I’m crying, again. Everybody said that I’m a happy person, always cheerful and my live is perfect. But nobodies know about my sorrow, my problems and what I feel, except my husband of course. I always said to my husband,”If my husband is not you, maybe I have got depressed and ran away from this country.” Even though I didn’t have money to go back to my homeland, probably I could do anything to leave my husband, to fly away as far as I can. Fortunately, God gives me a husband like him, a perfect husband for me. He just like an angel who can cure my broken wings so we could fly together again. He is my shoulder to cry on, my ‘harbor’ for all of my suffering. Without him, I’m nothing. Without him, I’m drowning.
Why Do I Write?
“Why do I write? Why do I write? Why do I write?,” Just like a bee buzzing around flowers, this question come up to my mind ever and ever again, wherever I am. Yes, Why do I write? Isn’t it odd? I have been writing for several years, but I never ask this question, this fundamental question. This question keep bothering me since somebody suggested me to ask my self about it.
Then, in a lovely evening, when my children was playing around me and my husband was working in his ‘laboratory’, I took a deep breath, lied in my bed, pondered to answer this question deeply. I tried to look for the answer, but my mind just kept silent and my heart didn’t give any signal even one clue. I waited and waited, hoping the answer would pop up in my mind, but useless. I felt bad and tired. Oh God, why is it so difficult to answer the question?
When Eleventh Comes
When eleventh comes, beyond tenth, our heart’s joy
When eleventh comes, cudlle us, our lips smile
When eleventh comes, wake us up, our soul flies
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