what is life? the so-called life span we have, much terror, questions, wonder as to when this life will end. living for 22 years on this earth, with so many experiences either bad or good, has taught me the bittersweet life has to offer. sometimes i cry, sometimes i laugh, the other time i mourn over the loss of something -family, friend, memories, anything that is dear to me- katanya kita menghabiskan waktu tidur lebih banyak dari pada hidup itu sendiri. katanya nangis bisa ngurangin berat badan. katanya hidup itu cobaan.

there are a lot of things i want to share with no one in particular but hopefully someday this will reach certain people i loved the most. funny how i think of leaving everything behind anytime soon (better be prepared right?) so i started to pour every mumbling into this written letter.

22 tahun, menuju 23 yet i am nobody. growing up with a thought that everyone is special set in mind, never in a mere second the ten years old me thought that adulting is hard, real hard. im not kidding. the constant guilt of ripping your parents' money without doing something about life. its not like i didnt try. i tried. maybe not hard enough. i've been thinking about how i hate mama during this time, or maybe i hate her all this time? idk. i hate how she tried so hard to look,, fine. i mean whats wrong with mourning and grieving and simply tend to your sad poor self for a while? people are not made of some bullerproof skin that can always cover you from the sadness. living means laugh, warm rice, cute babies and also cry over your long-deceased lover, anxious of the exam results, an ugly clown in every red light. life comes with many colors, you cant choose only one or two three particular bright colors to color your life. it also needs some dark somber colors to make the bright ones shine brightest among the darkness. you have no idea how i want to blame mama for everything that happened to me. how she made me, me. how i look up to her. how i became another version of her in another whole different way. i hate it. i hate how mama reply curtly uninterested to what i was telling everytime i got home from spending some times with my best friends, how she didnt even ask how my life went. i wonder if papa were still here, what does life have to offer this time? perhaps another happiness, another cute baby, lot and lot of memories on car ride, another hope to live to the fullest.

engga menjadikan ini pembelaan of my poor living method but my spirit has died, burried some feets below the ground along with my papa. i thought i was special. i thought that this kind of tragic