Thank you

thank you miracle

at least something in my life is this beautiful

being able to find you again, not in just my dream but is in real

and for having you being by my side

lift me up, hold my hand

warm me up, hear me out

and loving me for who i really am

kau ilhamku...

thank you, the hand... for staying

The Hand

The hand
That pinches me
Hits me
Always be ready to squeeze my pimples with devilish face

The hand
That pinches my nose when another hand is holding a book to read for me
Rubs my head but never fixes after that and laugh because of the look of me
Wipes on my shirts when it's wet or something is sticking on it
And puts pepper or soya sauce into my drinks

The hand
That cheats whenever playing some game
That secretly throws meat to me and steals my mouse
Punches hippo
Throws hippo
And digs his noses

The hand
That pulls my pants
Being noty to block me from going to the toilet
Purposely hits outside to make me run while playing ping pong or badminton
That pulls my ears
And happily picks 'things' in there out for me

The hand
That plucks my legs' hair
Steals my drinks
Tickles my feet
Unties my shoelaces
As well as throwing my slippers away

But then that hand
Leads me to where I should buy another slippers
And if I've ever almost fell down
It is there to hold me tight

The hand
That covers my eyes
From violent scene, or something I'm scared of
And it silently takes my tears away
While another one is hugging me from shivering

The hand
That can't draw well neither be able to cut straight
Yet it makes for me a handmade birthday card

The hand
That captures my moments
Patiently fixes the kite
Checks if I'm inside
And finally is always silently covering blanket

The hand
That washes dishes
Cleans my fan
That buy Strepsil for noty throat
And hugs me when I am sick and no electric available

The hand
That drives me to happiness
Stops me from danger
And wraps around me just to say goodbye

The hand
That holds umbrella outside
Waiting while it was raining heavily
Keep rubbing me if I was not warm enough
And if I keep sweating due to hot
The hand is there to wipe for me

The hand
That holds my shoulders when I'm riding
Pats on me to signal me to go
Holds the helmet when it's going to fly away
Or holds a cup for me whenever I need to drink
And zips up my jacket if I ever say that I'm cold

The hand

That buys lunch for me
Hold me while changing gear

After running under the rain afraid I will be hungry at home

That helps me to apply eye drop

And washes hair for me

That same hand

Peels crabs

Takes vegy

And cook many things for me

The hand
Not hard, not dry, nor strong enough
But soft, fragile, and easy to 'run away'
Yet is the tightest and the warmest hand that I'm proud to have...
But I'm willing to let it go to fly high

Thanks for everything, the hand...
Stay warm and peaceful...

I'm Sorry

"When you lost something, you found something instead"

1st time ever, I'm able to see you in my dream. Your were always going to appear but never before.. I see it again...your voice, your appearance, your watch, your green shirt (as a day care teacher)... everything is still so clear, what my memory remembers about you, remain unchanged.. is it a sign? I'll try, at least I try to find you just like how I do in my dream.. and please...

I'm sorry for being such a silly kid by that time, receiving your special care but I ran away, tried to hide and found the other ways so you wouldn't see me for no reason!

You were more than a mom to me, who gave me that K milk when I was sick. When I grow up I know it was VinamilK with the K capital instead. It tasted nice, even nicer when I was sick. I don't like milk but sometimes I do drink it for this haunted memory in me. When mom picked me up late, you warmed me up with a bread (got chili though), when I fell down, you applied medicine, you spared only me when the whole class was punished and if had to punish me, I still got the least painful one, you gave only me your house phone number and your full name... and my birthday you gave me a big bear which I named Duba...

15 years for being a coward, I always wanted to go back there to find you. But I didn't. That place was where all my best memory of my family, of you which it breaks me into pieces if I see it again.

I was very stupid for so many years, wrote to you during 20 November and received a sorry letter said that my teacher moved before they even started renting. But her handwriting was very alike yours, you know... so I thought...

Please, I have lost something I treasured the most recently, let me find you once again... I'm sorry

The Hand (updated version)

The hand
That pinches me
Hits me
Always be ready to squeeze my pimples with devilish face

The hand
That pinches my nose when another hand is holding a book to read for me
Rubs my head but never fixes after that and laugh because of the look of me
Wipes on my shirts when it's wet or something is sticking on it
And puts pepper or soya sauce into my drinks

The hand
That cheats whenever playing some game
That secretly throws meat to me and steals my mouse
Punches hippo
Throws hippo
And digs his noses

The hand
That pulls my pants
Being noty to block me from going to the toilet
Purposely hits outside to make me run while playing ping pong or badminton
That pulls my ears
And happily picks 'things' in there out for me

The hand
That plucks my legs' hair
Tickles my feet
Unties my shoelaces
As well as throwing my slippers away

But then that hand
Leads me to where I should buy another slippers
And if I've ever almost fell down
It is there to hold me tight

The hand
That covers my eyes
From violent scene, or something I'm scared of
And it silently takes my tears away
While another one is hugging me from shivering

The hand
That can't draw well neither be able to cut straight
Yet it makes for me a handmade birthday card

The hand
That captures my moments
Patiently fixes the kite
Checks if I'm inside
And finally is always silently covering blanket

The hand
That washes dishes
Cleans my fan
That buy Strepsil for noty throat
And hugs me when I am sick and no electric available

The hand
That drives me to happiness
Stops me from danger
And wraps around me just to say goodbye

The hand
That holds umbrella outside
Waiting while it was raining heavily
Keep rubbing me if I was not warm enough
And if I keep sweating due to hot
The hand is there to wipe for me

The hand
That holds my shoulders when I'm riding
Pats on me to signal me to go
Holds the helmet when it's going to fly away
Or holds a cup for me whenever I need to drink
And zips up my jacket if I ever say that I'm cold

The hand

That buys lunch for me

After running under the rain afraid I will be hungry at home

That helps me to apply eye drop

And washes hair for me

That same hand

Peels crabs

Takes vegy

And cook many things for me

The hand
Not hard, not dry, nor strong enough
But soft, fragile, and easy to 'run away'
Yet is the tightest and the warmest hand that I'm proud to have...