Life is a conspiracy to make one forget one’s identity, incident by incident, day by day. It is a constant free-fall through a rabbit-hole of misadventures. If one tracks it, most of the time is spent in relentless struggle to survive, as if in a long-drawn war. The experience is like tiptoeing through a web of traps cleverly woven by a spider which has mastered the art of distraction, and the prey always falls for one when it’s least expecting. There are only two ways to exit – dystopia or death.

All my preoccupation may merely be ways to keep you off my mind.

We are so different. And yet in a quiet, cold evening like this I would like to be with you by the fireplace and listen to the faint local folk music floating from the other side of the hill afar, covered in dark crimson… barely visible. To me, that evening would be enough for a lifetime. Since my efforts to reach out to you to escape my world of silence was the problem, you will find me muted. Just like I am now… just like all my time lately is.

In my dream I found you to whisper my stories to. When I woke up I lost my voice forever. I had nothing left to say anymore.

Something was amiss in the beauty of the first rain… until you stepped out.

When all is done and the soul becomes an island or a desert, does every breath feel like a curse?

Today I taught Buku (my son) that the most precious thing in life is love, followed by time.

You are so beautiful in scarlet. How could I take my eyes off you?

Who knows what language she speaks, but every muffled word is music to my ears… as if I could spend the rest of my life trying to decipher them, trying to understand the secret behind her everlasting euphoria.