Hello, Garuda Pancasila

Hello, Garuda Pancasila.

A creature that is so majestic and strong,

Ridden only by the Divinity.

A core of my country’s ideology.

A symbol of unity in diversity.

Or so I was told.

All those years in school, I was recited over your magnificence.

Through the books, I was serenaded about your greatness.

Everywhere I looked, I only saw your noble purpose.

Little did I know, I was a fool,

Unity in diversity comes with pages of conditional clause.

Only if we share the same faith.

Only if your skin’s shade is no fairer.

Only if you bound to the circle.

Something I used to hold dear,

turns out to be a mere fairy tale, an imaginary being, no better than unicorn.

A little bird whispered to my ear,

They told me you’re only asleep, ready to be awoken.

Another bird came,

And said you were left abandoned, unused, rumpled.

Hey you, mystical bird of mine.

I hope you will show up in time.

Before we ought to paint our skin just to walk in the street,

Before we ought to betray our heart to sing a song,

Before we ought to thread another bare to cover our scars.

Xoxo,

A lilliputian sneaking through giants tries to wake you up.

Hello, Friday

Hello, Friday.

The fairest of them all.
The one that people always thank God for.
The day every one's been waiting all week.
Friday.

Most people loathe Monday, others get tired with Tuesday.
They barely live on Wednesday and Thursday.
And everyone's glorifying Friday.
While Saturday and Sunday just fly by.

What have you done to earn the special spot, Friday?
- God given, I assume.

People are like that.
Some are born God-given-Friday, they effortlessly enchant every one.
Thing is, not everyone's born with the charm.
They were born quiet, they were born wallflower, they were born socially awkward.

Like days-that-are-not-Friday, people unconsciously lessen the value of a-not-God-given-Friday-people.
Under-appreciated.

Lucky you, Friday.



Xoxo,
a-Tuesday-born.

Hello, Books

Hello, Books.

If I were about to be asked who my first love is, It wouldnt come as a surprise that it's you, my prized possession.
My love for you was started out simple,
when I first experienced the pure pleasure of reading story books,
when I couldnt take my eyes off piles of comic books,
when I first mesmerized by my elementary school's library.

I adored you, countless times, in many forms.
Back then, I was never taught how to appreciate things,
and being a careless child that I was, I dishonored you - mistreated you - by mindlessly piling you up on my messy table.
No wonder she forbid me to own you.
But I had the strong urge to read, thus the implacable me shamelessly read at bookstore for hours.

Years passed, things changed, I've learned to keep you safe and sound.
Still, she resents the idea of me reading.

'Get a life'

But I do, I've got to live a thousand lifes from books.
But I do, I've felt livelier reliving stories.
But I do, I've felt more content reading stack of letters.

Is it so wrong to love you and throw my money for you?
I just wish she had experienced your sacred touch,
that she would understand that 'life' itself has many different form.



Xoxo,
A girl who is tired of being chastised for being too fond of books.