الفاتحة

Hey dad.

I've always had this secret wish.

That someday, you might actually come back and look for me.

Maybe someday you would, I don't know,

come knocking at our door, and tell us how sorry you are, 

and maybe--well just maybe, you will try to make it up for us?

You have wasted fifteen years of your life, dad.

Fifteen years of yours and fifteen years of mine.

I wish you hadn't left in the first place.

I wish you hadn't bailed out on us, just like that.

I wish I could ask you, why?

I wish..

I wanted you to know that you, have punched quite a big hole in my heart.

I also wanted you to know that hey, it is your loss.

I wanted you to know that mom have raised us amazingly well.

I wanted you to know that she never quits, no matter how shitty life gets.

I wanted you to know that my mom is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You had your chance with her, you blew it.

And you still owe me fifteen birthday wishes, you know.

You owe me fifteen years of my life that I will never get back.

You owe me hugs, kisses, lullabies.

You owe me my childhood.

You owe me a father.

For that, I hope you are sorry.

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26082010 

12:37pm

I received a text from Ibu, right after I'm done with my test.

It says that you had passed away this morning.

Yeah, my biological father had passed away.

I barely remember your face. 

Yeah, it has been a while.

I felt this slight pang inside, my heart is filled with regrets.

I guess I can kiss my lifetime wish, goodbye now.

Yeah, he left, again.

And knowing my dad, I'm pretty sure he won't be coming back, yet again.

Al-Fatihah.

Si,

exactamente lo que necesito.

Yeah,

He's nothing close to perfect,

but I ain't looking for perfection either.

Because the perfection I used to drool over,

will always be just another perfection - highly impossible.

I will still save some space for a little bit of perfection though,

but for now, this imperfection is more than okay.

Maybe I am giving it a shot. Hm.

Muse #1

Lykke Li-Possibility

Dear Diary.

Dear diary,

Shit happens. People messed up. 

I messed up, too.

And I'm sorry.

I just blurted those words out.

I'm sorry.

It's not really about your hair.

Or your mood swings.

Or who you're having lunch with.

Or even your attitudes.

I don't give a damn, really.

I love you the way you are.

It's just um, lately I've been feeling disconnected.

Disconnected from you.

It's like, we don't even whistle the same song anymore.

We no longer complete each other's sentences.

We no longer share silly giggles over silly jokes.

We no longer, em I don't know--connected?

I am understanding. Trying, really.

You have no idea how hard I tried.

But all we do now is giving each other hard times.

You're getting on my nerves, and I'm getting on yours.

Is it just me or did you notice too?

Why in the world do we did that to each other? 

Sigh.

Only god knows.

Hmm-

Perhaps it's the subtlest way to get each other's attention.

Oh perhaps, it is.

I don't know.

Sigh.

I miss just the whole concept of us, being us.

Well, frankly speaking.

I miss you.

.

Michael Buble's Save The Last Dance For Me.

Blame The Hormones.

Dear Mr. Future, I know you're out there. somewhere.

Out there with all the wrong girls, at the wrong place, and the wrong time.

I'd wait for you. Oh you know I would.

But there are moments like this. I really can't help it.

Empty moments like this when I could really use somebody.

Yeah. Just get your ass here soon.