Tag Archives: love

the thing about fake flowers

the thing about fake flowers is that…

they have this make-up that’s time-proof.

they never stop smiling at you, make you think you’re the best person even when you’re at the best chance of becoming the smelliest douche bag.

you think what they give you is what poems call the unconditional love. whatever you do pleases them.

they don’t raise their voices, they don’t complain. they seem to be perfect.

soul flower III by csilla

i raise my voice, sometimes

i disagree and make sure you know

sometimes you piss me off, at times i push you away

you think to love me is impossible.

it was a wrong thing to choose me to be your flower.

i don’t stop at decorating your front porch. i stir your heart up, making you uncomfortable.

i become another pain in your life, because i make you think about me day and night.

i invade your life. trespassing your fence.

i make you feel, and you fight it.

perhaps… it’s because i am a real flower.

i need the sun and the rain and even the wind to take me to dance.

i need you to love me and you need me because i vibrate and give you that strange breeze into the pores…

of your shivering skin.

i am not one of those fake flowers that have no heartbeat.

no warmth.

no fragrance.

and they do not love.

are you one of those people who say to themselves,

i deserve something fake, because i am not strong enough for the real?


Magdala & the Empress – the characters

What happen with the characters created but have never made it to the first page of a book? I bet one out of 500 authors don’t even remember they ever gave those poor characters hope. I do. And I still feel guilty about it. Unfortunately, the guilt isn’t thicker than my procrastination. I just want to let them know that they’re still in my mind, and I hope they don’t give up on me yet.

What’s up with Magdala?

Well, the last time I saw her, she happened to have changed her interest, from dancing flamenco to fashion photography. She went to Bali to shoot some photos and bumped into a great realism artist from Italy named Leda. She was supposed to finish her fashion photography project for her final exam, instead she followed Leda to a remote padi field up in Ubud and photographed her. She, of course, failed her exam, but didn’t give a heed since Leda left her and crushed her heart into pieces. Then, I heard that she packed her suitcase and headed to Spain (I need to write about Spain, with or without a flamenco dancer) to have a stint in a professional photographer’s studio and take many shots for some fashion magazines, and found Leda doing a painting exhibition and all the paintings put on the walls were of her during their time in Ubud.

What’s up with Leda?

Well, it so happened that she left Ubud because she didn’t want to ruin Magdala’s promising future with a nice, rich man that fell in love with Magdala. After all, Leda herself had already had a husband from a well-off family, a blue blood, to make it worse, and someone important in the government, and she thought her husband didn’t deserve any scandal that could ruin his reputation and career. Since then though, whatever she painted always pictured or hide Magdala. In her painting exhibition in Spain, entitled Magdala, two years after that, her source of inspiration stepped into the hall.


She stayed back in Jakarta as Magdala left for Spain, so she could work on Magdala’s fashion photography project turn into expressionism photography entitled Leda, all without Magdala’s permission. (She can thank me later, Medea thought.)

And the Empress?

The only character that’s unchangeable and absolute is her. That’s the truth about soul, after all. Body perishes, mind lost, soul is eternal, and whatever Magdala or Leda is, the Empress will always kiss life into Magdala’s essence, and take her hands to perform the endless dance.

Not to change the souls of the characters, I recently thought of changing Leda into Nataraj, aka Nat. And the Empress into the Emperor, to make it less dark, perhaps. It will still be dark, though, that’s just how I always end up writing. Remember the children story about a girl who was slammed down from a tree branch by the talking tree itself? I didn’t write about any wind, but I feel a strong breeze in a dark autumn chill, reading it.

Anyway, what happened in Spain after Magdala went into Leda’s painting exhibition (or Nat’s)? And what about Magdala’s boyfriend? Are they still together? Will Magdala ever forgive Medea for not only bringing back up, but immortalize her deepest pain by turning her photos of Leda into a book? I am also thinking of developing the character of Mr Rudolf, Magdala’s professor that’s been supporting her study morally and turned down when Magdala failed her final exam and shattered his dream. Will the power of the Empress (or the Emperor) be able to breakthrough all the society’s value and morality standards in order to give the throne back to the essence of life and liveliness: love.

that’s how it is about her when she loves

She can’t do every single thing you expect her to do, can she?
She doesn’t live to please everyone.
But, for you, she has bended too far, altering herself carefully in order to receive more of your love. I call her pathetic. But, that’s how it is with her when she loves.
But, who are you to test her? And, who said the test you’re doing to her is relevant, anyway?
Who are you to push her around, down, then break her apart?
You will then label it love, when she’s done moulding herself into the shape you call perfect.
You will love her tomorrow, but perhaps she’ll be gone tomorrow. She’ll love you still, and I call it pathetic. But, that’s how it is about her when she loves. She loves, but she’s not a God. She needs to be loved, too. You will see her walk away to find the love she deserves, while constantly hoping that she’ll find it in you.