I’m looking at my own heart right now.

Although not literally – because it would be scary – I’m imagining that I’m sitting right in front of it– I’m sitting right in front of its cage.
And I wonder, what my heart contains? How does it look like from here?
Well, It seems like it contains all of me, my stories, or you could say, my soul.
Let me describe it properly.
Or rather, lengthily.


To make it easier, imagine it as a place with so many rooms inside, all with different memories, and with blocks that categorized the rooms.
Each room have different stories, and the rooms that are closer to each other, have the same topic or the same type of stories.
Or, if you want to, imagine it as a circle, with so many layers.
But circle is not appropriate, you may say, because it doesn’t explain why some things are pictured as if it’s on the outer layer of my heart, and some things are pictured as being inside the core of my heart.

Actually, it’s kind of fitting.

Let’s begin with the first group / first category of rooms.
I remember the first time I called her on the phone.
Her voice was so cute, seriously, I can’t even begin to describe what it sounded like back then, but, one thing’s for sure: it was way different.
It might have something to do with her age, it was 7 years ago anyway.
But I don’t think that was the case.
I think, it was because I was already in love with her.
I don’t exactly remember what are the things that we were talking about that night, again, it was 7 years ago! But I do remember the exchange of laughs that happened between me and her, I was happy, so happy.
Even I could still slightly feel that day’s feelings right now.

I remember seeing her face on Skype for the first time.
Her room was dark, at first, but she immediately turned on the lights.
There she was, short-haired, (She was long-haired in her photos before I saw her the first time via Skype, and God I did and still do love her in that short hair) smiling, and began to talk with a mature voice, a different voice than the last time I called her years before that day.
I mentioned her about her voice, about her short hair, and about us.
Needless to say, it was one hell of a memory.

I remember that time when we exchanged words of love.
It was all thanks to her writing, that made me came to my senses, that gave me courage to say to her that I do love her so fucking much.
After that, well, things are just snowballing.
Just try to enter other rooms.

I remember the writings, the poems, and the letters that she wrote for me.
The magical book that she wrote every single day, and all the things that she wrote about me and her, all written in the papers that slowly flies across the room.
The poem that she wrote before I went to see her.
The letter that she wrote for our first anniversary.
The short, quick letter that she wrote in my brown envelope couple hours right before I went to board my plane back home at the airport.
And all the spoilers that she gave me about the things that she wrote right in her magical book, because I’m not supposed to read that book before it’s full.
Those papers, those words, those writings, all are in the shade of her face when she wrote them, in the same serious and smiling face that she showed me.
She’s a lovely writer indeed.

I remember the things that we did together.
We were eating at a certain restaurant, and saw a Belgian man using his chopsticks wrong, because he was trying to use it as if he’s holding a fork.
We were laughing without even uttering a word looking at that.
Maybe it was ordinary, but for us, I guess that moment was so magical.
Because it was a moment where we felt so connected to each other.
Or the time when we were eating at another restaurant, where I saw her eating so much food, up to the point where I gave up and stopped eating first.
It was strange, but funny, because she has small posture, small body and all, but she could eat that much? I just didn’t think that was possible.
Besides, she was so cute, I couldn’t resist looking at her eating those food.

And so many other things that would take hours to describe, from when we kissed beside the river, when we spent nights together, almost every single thing and every single moment that I spent with her.
Just get inside this room and see for yourself, and you’ll understand.

Those are the fondest, warmest, and the happiest moments that I have with her.
The rooms are all about those, all about her and me.

And now, other sets of corridors, with the same category of rooms at their left and right, further inside the heart, and quite far away from the first rooms.
I honestly don’t really see things clearly in these rooms.
Because… I don’t really have a clear grasp on the sceneries.
I saw her meeting me around 4 years ago in a certain coffee shop.
We were talking about a lot of things, it wasn’t really clear what are the topics, but it looked like we clicked instantly, as if in that moment we didn’t need anything whatsoever for us to connect heart by heart.
But, the thing is, I didn’t even get the chance to meet her 4 years ago.
She lied to me, saying that she got cramps and her mother just didn’t allow her to go outside because of her condition, and because she’s in pain.
The truth is, she met someone else, that day at the day we supposed to meet.
I don’t think I need to tell you how sad I was that day.

I saw myself holding my phone about 6 years ago.
I was looking at a text from her, she was asking me to call her that day.
I immediately went up, reached my phone, and call her.
I heard her sobbing, saying that she’s so afraid of fireworks, and that her depression came back, the the point where she started to cut herself.
She told me a lot of stories, and I calmed her down.
Again, It was completely different than what happened that day.
On that day, I didn’t manage to call her at all, because I was out of credits (voice call were not yet popular at that time), and, although I tried to borrow my sister’s phone, the signal was so weak, I wasn’t able to make any outgoing calls.
I messaged her several times after trying, and the text barely managed through because of weak signal, and she stopped messaging me few minutes after that.
I didn’t clearly remember what happened afterwards, but, the feeling of not being able to be there for her – at least via phone call – when she was at her lowest point, was one of the worst feeling I’ve had in my entire life.

I saw myself 1.5 years ago.
I was having a Skype call with her, it was only few days after the bloody (not literally) incident that changed her and us happened.
I was asking her what happened, but she was so reluctant to explain.
I told her that it’s okay if she needs time, that it’s okay if she just need all the time in the world to calm down after all the things that happened to her.
She smiled, and said thank you to me for being so understanding.
Well, in the reality, not so much– it really was NOT like that.
When she said that she just doesn’t want to explain to me anything and when she said that she doesn’t have anything to explain, I immediately snapped.
I snapped to the point where I said that everything she said just doesn’t make sense at all, because, supposedly, when she have a problem, she should have just come to me and tell me everything there is about her problems.
She did explain to me so many things, about what happened to her, although not all, and then stated in the end that she just couldn’t trust anyone right now.
Including me.
It was the last time I’m having Skype call with her, and it was closed with a painful goodbye, with a sentence that she said that I still remember until now:

“I don’t know when will we be able to talk like this again.”

And, apparently, it took her 1.5 years to be able to see me and talk to me again.

I saw myself about to part ways with her about a month ago.
We were about to go back from dinner, and I was about to go to a different train station, because I was staying at a place quite far from her place.
I looked at her closely, and asked for a hug.
She gave me one.
After that, we parted ways, and texted each other.
Yeah, no, she didn’t gave me a hug in reality, in fact, she looked like she was in a hurry, well, it was already late afterall.
But, her gesture, the way she was so afraid of me, kind of hurts me and all.
She said earlier that day that it’s not like she doesn’t want to trust anyone and all, it was something else, something about her not yet contented with her life.
But okay, I need to suck it up for that one, no matter how much it hurt me.

Enough for me to be in those rooms, I’ve seen enough.
I believe there are so many other things that I will remember if I want to see what’s inside another room, such as the days where we were apart because of her ex, or even those times where I forced her to answer things that she just doesn’t want to answer, yes, I know the latter was just so bad.
Now I understand.
Those are the moments where it feels like I hurt her.
Moments where I weren’t able to be there with her– the time where it feels like I hurt her– and other moments that I want to change if I could.

Those moments, they are filled with hope, a useless hope, you could say, because the moments have already passed– those moments, they are merely in the past.
Yet, those moments also filled with various degree of regrets.

Those are moments that I want to change– if only I have the power to do so.

I continue walking, down the halls, and the lights are getting darker.
The corridors are very strange and very different from those that I saw.
Here, there are no lights in the corridors, only some faint lights that escaped from inside the room, only those lights – from the doors on the left and on the right – showed me the way through these dark and narrow corridors.
And I wonder, what kind of thing awaits me inside?

I saw myself reading the same news from her again and again.
They were the same scene, same method, flying slowly across the room for me to see.
Yes, I remember those scenes, although they were sequential, they didn’t happen at the same time, and although they were all the same thing she did to me.
They were times when she decided to stop talking to me for some period of time.
It’s not like she decided the time range to stop talking to me, what makes them so painful was, because, she did it over an over again– silent treatment.
Now, I understand that she might have her own reasons, but, the feelings are just so filthy, so painful, and so unfair, to the point where it devastated me– a little bit on the outside, but so chaotic one the inside.
Imagine getting a silent treatment from the person that you love so much.
Done? now multiply that several times, let’s say, 8 times.
Done? now, add random value from several months to 2 years to those times.
Now tell how would you feel when you get that sort kind of treatment.
Tell me that those things aren’t painful– tell me right in front of my face.

In other room, I see myself lying on my bed, gazing up at the ceiling while holding a straight razor in my right hand, and I was half laughing, and half crying.
I looked at my left hand, and lifted my right hand, ready to cut myself.
With the blade getting close few centimetres from my hand, I threw away my razor to the floor at the side of my bed, and covered up my face with my both hand.
And I cried without a sound, my body was shaking very hard.
It was the aftermath, after what happened to me and her, in which I don’t think I feel the need to explain what happened between me and her– I wrote it literally hundreds of times, and it’s everywhere on this blog.
I remember at that time, I was thinking of the words that she said to me once, about how outside pain from those cuts could numb the inside pain.
And I don’t even know why I wanted to try that, honestly.
All I know that day, I just wanted to take away the pain completely.
And permanent solution for that was definitely not the answer.

I saw myself in a dark room now.
I recognized the room, it was my bedroom back in my place 1.5 years ago.
I saw myself having difficulties typing things on my keyboard, and I was half-crying, and shaking almost so badly from seeing messages from her.
It was the first time she said to me that she just can’t trust anyone, and by anyone, that includes me, a person that didn’t have anything to do with those goddamn people that did terrible, terrible things to her.
I remember that I felt my world collapsing as she said that, I just can’t accepted the fact, it was silly, and it didn’t make any sense at all.
And I actually cried.
I didn’t even remember when was the last time I cried that hard before that day.

I saw myself drinking coffee.
It was already 1 AM, and all I did was writing things on my book.
I was there back in my hometown, writing things in my own room, and constantly sighing, thinking about things that happened earlier that day.
It was the day that she lied to me.
What broke me the most was the fact that I asked her so many times, yet she appeared to be so sure of herself that she was not lying to me, not at all.
The feeling was actually kind of weird, because I didn’t feel any pain.
When I knew that she lied to me, it felt like my heart was pulled out of its place, being thrown to pieces, and whoever threw it immediately pushed back all the broken pieces inside my chest, in just a matter of split seconds.
Honestly, when that happened, I kept telling myself that it was okay that she lied to me, that I finally know her true face, and that she just can’t be trusted.
But deep down, I know that she was just not like that, I knew that she was just taking steps back after what happened to her, because that’s what people do: building walls just to keep them from getting hurt all over again.
I’m not saying that the event did not have an impact, it did.
It was a life-changing moment that shapes me to become who I am right now.

As I walked down the corridor, I began to understand what are those rooms.
They are filled with the darkest moments in my life with her.
No, there is no love here– love is nothing in this part of me.
Alright, maybe I could think that other people’s deeds are not comparable to these blackened halls, maybe I do tip the scales of the universal painful-o-meter.
But, I just can’t begin to carefully explain how all of those events feel.

No, I can’t stay here.
I need to go forward, onto the next place inside my heart.

The corridors are still ask dark as before.
But, even though I’ve walked quite far, I still can’t find any doors.
All the way, it’s just the same cold, dark walls in my left and right.
After minutes of walking, I entered a big hall with a door at the end of it.
It’s a steel door, the kind that you have to push a little bit harder than the usual, old-fashioned wood door that you see everyday in your house.
And so I did, I pushed the door, and entered a totally different room.

In fact, it was not even a room at all.

All of a sudden, I was in the middle of a desert.
Before me stretched miles and miles of dry ground, well, it’s not quite of a desert, but not quite anything else either– just tired, bronze ground, stretching in all directions, unbroken by mountains or rivers or forests.
There’s not a single weed or mound marred its surface.
In fact, there’ nothing here, no creatures, no thunders, no weeping, no rain, no wind, not a single living thing stands in it but me.
There’s only one thing that differs, one large thing that no one would ever miss.

There’s a canyon, a giant crack zigzagged over the dry, bland ground in front of me, with no bridges spanned over it, and with no rivers filled it.

I approached the canyon carefully, and looked at the deepness of it.
I wasn’t able to tell how deep it is, but I could see the sand from the edge of the canyon slowly pours into its depth, bit by bit, trying to fill it.
Futile attempt, maybe, since I don’t see how would the canyon be filled with sand.
But, maybe, maybe it’s one of my own way to mend my own broken heart.
Because, I know that no one would want to help me, at least that’s what I see.

Not even her.

I turned around, and walked back to the same door that I went into.
I’ve seen enough, and I already know how my heart looks like inside.
I needed to get out of this barren, desolate place.
Looking at the state of my heart, it does explain why I said it’s like a circle.
I show warm and happy things to people, while keep the darkest things to myself.
And, for people to get to know me completely, they have to walk down the corridors of my heart to finally understand how do I truly look inside.
And that’s why I said a circle is kind of fitting for my heart.


I put my heart back in a cage, and locked it.
I’ve seen enough of what’s inside my heart, of what happened between me and her since years ago, our story, and how do we get here until today.
I know that this locked heart is the reason why I write less and less these days.
And one of the reason why I write quite badly recently.

Few days ago, hours before I posted my last post, I was writing in my desk.
I was at the office, scratching things on my book.
When the writing was complete, I put the words on a piece of paper, and left it on my desk, and began to post it here.
I was barely finished the post when my co-worker suddenly came and ask if he could read whatever it is that was written on the paper.
This co-worker of mine was just like me, he loves to write things, too.
But, the difference is, he usually writes using our native language.
I said yes, and let him took the paper and read it.
After a while, he let out some unusual comment:

“This feels so empty. It’s as if it was written by a heartless person.”
“From all of these sentences, the only, truly, honest and heart-wrenching ones that could invoke your feelings are the last two sentences.”
“All else are… Meaningless? I don’t know, that’s just what I feel.”

I laughed bitterly at his words.
And if you ask me what I thought about his words, well, I don’t really know.
I mean, I did try to pour out what’s inside my heart into the paper.
According to him, it seems like I succeeded and failed at the same time.
But, what he said to me won’t stop me from writing things.
No matter how heartless I would be, no matter how obstructed my words are, I will still write, and I will make sure that those are my honest thoughts and feelings.

Because, this is the place where I want to go back to feel everything every single day, no matter how heartless I could be.


Dear Love,

Now you know how it looks like inside.
Although it doesn’t explain why I put my heart on a cage, but at least you know.
If I have to explain, it’s because I want to be more pragmatic in dealing things.
For me right now, it’s good to put aside my heart along with its feelings– all that I feel– aside and away from my daily activities.
As what the pragmatic itself means, it does makes me more practical.
And, it enables me to do everything way easier.

Yet, like I said, I struggled.

Because, we’ve given our all to each other in moments, we’ve breathed life and radiated light and heat, stormed into each other’s life like the sunshine after a pouring rain that brightens up even our darkest corners.
Yet, as with our conditions right now, we don’t allow each other to know that.
Although for me it’s a new thing, and for you, you look like you’ve shut your heart after what happened to you and what happened between you and me, but after I met you last month, I finally knew that you still haven’t changed.

You still could say the right words, and do the right things so effortlessly and consistently that sometimes it makes me wonder whether everything is too good to be true– that knowing you, loving you, is just some kind of a dream in this reality.

I know that you don’t throw your words mindlessly, or make decisions hastily.
You consider things (hopefully) carefully and know the effects of them.
And that includes our decision to be together, and to be like this for now.
Although at times, you might seem to be too sensitive, too reserved, too difficult, that I wonder if you are covered by too many shells to crack with this love, only because of the things that you did that some people just don’t really understand.
I don’t know if it’s because you have bruises that you’ve learned to hide, or tears that you’ve learned to swallow inside that made you put your guard up.
It’s like, before you, “forever” had long lost its meaning.
And it’s like “love” for you is closer to pain than to happiness.

It’s like you, are terrified– so terrified, in fact, that makes you go to the point where you don’t even want to know if any of this is going to be worth it.

Love, at this point, I just want you to know, that you could be like me.
Me, that, even though so pragmatic, so heartless because I put my heart in a cage, still come back to this place to write over and over again to feel everything.
I keep coming back to cherish, to relish everything that I could feel in my heart.

And I hope, I hope you are doing the same thing whenever you read all of my posts.
Know that I just want to instill love– real love to you– to us.

Because no matter what happens after this, at least, for now, for however long we have our hearts intertwined, even if it’s entirely not visible, a person like you and a person like me, when we are together, we are something else entirely.

We see some real life magic– a magic called love.





I don’t have any quotes or sayings for you in this post.
But please, do listen to this song— this one’s for you.



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