Minding Kikie

I read this poem at my friend, Angel's blogs.. and totally love it! I hope you don't mind dear angel that i post it here as well.... This just shows that We Are Too Alike! :) A Warrior is a Child Lately I’ve been winning battles left and right But even winners can get wounded in the fight People say that I’m amazing, strong beyond my years But they don’t see inside of me, I’m hiding all the tears They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around I drop my sword and cry for just a while Deep inside this armor – the warrior is a child. Unafraid because His armor is the best But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest. People say that I’m amazing – never face retreat But they don’t see the enemies that lay me at His feet. They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around I drop my sword and look up for a smile ‘Cause deep inside th

I have been feeling this overwhelming sadness for over a month now.. I am tired.. I usually could tell myself to do anything.. but this one time, it didn't work! Could I ever be happy again? Could I ever smile the way I used to? Could I ever be the same person that I was before that sad Monday in September? Couldn't help but keep thinking about those questions...

Ayah, Abah, Father, Dad, Daddy, one word so simple referring to a man whose sperms create us, some of them, even raise us with love, care and patient to make us what we are today. While for me, I use Bapak, which later changed it to Daddy, to call this man. Lucky for me, I am one of those people who are raised by their father. Again, lucky me, not only raised me, but he also showered me with love, care and patient. Even now, when he’s not around anymore, because Allah loves him more than we do, I can still feel the way he loved all of us in the family. Bapak is one of a kind. Physically, he was a handsome man. Sometimes during our quality times together, he would asked me “Your dad is a handsome man, huh?” and I would just said “Yeah, sure!”. I don’t know why I answered that way when my heart always convinced that he is, in fact, the most handsome man I ever know. I guess I just don’t want to hear him repeating what I said over and over and over, because he just loved it when

Smile grows wider. Hands fastly cleaning the desk. Checking up the last emails of the day. Favorite time of the day. Time to leave the small cubicle. Time to fly elsewhere and say goodbye to this building called office. Time when it’s almost five. Why is it matter when the clock hits five? I wonder. What makes five so special? Again, I wonder. I am only heading home anyway, there’s no party waiting, no husband, nor kids, just a simple dinner on the table. At certain times, I am sure that it’s my job that makes me feel this way, but no, because even when I’m having fun at it I am still waiting for the five. So, what is it? After doing some thinking, I came up with an answer. Five represents the time when I could stop worrying about life for a moment. Worrying about whether I could live up to people’s expectation of me doing my job perfectly, about me being a good boss or a reliable co-worker, or even my own expectation to achieve my dream. Five means to rest. Really?

I love to write... What I love more is... people enjoy my writing Blogspot is not actually a new thing for me.. hear of it from Cibeck my sister who's been familiar with this thing for a long time.. but when Rui Tiao sent me a message about our writing suddenly this becomes interesting.. hhmm.. I could write in a more broad media.. :) This is only my first writing here.. I have some more.. and for those of you who reads them... enjoy them.. and if you don't.. pls comment on WHY?! huahahha..