The Lost Things

I've been telling myself often about how sloppy I am in keeping things. One of the victims (victims: things I've lost in my own house, in my own room, just because I forget where I kept it) is, unfortunately, a watch that my boyfriend gave me in my 20th birthday. The first reaction when I realize that I didn't realize where I kept that unique watch is: PANIC (but not at the disco). I was feeling so bad to tell my boyfriend that I couldn't find my watch, or rather, his watch (because it's a couple watch -a set of pink and blue watch- and at that time I had his watch, the blue one, and he had the other). I know that my IQ cannot be categorized as superior but when I lost the watch I was sure that my IQ is not even normal. I was idiot!

The watch is just one of the victims. There are still many things lost; Mid-term card, lecture materials, pens, pencils, spidols, whatever. They simply just like swallowed into a blackhole. So...where did they go? Where are the "souls" of the lost things go? Sometimes I'm puzzled by the questions of "If they were just unseen, covered by dust under my bed or anywhere, they should have been found, uh? Because nobody took them, they were still there, I just couldn't find them. But how if they were really gone? Turned into air? Vaporized? With no traces."

It's just little things. Then, when I'm typing this post, I'm thinking about an airplane. Remember the news about an airplane that gone and never found? I'm thinking about that. I'm thinking about my stuffs that gone and never found. Even a big thing like an airplane can be lost without traces.  The lost things is just one of mysteries that sometimes left undone, unresolved.

Ah, humans. This is the proof about how your capacity is limited. How can you claimed to answer all of the questions of science, when you can't even find your lost stuffs under your bed, inside your cupboard?

Only God knows where they are.

Peace

There are moments when I am imagining of a place, a quiet place, far away from the chaos of the world. A place where I can live peacefully. A place where everything is always right, or, a place where there is no right or wrong. A green, small wooden tree house under the shady leaves, with the sun shines above and the birds sing happily. Drink the water of the falls, swim in the river (just assume that I can swim :p), and running over the hills.

Such a naive, I am, uh?

The worst thing of the best dream is that you know that it might never be a reality. The gap is just so high that you finally realize where you are and start thinking about everything that seems more pathetic for you. Then you open your eyes, facing the wall of your room, and back to the duties you have left to take just a few-minute-trip to the Heaven inside your head, which doesn't even exist.

Just my imagination. A massive cloud of imagination. But it's not gonna die. I'll find it someday. Maybe in the different shape. Peace is not only found in a quiet place. It's everywhere. In the crowded city, in the river banks, in...everywhere. Everywhere we are. Because peace is exist in ourselves, I guess. It's about seeing the green, small wooden tree house under the shady leaves in everywhere we are. It's about finding a tiny white spot in a black darkness. A minor miracle in ordinary life events.

Condensed

My tears will vaporize
And at dawn, it will be the dew on your window.