Saturday, June 22, 2013

A Typer Wthout " " Letter

'm not tryng to make an art wrtng.
t's actually the real condton rght now.
'm mssng one of my letter n my typer.
The letter s

t feels werd. When t's mssng somethng just feel not complete.
And t's devastatng.

Four Years of Dark, For Years of Basement

I have a crush on Oleg. That boy who is the president of a class.
"That's maybe the only thing which made me hold on in that dungeon."
Four years, barely see the sunlight. Years of life which passed with sitting, get down and sitting again. Years of life without anything else besides eating, sitting, sleeping and hiding. Yes, hiding is the right word. Hiding from people who think that their race is better than anybody else.
Years of life the matter of life and death.

I was just a little girl, 12 years old. About to fall in love with that Dutch boy, who is appear to be so cute and attractive to me. The story was about writing a love letter, heart to heart conversations with best girlfriends, and simply about how I will be as a grown up woman.

Until that time. Father ask me to leave the house. It was midnight. Father was just telling me that we will visit one of his worker, Syada, who happens to be my feeder in that darkness four years. I could have died now if she's not helping me. I owe my life to her. The whole family owe life to her family.

Me, my sister and Father was traveling that night, 2 a.m. in the morning. We're not even using car. We were walking in foot. Father said, Mom is already in Syada's house. She prepared a wonderful cooks for us. Which happens to be a very big lie. Mom was never in Syada's house. Mom was leaving  us, and so was Father.

I was live in that basement. For four years. The only way to stretch my flesh was by laying. I still don't know what really happens. I just there for years. Hiding. Oleg was the only strength I carry on. Or, the only fantasy I could imagine. I was too scared to think about anything else. That's the only precious thing that I had. My mind, my realm! So I chosen Oleg. It was dark four years.

Now I can taste the free air. Fifty years from that time. I just can say grace. That I am still alive. With my family. Live is an art. It has its own way to paint.

At the end, it is a wonderful painting.

A Question of Love

What is Love?
Love is Love. No question about it.
Too abstract to be described, but the delicacy is more real than flesh.

What is Love?
Love is people around us.
Stand there beautifully to color our lives.

What is Love?
Love is life it self.
What is life without love.

What is Love?
Love is you.
Someone out there waiting for me to meet with.

What is Love?
Love is God.
For He is the Source of Love.