent me three photos of our beloved “simbah” (those senior people who are considered wise or those who have grandchildren) – Javanese). Most people call these simbah “batik maker” because they make batik to earn a living. We both call them “batik artist”. More than that through what we’ve seen and heard about them, we’ve considered they are artists of their life. How they embrace their humble life gracefully and consciously has always amazed both of us. They live like calm river flowing to the sea. They don’t struggle against what others think about or do to them. They live as if there is no hindrance and disturbance in life.

When my friend told me some things about those three honourable ladies, I secretly harvested some lessons. It is very critical reminder for me who is still very much attached to a feeling of (accidentally) underestimated and (slightly) humiliated because of one petty case. These three artists of life have silently told me to let go.

What a loud shot in a quiet weekend!

No apology is needed. All is gradually let go through my own wish and willingness. This is my life and I only want to be the artist of my own life. 💝

Thank you, artists of life. You’re blessed. 💝


Mbah Suhir, 93 years old 💝 matur sembah nuwun
Mbah Erah, 87 years old 💝 matur sembah nuwun
Mbah Isah, 82 years old 💝 matur sembah nuwun


I love
Without throbbing heart

I love
Without nervous mind

I love
Without going date

I love
Without touching each other

I love
Without intense conversation

I love
With the breeze of mountains

I love
With the wave of oceans

I love
With the dew of mornings

I love
With the sound of music

I love
With the hue of flowers

I love
With the flow of dreams

I love
With all whose reason is unseen.

How rejoicing and exciting.

(The Lover’s love to the Beloved)
love is never wasted

Good Food

River flows. Wind blows.
Birds perch on a twig and chirp,
Enjoying good food.

Life is not really WYSIWYG, there are layers that can be peeled off like peeling off onions layered skins.

What is seen in a river? Its flow. What’s behind the flow?

What is felt in a wind? Its blow. What’s behind the flow?

What’s behind the singing birds? What’s behind good food?

Something looking like nothing yet there are powerful layers of realities that wrap another deeper level of reality. At the end of the peeled-off onion, what is it? The eyes see “none” that can be immediately ignored, the self sees “the essence” that can only be understood through accepting in silence.

What an experience as a human being! Maybe this is a euphoria of being alive, or being aware? This is a good time and I will always feel good no matter what. 💝

Thank you for everything. 💝

good breakfast for a tempe(h) lover 🥰
good snack for a pumpkin lover – run out of honey this time

The Space

She be, Beloved,
The space not the furniture,
Lets all come and go.

If only maturity could be implanted like nose or breast or whatever, I would still choose to get mature naturally through ageing and weakening although it takes almost half of century of struggling and pain to find only its gate. Damn late!

One maturity breakthrough of my life was when realising I should be more a “space human being” (my teacher calls it “room human being”) rather than a “furniture human being”.


a hey from the space to bodies floating in it 😘

Leaving The Thrones

I dive
Every night
To where you are
And see no one
You are diving
To where I’ve left my throne.

When I’m back,
You’re back
To where you”ve left yours.

If we know the hours of each others’ departures,
We’ll meet at the crossroads
Where what’s left behind
Is forgiven, not forgotten


daruma tea canister where I wrote my wish to happen, leaving an unnecessarily thrones behind; ego is the strongest block, leave it!

What Are You

Behind what’s seen,
What are you, Beloved?

Root of a tree
Who grows in in the dark,
Breathes with the creepy crawly,
Sleeps in none of seasons.
Silently grateful for
What’s not understood.

Cartilage of a human body
Who is not hard enough to be bone,
Not soft enough to be muscle,
Comfortably sits in between,
Catches messages delivered
By whisper, breeze and wind.

Jasmine sambac of the garden
Who is humbly tiny, clustering;
Blooms the whole year,
Leaves much fragrance to the day,
Deep meaning to celebration
Before she dries brown.

Helium of the sun
Light, low, odourless, tasteless, insipid—
It’s peaceful to be low profile,
It’s more joyful and freer,
It’s easier to be me,
Closer to Gaia.

Yet no secret bandit among
The rascals in the block!


What what?!
Don’t ask. I can be anything

Rainy weekend is good especially when just have to shortly reply “Ok!” to a message saying “Heavy rain. Impossible to bike. Rain check ya.”


🥰 can watch this forever! lovable rascals!

Little Bird

Little bird, dear love,
Telling her to soar then go home
To where her heart is—

Home. Is it a what, a who, a whom, a whose, a which, a when, a where or a how? She knows hers and it doesn’t always the same as others’. 💝

shared rice with a little bird in Cointrin Airport before boarding for Amsterdam then home – a trip worth doing she should repeat 🥰 …


Nuance, Beloved,
Painting one heart in two hues;
Comparing two times—

Some songs like poem will stay in my heart and won’t die. One of them is Dewa’s Kangen.

Never getting bored of listening to it— Weekend is the best music box! 💝

Once’s version sounds sexier 💝
Ari’s earlier version sounds sharper in heart. So young! 🥰
Ari and Andra make it raw and pure!
live show – Ari’s version is still the best! 🥰

The Gate

Sky gate, Beloved
Once opened, cannot be closed.
Blessings shower down.

How would it feel to be showered with rain of blessings? Intuition is truly a blessing.

Dear, Sky. Thanks for the bright half moon last night which kept reminding me to not regret for telling genuinely with no anger about my intuition that might have offended someone.

Intuition is to be listened. Intuition is not always popping out; yet once popping out, it is always right. Yes, yes, this person is better in to be genuine than to look gorgeous. 🙂

Let’s go out to breathe the freedom and victory. Today still with Blue, let Red take a rest. 💝


i will, forever

after morning prayer

So I Can Meet You

I don’t want to race.
Only safety that I wish
So I can meet you.

started late today and found the undercharged front lamp, decided to go back to the brighter track, safety first 🧷
brighter area near home is always the safest

Your Name

Your name, Beloved:
Air blanketing fragrant space,
Soil firming the stance—

Shakespeare said “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”

He isn’t wrong. Yet he isn’t always right.

I call a name when rain is sweetly pouring down, call another name when day is scorching too bright and hot….

Why is it easier to call your name than my own? Is your name so strongly rooted that only it I can remember when it rains? Is it your name or is it you that stays with me?

Oh you….

Oh your name….


is the flying butterfly not anymore the caterpillar greedily eating before sleeping? am I still the un-named baby born by my mother? 💗

Why Space & Time

The depth of silence is
As deep
As ocean of possibilities.
Shaken, the ocean will splash
Drops of gifts.

Time once revealed
When the gifts will appear.
It once said
There is a moment in time.

Space once revealed
Where the gifts will arrive.
It once said
There is a point in space.

Spacetime once revealed
Why the gifts will engender.
It once said
There are reasons in life:
Unfortunately wrapped
In colours and shapes,
Often times disguising things:
A crow into a dove,
A wolf into a sheep,
A dumpsite into a garden,
A villainess into a heroine,
An evil witch into a kind queen,
Bent into straight—
Misleading this traveler’s direction.

Once it was said
There is
That she will find
Somewhere some time only if
She minds.

Dear, Light.
You can reveal
True colours
True shapes
True hearts
True reasons.

Be deeply silent
Even in the crowd
Where ocean of possibilities
Is shaken
In this spacious time.

The gift is relatively fair, Beloved.
Be ready.


when window nook is ready for daydreaming, no book, no paper, no gadget – just her welcoming gifts

Ode to A Secret Love


Yet dimensions have distanced us with invisible connection.


Only wish and pray I can send through speechless wireless across the elements.


Dream, dream, dream, dear love.
Life is but a dream.
I hope we visit each other
In each of our good dreams,
Before we wake up and together we stream.


It doesn’t matter and it doesn’t count
Even how I miss you most; like a tiny penny in a billionaire’s account:
Missed and forgotten through space and time.


It rains again which I love the most
As the longing for you gets swept away
By the water falling and gliding on the window: sweetly cold.


Yet this stubborn heart
Still sings in silence
Alone with clear sweet voice
Without doubt
That someday this feeling will fade away,
Leaving a good memory through time and space.

Listen, this is an ode
To a secret love:


daydreaming in a rainy day – RC Gorman’s “Woman with Poppies”