166: oh sheet

i am in love
with excel;
letters and numbers and symbols
all aligned neatly in columns and rows - its infinity,
the ease in which
cents and sense add up
as i am handed the ability to
manipulate and enumerate;
formulating and formatting,
manually or conditionally.

to be honest, my love for spreadsheet is newfound
i am barely waddling in the deep-end,
bound by cells
within my control,
but too often i forget
that my obsession with virtual borders
is merely a means of containment
to manifest contentment:

facts and fractions could be put in boxes
but not faces
not feelings
not you
not me.


Last updated: 2019-08-10 6.49pm

165: do you kopi

i was jingled into believing that

hitam itu keunggulan:

invoking senses by blended scents rising

from steaming water stirred

with spoonfuls of bold black and sugarcane specks,

the whirlpool pulling me in

is a dark swirl of mixed notes

and spiralling memories, of moods

swinging from the coldest of temperaments

to blistering tempers and tongues.

i grew up thinking

everyone started their day with java,

that instead of learning to ice our burns,

we were all taught

that all it takes to deal with heated things

is to pour out the contents in a shallow container,

and either blow some steam off or wait for it cool down

before you dip in and sip

till the last drop.

life feels a lot like a cup of kopi o

complex

bittersweet

anxiety-inducing.

wait.

is that why i just buy four boxes of fruity teas?

Last updated: 2019-09-03 5.27pm

164: harapkan pagar, pagar makan hati

forgive me
for my
staggered
response,
i am still struggling to gain composure from past blows.

the hard expressions i wear (a mask at best)
and the hostile exterior i carry (an armor at least)
are all attempts to cushion any sudden or sustained impact
on my mushy softnesses inside,
yet all the walls i keep building are no match for my constantly outstretched arms
—my first line of defense and my most faithful traitor
everready to charge headfirst and to wave the white flag
in the battle of hearts.

i must confess
my sleeves have turned black
from wearing my heart on them
so religiously.
you can't kinstugi shatteredheartpieces
when it's still bleeding,
so i have spent decades perfecting
the art of stitching them together
with flimsy threads of self-love
and forced silver livings.

sometimes i wonder
how despite everything
it still keeps on beating.

sometimes i wonder
why despite everything
it still keeps me alive.

2019-06-13