God,
I know You understand the direction of every heart
far better than the one who carries it.
I never truly understood
how someone could feel so close,
even when we were raised under different skies,
with prayers that may not sound the same.
And yet,
somehow,
within all those differences,
I found something that felt like… home.
I do not ask You to change him by force,
nor do I beg for him to rush
toward what I believe in.
I only ask for one simple thing—
if there is a light
You have ever placed within me,
if there is any goodness that comes from You
that he has once seen, even for a moment,
let that be enough
to make him wonder.
Let that be enough
to make him seek.
And if one day
he finds something
that brings peace to his heart…
let it come from You,
not from me.
Because I know—
what comes from humans can be questioned,
but what comes from You
never loses its way.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 11:13 AM UTC
God,
I carry this hope
in the quietest way I know.
I do not speak it,
I do not force it,
and often,
I even hide it from myself.
Because I am afraid—
that if I hold it too tightly,
I might end up hurting
the very things I am meant to protect.
But You know,
behind all this silence,
there is a prayer
that keeps repeating without a sound.
If he is truly a part
of the goodness You have written for me,
then bring him closer
in the most gentle and rightful way.
And if not,
do not let this hope
turn into a wound.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 10:44 AM UTC
God,
I am beginning to understand
that not everything that feels right to me
is something I should pursue in my own way.
There are things far too vast
for me to control their direction—
including a heart
that was never mine to begin with.
I do not know
how to introduce You to him
without making him feel like a stranger
to himself.
So I choose silence,
and I entrust that part to You.
If there is indeed a light
that You have prepared for him,
let it arrive like the morning—
not forced,
not demanded,
but certain in its coming.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 10:40 AM UTC
Our love is like threads of songket and sari—
woven slowly, without haste,
brightly colored though from different hands.
You come from a land
where language and movement are like dance,
coloring days with spices and golden light.
I grew up on a land
quiet and simple,
where the wind knows the scent of warm rice and the first rain.
Our cultures are not patterns easily woven,
sometimes your threads don’t match my weave,
and the colors of my customs feel strange to your eyes.
Yet we choose to keep weaving—
not because it’s easy,
but because we know—
beauty can be born from knots of difference.
Though we have never met,
your words reach my evening window,
and my steps toward your land are carried not by promises,
but by hopes I plant
in the woven gaps of maps,
while you too nurture courage each night,
when screens become the only bridge between us.
Sometimes we quarrel,
like two folk songs crossing rhythms.
But love isn’t about being the same,
it’s about understanding
without changing each other’s base note.
You never ask me to be different,
and I never wish to erase what you bring.
We only embrace each other,
two souls from two lands,
who believe—
even threads of songket and sari that differ
can weave beautifully—
if embroidered into a heart that welcomes them.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 10:47 PM UTC
I'm trapped, it feels endless
Drowning in my own thoughts
Is the path I've chosen the right one?
Have I taken a wrong turn?
Then why do I see no light ahead?
So many pebbles disturbing steps
So many exhausting uphill climbs
Is the destiny I hold onto just an illusion?
Will The dream I proudly share fade into mere memories?
I've wandered this far,
God, guide me through my doubts.
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC
No time to carry the weight of their hate,
No space to kindle bitterness within.
Here I stand, wrapped in my wounds.
No words to unravel who I am,
No need to cleanse the stains of their judgment.
Here I linger, lost in my confusion.
No understanding do I seek from souls,
No gaze of sympathy do I crave.
It’s only me and the chaos I kept.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 8:28 PM UTC
You, once became a shade in the middle of a mirage,
Teaching the meaning of trust even though the world is gray
Among the ever-changing dune,
Our steps were once in rhythm, against the wind.
I know, the desert wind will not wait,
When the traces are finally swept away by time,
Memories become small hills on the horizon.
The sun sets,
Replaced by a cold night
And you whisper,
Not all wounds must be driven away,
Let it settle in a corner of the heart,
As a small lantern in the long night.
Now, I walk,
Carrying the burden of longing on my back,
With your shadow behind
Our story is like a small oasis
Which I sip enough to keep walking
Where I have found meaning among the barren sands.
Jan 1, 2025
Jan 1, 2025 at 9:55 AM UTC
The path of life I once beheld,
Until I agreed to be born into this world,
I knew the reason without a doubt—
You, destined to be my mother.
In a world of right and wrong, painted gray,
Your color shines as white to me
In another life with or without choice,
I choose you.
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 9:10 PM UTC
A row of tabs with titles in hiding,
Each one a witness to the weight of today
The clock ticks louder, each second sharp,
Echoing the resolve she’s forced to obey
When did life slip into this solemn tone?
Her hand hovers, drawn to a magazine,
Its cover untouched, still crisp and clean
She peels it open, and there it is—
The faint smell of paper, a balm for her soul.
Not pages of profit or the season’s couture,
But the world of Bobo, the blue rabbit and friends
Bright illustrations, laughter tucked in each corner,
A refuge from journals and theories that age her too soon.
Here, she remembers a simpler time,
A decade past, when her world felt lighter
This magazine, still standing, still waiting,
The same one that sparked her love for the written word.
She smiles,
Because even amidst the seriousness,
A pause is enough to bring her home.
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 9:14 AM UTC
Time and again—
I convince myself I'm not waiting—
Now or later.
What I confessed yesterday—
It was nothing more than to make your day.
I can compete with someone who likes you,
But I can't compete with someone you like.
Don't worry about me, sir
I stand in freedom.
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 6:22 AM UTC