Impromptu writing

Go with peace.

Go with peace, to the place you long for. To the green rolling hills, where the wind always blow oh so very softly, tickling your cheeks that have dried up tears on it.

Go with peace, and take your anger with you. Throw it at the edge of the world, where the waves hit the rocks and chips the jagged rocks into nothingness.

Go with peace, and walk under the pouring rain. Breathe in the smell of water hitting the cobblestones, where maybe the world is simple and beautiful as it is.

Go with peace, even when peace is the last thing you have, as I’ve been losing you one day at a time.

Go with peace.

Impromptu writing


This does not feel like my home anymore. It never was, but I thought that I could make this house a home. At least for a little while. Long enough to take away the confusion, the loneliness, and the anger that have taken over my life.

The doors felt heavy, the steps I took are heavy too. Heavy with regret and anger. It is always the anger that surge first, followed by either sadness, regrets or confusion.

And so I turned on the light. Illuminating every dark corners of the house, but not the dark corners of my mind. Inside it, lurks the darkest thought that I swore I would never visit when I was younger, but as I grew older I have become their frequent visitor. Considering if it ever was the best course in life for me.

I threw myself on the hard dark couch. It was not plush. It is firm, just like my conviction was before all of this started. But the further I go, the less firm my conviction became, and yet the darker my thoughts have become. Darker than the couch.

As I sat there, I stare at the bright white ceiling and realised that I am not who I was before. I close my eyes, blocking the bright lights. And for once, I finally accepts the person I have become.

Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.

And let the water flow.

Impromptu writing

My life ended when I turned 30.

My life ended when I turned 30.
The responsibility of adult life catch up to me.
I was not fast enough, either to learn or to runaway.
It is chase or be chased, kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

Everything was pointing to a start of something bad.
But what’s the worst that could happen when you have the currency of happiness?
I’m talking about money, of course.
I have money, therefore I shall be happy.

But, I was wrong.
Because that kind of happiness is just superficial.
It does not extend to the deepest depths of one’s soul.
It blinded those who taste the sweet nectar of money.

I was one of those people.
I was blinded by what money can offer, I held back my tongue.
I let people and life run me over for the sweet sweet sweet nectar of money.
It matters not that I am battered and bruised, so long as I have money at the end of my day.

It was so easy to think that you have everything wrapped around your finger.
It was so easy to believe that you have finally mastered the art of figuring out life’s mysterious workaround.
It was so easy to be deluded by money.
It was so easy until the day it was not.

My life ended when I turned 30.
I am alive but the road to the rest of my life has ended when I turned 30.
No more hills to climb, no plains to slide.
Only one long and winding road full of repetitions, of predicted events with different players.

My life ended when I turned 30.
Because I opened the Pandora Box thinking I know better.
Because I thought I can do the things those before me could.
Because I am not who I thought I was when I set out for the quest of a lifetime.

Impromptu writing

I see him.

I see him everywhere I look.

I see him in the roads that I take, in the buildings that I visits.

I see him in the empty seat.

I see him in the doors that I lock.

I see him in the slippers that were left behind.

I see him in the way that he fixed the bed for me.

I see him in the clothes that he hangs when he irons my clothes.

I see him in the chocolates that he bought on a whim.

I see him in the Advil that he no longer needs.

I see him in every corner of the house where he used to lay down, sit down, wash the dishes.

I see him in the neighbourhood that he loves.

I see him in my phone setting because he used to beg to have an internet connection when we’re out and about.

I see him in the blue sky, because I used to tell him, “hey, look at the clouds. Take a picture of it. It looks so surreal.”

I see him in the stupid way people drive their car, because I usually cussed and he would hold my hands and say, “hey, I know they’re stupid, but we’re here together. It’s going to be fine.”

I see him every time I close the door, because usually he’s there with his arms stretched open, welcoming me in a hug as if to say, “hey, we’re here, we’re safe, the day is over, and there’ll be better days tomorrow for us.”



Impromptu writing


impromptu-writingI enrol in the school of life not because I want to, but because I had to. One does not go about walking in this life without enrolling in the school of life. In this school of life, one undergoes series of classes that changes your shape into that of others’ before you. They say, be different because everybody else is taken. But if I’m not what they want me to be, I am ostracised from the rest and made to swallow little pills supposedly doing me good than harm. Must I stay when it’s not even my decision to be here in the first place? Must I be punished for the acts of those before me? Must I be made square when all I want is to be fluid?

Impromptu writing inspired by this prompt.

Impromptu writing

What Amy said.

I have loved and I have lost, for love is an intangible thing. I have loved and I have lost, for there is no guarantee if you give out love, it will return to you. I have loved and I have lost, for I foolishly believed that love was mine for the taking. I have loved and I have lost, and Amy was right when she sang that love is a losing game.

Jakarta, 3 August 2017


Impromptu writing

Impromptu writing: I fear for her.

I fear for her.

I dread the day that golden eyes shine no more.

I dread the day that face would scrunch no more.

I fear for her.

What if she no longer comes when I called for her?

What if she no longer there when I need to hug her?

I fear for her.

I do not wish her to be alone.

I do not wish her to groan.

I fear for her.

She deserves more.

She deserves to soar.

I fear for her,

for I will be gone

and it would feel like eon.

I fear for her,

but I fear for myself more.

If the end should come,

I see myself turning numb.

Jakarta, 15 June 2017

Impromptu writing


Everything is temporary. My health, my joy, my sorrow, my money, and my life. Nothing ever lasts forever. But it doesn’t make it any easier, does it?

If anything, it makes it harder to go by.

Knowing that my sorrow is temporary, I focus too much on when it will all blow over, forgetting the important lessons offered by my sorrow.

Knowing that my health is temporary, I worry too much on every step I take that I forgot to enjoy what I have. Then I chastise myself, only to take my health for granted, for what good is a good health if you can’t make the best of it.

Knowing my joy is temporary, I am much too preoccupied at being angry at why I can’t always be happy.

Knowing that the money I owned is temporary, I scrutinized all my spending only to be tired of it all and just spend it so long as I have the means to do so.

Knowing my life is temporary, I pretend like I don’t care but the thought plague my mind ever since.

So, nothing is really forever?

Fear not, for the cycle of stupidity is forever. One man down, another is ready to continue the cycle of stupidity until the world comes to its end.


Who knows?

I sure don’t.

A/N. Impromptu writing is written without a plan at hand by continuously typing the things that crosses one’s mind. It was not meant to be understood, it is a practice for the mind when everything seems so clustered that one cannot control one’s own train of thoughts.

This one is written with Basic Tape’s No Matter playing in the background.