the journeys

Before the Rain (its about writer not about people stalkers or indonesia called is KEPO. Not about people kitchen)

I was never your headline,

just the sentence you whispered

before the storm arrived.

You spoke to me

like shelter—

temporary,

necessary,

never promised.

Maybe I was the pause

between one love and another,

the cup of warmth

you held

while waiting for thunder.

I don’t blame the rain

for choosing where to fall,

nor the sky

for changing its mind.

If I was only meant

to stand beside you

before the clouds decided—

then let me be proud of that moment.

Because even umbrellas

are loved

before the rain.

(Inspirasi Tentang hutang hukum timbal balik perbuatan)

Dress your lies in velvet words,

paint pity on your trembling face —

yet debt will spit upon your script,

for debt has neither heart nor grace.

It waits, a vulture on the cliff,

perched high above your hollow plea;

no prayer, no poet’s final gasp

can cut you from its grip set free.

You claim the world has wronged your steps,

you craft excuses, thin as air —

but debt does not bend to your cry,

it does not flinch, it does not care.

And when the cold earth calls your name,

when soil becomes your final bed,

your debt will scratch upon your stone:

“What’s owed is owed — even when dead.”

A fleeting whisper, born of chance.

Yet time revealed, with quiet grace,

It truly happened — left its trace.

What once appeared a distant dream,

A shadow drifting through the stream,

Stood firm beneath the pale moon’s light,

Apalagi kalo ketahuan punya rasa lebih wah bisa jadi bahan iseng2 dan hinaan doang pas latihan choir! Untung yang di tulis ada hubungannya sama doa dan dukungan. Ya udah jadian gih.. ett dah sama sama non muslim kan … sama sama berdarah chinesse … yang cowo campura ya kayanya lebih ke Indo.. (tampang nya kaya mix Indonesia timur sana)

(Made on 1 Januari 2026 / 20.04 WIB )

There is a child beneath my breathing,

Known by God before my name.

Formed in silence, shaped in waiting,

Taught to carry quiet shame.

She learned the language of survival,

Kneeling where no comfort came.

Calling heaven in her tears,

When love on earth forgot her frame.

Fear became her daily scripture,

Abandonment her nightly psalm.

Yet still she reached for unseen mercy,

Trusting wounds to meet His palm.

O Lord who counts the sparrow’s falling,

You have numbered every cry.

You saw the child they overlooked,

You heard her question “Why?”

Now place Your light where memory trembles,

Where guilt and longing intertwine.

Teach the child within my spirit

That her heart was Yours all time.

For I am grown, yet still becoming,

Held by grace, not by my past.

And in Your arms, the child finds shelter,

1. Perbedaan kepribadian atau nilai

Kadang kalian memang tidak “klik”. Cara berpikir, gaya bicara, atau prinsip hidup bisa bertabrakan tanpa ada yang benar-benar salah.

2. Salah paham

Hal kecil seperti nada bicara, ekspresi wajah, atau kata-kata yang terdengar berbeda dari maksud aslinya bisa bikin orang tersinggung.

3. Iri atau merasa terancam

Kalau kamu punya sesuatu yang mereka inginkan (prestasi, perhatian, kepercayaan diri), sebagian orang meresponsnya dengan rasa tidak suka.

4. Pengalaman buruk di masa lalu

Bisa jadi kamu mengingatkan mereka pada seseorang atau kejadian yang menyakitkan, jadi emosinya “terbawa” ke kamu.

5. Ekspektasi yang tidak terpenuhi

Mereka berharap sesuatu dari kamu (misalnya perhatian, kesetiaan, atau bantuan), tapi tidak mendapatkannya.

6. Masalah dalam diri mereka sendiri

(Point 6, ada bener nya jugak , mungkin emang mereka yang bermasalah., ) padahal gw engga ngerasa punya salah. Sih…

Kadang kebencian itu lebih mencerminkan kondisi

emosi mereka—lagi stres, marah, atau tidak bahagia.

Yang penting kamu ingat:

• Kamu tidak bisa mengontrol perasaan semua orang.

• Tidak semua orang harus menyukaimu.

• Yang bisa kamu kontrol adalah cara kamu bersikap.

Kalau kamu merasa ini mengganggu, kamu bisa:

• Coba komunikasi baik-baik (kalau memungkinkan)

• Introspeksi secukupnya (tanpa menyalahkan diri berlebihan)

• Jaga jarak kalau hubungan itu toxic

(Hummiliate) dibuat 22 Desember 2025, mantaaffff

He did not seek the crowd, nor thirst for blame,

Yet peace grew costly when the truth lay bare.

To live in calm, he spoke the hidden name,

And let the weight of consequence hang there.

He shamed another—not from cruel delight,

But from the need to end a ceaseless war.

For silence fed the wrong, prolonged the night,

While truth, once named, could wound—but close the door.

Let no one claim his hands were clean as snow,

For quiet came with debts he chose to pay.

Yet still he stood, unwilling to forgo

A life unchained by fear at break of day.

He learnt this truth, both bitter and severe:

It’s me and my dog on the old village lane,

Where the hedgerows whisper secrets after rain.

His paws tap out a rhythm soft and true,

A steady beat the world can march to.

We wander past the fields where daylight spills,

Past chimney smoke and quiet rolling hills.

No rush, no rules, no need to pretend—

Just a girl and her dog, and the road that bends.

He looks up at me with those wise, kind eyes,

As if he knows every truth time never denies:

That loyalty isn’t loud, and love isn’t grand—

Sometimes it’s fur on your coat

and a warm nose in your hand.

And in a world that spins too fast,

Where moments fade but memories last,

I find my peace where I belong—

Me and my dog,

(Lupin anime . Inspiration)

Mr Alibi, caught in your own lie,

tripped on the story you swore was “so clever.”

Funny how you bragged you’d never slip—

turns out you’re not slick, just stupid with effort.

You stitched excuses like patchwork cloth,

but every thread screamed I made this up.

Even your shadow looked embarrassed

walking next to you.

Mr “Trust Me,” Mr “I’d Never”—

you rehearsed the script, forgot the plot,

and when the truth punched through the cracks,

you blamed me for the holes you shot.

Congratulations, genius—

you lied, got caught, and still looked shocked.

Next time you want to play detective,

try using a brain

instead of luck.

Lebih Tepatnya Udah Ada (Target Baru Yang gw saranin buat di jodohin aja) ke Fero. Atau memang udah jadian diem diem ya .. selamat deh semoga yang di semogakan menjadi kenyataan👍🏼 (mau jalan ke Thailand yak?)! Hati hati di jalan kalo kata TULUS. 🤣 ngerayaiin valentine di sono 🙏🏽 (semoga segera nikah yaa sma mika) 🙏🏽

(Aku tidak pernah merasa bersedih hati ketika di hina di sepelekan di fitnah di tolak .. itu semua proses menjadi orang yang lebih terhormat ketimbang mereka yang berjempol tajam. Berakal tapi seperti tak berakal dan tertawa hanya untuk melihat penderitaan orang lain)

I would rather be refused with clean hands,

than held by a liar’s convenient arms.

Silence with dignity teaches me more

than sweet words rehearsed for many hearts.

A truthful “no” keeps my name intact,

my worth unborrowed, my soul unplayed.

Love that cheats is not love at all—

it is noise dressed as devotion.

So let me walk away unchosen,

chin lifted, conscience clear.

For rejection has manners,

but a playboy’s love has none.

It is always easy to tell—

when Sasvro is drawn to someone,

he begins to wear their shadows.

He borrows their walk,

their taste in light,

their way of standing slightly off-centre

as if belonging were a learned pose.

Soon he appears everywhere—

in tagged photos,

half-smiling in other people’s frames,

a reflection reposted,

again and again.

Not love, perhaps—

but exposure.

A quiet imitation

mistaken for devotion,

until the feed moves on

and so does he

Yg ada jugak masyarakat yang suka milih milih.. milih dalam artian : milih karena ada benefitnya, kayanya atau urusan cintannya.

Tapi milih karena menjauhi yang buruk seperti ngajak ke hal hal negative (yg parah banget) bisa menghancurkan masa depan . Kalo menjauh karena itu penulis jugak lah.. (ha ha ha)

Never choosing friends

I never choose my friends—

they arrive like London rain,

quiet, grey, and staying longer than expected.

On damp benches we share silence,

bitter tea,

no promises, no conditions.

Loyalty rarely raises its voice;

it lingers when the cold wind

erases names from the city’s memory.

I never choose my friends—

time chooses us,

and honesty decides

who remains seated

when the streetlights go dark.

The woman with orange-brown hair

from the salon mirror

used to fear endings

like unfinished haircuts.

She cried in advance,

rehearsed her heartbreaks,

imagined the worst

as if pain needed permission.

But the thing she feared—

it never arrived.

The collapse stayed imaginary,

the tragedy forgot her address.

Now she smiles

at other people’s failures,

not loudly,

just enough to feel safe.

She supports whatever feeds her joy,

even if it grows

from someone else’s fall.

There is relief in her honesty:

she admits—

she did not cry after all.

No mascara ruined,

no knees on the bathroom floor.

Only a quiet confession

that fear is louder

than reality.

And maybe that is her sin—

not cruelty,

but survival.

If it happens to Mika too,

she will clap with careful hands,

soft enough not to bruise

her own intentions.

She will call it support,

post the proof—

a tagged photo,

a sugar-coated line

floating in an IG story.

“Proud of you.”

“So happy.”

“Love this.”

Words dressed like flowers,

picked from a garden

she never wanted to water.

Behind the screen,

her heart refuses applause.

It tightens.

It counts.

It compares.

She smiles for the algorithm,

not for the truth.

Because honesty doesn’t filter well,

and envy looks ugly in daylight.

So she supports—

only where people can see.

She celebrates—

only where silence can’t argue back.

And maybe that’s the saddest part:

not that she lies to others,

but that she mistakes performance

for peace.

Sweet tags.

Bitter heart.

Perfect story.

Crooked feeling.

Funny how love

suddenly multiplies—

Dian with Silky,

Silky with Mikan,

and silence with me.

Three names in one story,

yet only two

ever get the chorus.

I was the verse

they skipped on the radio,

still playing

in the background café.

Dian smiles like certainty,

Silky sings like choice,

Mikan stands there

as if love were a spare chair—

polite, unused, convenient.

They call it timing,

they call it fate,

I call it borrowing warmth

without checking the label.

No one admits

who held whose hand first,

only that someone

was always “just a friend”

until proven otherwise.

So here I stand—

not bitter,

just observant.

Because if love were honest,

it wouldn’t need

three names

to explain one confusion.