Friday, 20 January 2017


I remember you as the housewife
that has 24/7 shifts 
cooking storms at the kitchen counter
in and out from the drying room
with hangers and clothes pegs 
as dumbells that kept your
muscles stretched like a weightlifter
dust feared you,
they dissapear as you turn on
the vacuum every weekend 
but still sheepishly stayed 
from Monday to Friday
played hide-and-seek to
tease your energy
they lost anyway,
as it is the hollow sound 
that accidentally sucks the 
curtains that woke me up.

I still see the shadow of 
the video recorder at
every camera that I hold.
they say that humans only remember at 5,
but the excitement of the guitar cake
with Mickey Mouse characters on 
my fourth birthday wasn't a feeling,
it was a flashback.
the spikes of my hair with 
a tiger plush in one hand
and an empty bottle in another,
it was an ordinary morning 
but you were afraid to forget
so you pushed the button and 
carefully made sure you didn't fall
as you walked downstairs backwards.
my feet was familiar with the dance
routines of Hi-5, let it be the same tracks
from dawn to dusk,
you watched and sang along.
maybe that's why I expected to grow up 
as a performer but the inner introvert 
of yours made me quietly sang
the lyrics on a piece of paper.

I could still hear the bells of 
the merry-go-round as it started 
to twist around.
I waved at you from a pink pony
with a golden hair
while you capture the moment
and print the pictures.
I always thought that the films 
that came with them were 
freestyle X-rays  
and smiled when you pointed
at my cheeky faces.

time passes and moments fade.

The cutleries thought you were a stranger.
Dust won a huge victory and invaded our
The video recorder was too old,
the tapes were unplayable.
Any of us don't even know how to
hum to a Hi-5 song, let alone 
recognize the actors.

As for me,
I outgrew my pyjamas,
loathed milk,
let my hair compete 
with my spine.

I thought I was growing up,
but I didn't realize that growing up
meant distant feelings with
the few ones that you owe 
the world to.

Maybe that's why I looked for you
at playgrounds, 
old cartoon sketches,
entrance of kindergartens,
the trolley section at supermarkets,
and on my queen-sized bed,
where I could hear your calm breathe
sleeping beside me.

'We only miss the memories,
but not the person.'

How could that be when the person
was in every memory?

-It was just me.
It was just me.