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The Hues...

"Maybe in the end we would know that love can

be as the wind that blowing to where the clouds would love to go to

(even though the cloud itself perhaps never understand why it had too)

be as the night changes into the morning continuously - and in each transitions perhaps

they caress for a time that the time itself never know for how long

be as the droplets of water that leave the frozen leaf straight to the ground without

knowing how far they should stepping into before reaching it root. Maybe by the end, love is being as is. "

"Pada akhirnya kita tahu bahwa cinta bisa seperti angin yang berhembus ke mana awan hendak berangkat (mungkin awan tak pernah mengerti mengapa) seperti malam berganti pagi lagi dan mengkin di tiap transisi mereka bersentuh sesaat tanpa kala pun mengerti berapa lama seperti bulir air meninggalkan daun yang beku terserap tanah tanpa tahu

berapa jauh ia harus melangkah sebelum menjumpai akarnya. Mungkin pada akhirnya cinta demikian adanya." - Iir Prihatinawati

Recently - I had been writing more in my own language, that writing in english I feel a bit... awkward. In this writing I would like to explained how some brain like mine perceive the world in relation to words - which perhaps a bit different than some of you. When it comes to expressing myself with words, even in my own language, sometime I feel it is not always as simple as how others do.

I found that embracing my first language and feels its hues deep beyond my skin by writing in poetry rather than proses had rooted me back - the way I knew myself best. I used to write poetry from as young as 7 years old, and had some occasions my writings were appeared in magazines in my teenage. Translating my own writings into a different language, choosing the words that has similar nuance and intrinsic feelings as dense as I felt when I write it, sometime challenging. Recently I just understand why. Because each words has its own "character", its visceral sensations, textures that attached to it. And in translating one language to another, one must matched these pair of languages where it would not always be lateral. It feels like matching pieces of puzzle from two different but similar jigsaw sets - to create one new picture that somehow make sense but still containing as much as possible the qualities from both sets. And that quality is the feeling that glued a poem together at it's essence, its density - while prose collect this more fluidly.

How did I get to understand this metaphorical perspective? First, I noticed how the recent global changes has affecting myself, as someone that living on my own across the continent with no families and with two children. If it affects me - I wonder if and how this could perhaps affect the others too. Talking to friends across the globe in last couple of months, those with different backgrounds and languages, I mirroring myself to my own experiences. In the way we interact - I realised that how each of us shape and carry our life in our head, perceptually. How different it can be, and yet we socially agreed that it is the same. And I realised that for some of us, the world in our perceptual mind constructed and manifest in words.

Words that each of us choose to express ourselves - I realised recently how significant it is to me. Words which I choose in the past that not necessary I comprehend fully, now I could feel how clumsy it is, as it wasnt portrayed as what I had like to express. Words to me is attached to visceral sensations hence the memory, not other way around. For example if I close my eyes, then there is these surrounding voices that I dont always registered in words - but rather to another "construct". It made me wonder how many and how much of us create our world inside our head with words and why, and why for some perceived the world as pictures, sensations, feelings, textures and found it hard to choose words to express. Perhaps this reflects how each of us perceived and stored our experiences differently - hence responds differently too.

We can not compare that one experiences would be emotionally perceived and stored the same way as others would - because there is no "baseline" where we could start comparing these two. Neither we could compare one trauma is "deeper" than the others. If we never compared who is the happiest in our happiest memory, why any of us ever wonder a comparison who is the least happiest or the most traumatised? Once it experienced and perceived and stored, it become just is. Whether we or others trying to make it less or exaggerate it - there is no such things. It was experienced (by this person) - with whatever visceral stimuli attached to it. Words just a way to explain to others of these sensations, hence we choose the perfect words that explained as much qualities of sensations that can be represent wtih this words with the range of vocabularies we have, although sometime it still feels inadequate.

When I am in this zone of wondering and getting intimate with what so called my perceived life experiences as visceral stimuli which stored in my head in its "incredible" way - time become "relative. It become so slow or so fast. The moment the leaves touched the ground as it reaches my eyes like in slowmo, the gradation of places of my skin where the wind changes, the fluid sensations as the water touched the tip of my body, the moment I manage to keep eye contacts to friends and grabs the glimps of its depth of their soul, the texture of smell of flowers as it reach my nose follicles, the moment other people voices reach to my ears as we speak, and how each person has their own "texture" in their voices, "grit" in their way of our interactions, "depth" in their eyes as the window to their soul makes me wonder how deep human interactions could be. And when I reached this point - I can not express how grateful I am that each of people I had encountered with allowed me to "know" them in such way.

As everyone else - we all have story, some good some not so, some categorised as "trauma" - despite whether we agree in categorisations of memory. By putting myself into conscious sensations of the visceral stimulies when some of memory comes up, which leads to its rich, depth and dense "texture of the sensations, I am giving myself a space to embrace it. To be with it, and cherished each moment of it in whatever it come out. Using the moment as the gateway to be intimate toward myself. Life and experiences - then become just is. Nothing to hide from, no one to explain and convince myself to.

Comprehending these sensations - makes me wonder how each of us perceived and stored experiences in our life in each particular moment - or any moment in time. How each of us feels when the peculiar memory comes out in a certain moment. Is it as words as I heard my friends talked to me 'oh remember that such and such time when such and such happening' - even to our own head, or as it as mine with those scene appeared to me, or sensations cames back as if it never had passes in time. Whether others feels that time is still in the present moment as these coming by, or time had folded and rippled in unfathomable way?

I remember those time when the visceral stimuli were overwhelming, and I remember how significantly invaluable the ability to express myself when others around, even if and when I was stuttering. I would like to say, don't you see I do not have the words. I wish i could draw it for you, sensing it to you, and give you just that. And in it few glimpse moment that finally i understood I had been understand, I saw those eyes, and wishing they know how much I would like to thank you, with words i am not always able to find nor have a way to express.

Nowdays, it made me understand that emotions someone holds and entrusted to me as they speak, I accept it and cherished it. To me, it feels as I am putting my hands together where I am ready for receiving water under the holy spring. Their stories they pour over me as the water reaching my hands. Although the water by the end slip through my hands as the story finishes, the sensations of it remains. Sometimes for longer time ahead. And for each person I met that had pour their spring water to me - I feel such privilege.

I wish I could say this each of you, how each moment made my heart warmth, even in most painful time. It made me understand how significant it is to hold an honest space with no pretension or whatsoever in these particular moment. In such fragile way - there are many ways we could shape ourselves into from this particular moment - but as I am listening from others - who am I to shape these souls into when what they need is a safe space to be. Themselves.

Trust, believing each other to what each of us feel, become the invaluable currency that I would never exchange it with anything else. It become the foundations of each relationships I have, where the seed of love starting.

Some says, there is no currency in kindness - living in current world means what needed is focus, determinations. That what pays. Making focus and determination toward any goal become the only currency is for me like stripping human being from one of their best values, something that no other creatures on earth that has it as huge as we are, our kindness and compassion. Imagine if all of us, using only this aspect as our currency to mold our planet, we are becoming another robot and machines without emotions, that decisions makings created by logical thinking only, that human emotional needs devaluated, what kind of businesses we human would created, what kind of countries, planet, universe? In a wheel of a big machine so called human social construct that manifest in way we run business, leaders run their countries, we shape the planet, with those emotional intelligence that differentiate us from animal kingdom. If its crushed under the gear of human money making machines, I wonder what left of us - as species in future generation. I wonder if there is would ever be a way where economy globally work in different way - that these two sides can be mingle in harmonious way. My youngest son once said, imagine if there is no money at all so we dont need to work for it but paying us with other way - how would we repay things? How would the world work? And that questions - I would leave it open in here allowing each of our visceral stimuli playing with it. As the pact of actions we perhaps had to made conscious about.

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