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.

A family is not only all about:
Vacations . affectionate gestures . luxuries . reputation
But in simple terms, it is all about:
Some quality time . Eating meals together . Sharing each others concerns .
A home of emotions, unity and togetherness.

" J’espère en toi pour nous" Gabriel Marcel

When we share hope our bond is real
     And when our voices chant a blended song,
Our ties are strong as tempered steel.

In anxious times with fears surreal,
     We seek out friends among the throng.
Without shared hope no bond is real.

But when our wills compel us feel
     Spirit-bound to search, however long
For ties as strong as tempered steel,

Without a sign, the fates reveal
     A newfound friend who's come along
To share our hope; our bond is real!

With zest our common course we seal
     Hope-called by duty’s Siren song
Our ties are strong as tempered steel,

With light and reason to fire our zeal,
     We rise to challenge fortune’s wrong.
When we share hope our bond is real;
     Our ties are strong as tempered steel.

I. Left Arm
A hush in motion,
arms begin their arch —
like bridges bending
toward heartbeat harbors.
Hands become question marks,
asking: Are you real, too?

II. The Middle
Inhale meets inhale.
A spine leans into its echo.
This is not silence—
it is listening, still and warm.

III. Right Arm
Fingers finish the sentence.
Two bodies bracket a breath,
then exhale the same punctuation.mak
Let go. Not apart. Just wider.

A hug is not just arms around a body.
It’s the quiet agreement that you are here,
and I am here,
and in this small moment, we are not alone.

It is the architecture of presence—
built without blueprints,
rising from instinct,
constructed in silence.

A hug doesn’t ask questions.
It doesn’t require explanations.
It listens with skin,
responds with pressure,
and holds what cannot be spoken.

It can say “I missed you”
without syllables.
It can say “You’re safe,”
even when nothing else feels that way.

When the world is too loud,
a hug is the volume dial turned down.
When you’ve come undone,
a hug doesn’t try to fix—
it simply stays.

It can be the end of a long fight,
or the beginning of forgiveness.
It can remind you
what steady feels like,
what warm feels like,
what being wanted feels like.

And here’s the literal truth:
A hug slows the heart.
It lowers cortisol,
eases muscle tension,
and tells your nervous system
that you are not in danger.

A hug is a biological signal:
You matter.
You are not a threat.
You can rest now.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes to keep going.