"Rekah" by Dwianto

Rekah

By Dwianto

Wrapped tightly in shackles.

Crawling on the ground, full of limitations.

The world feels dark, colorless.

The soul is confined, full of doubts.

Yet within, lies potential.

A hidden power, waiting to be unleashed.

Like a flower bud, ready to blossom.

The butterfly awaits, the time to change.

The process of transformation, full of struggle.

Breaking free from the shackles.

Breaking through obstacles, full of pain.

Towards the light, reaching for hidden dreams.

Until the time comes, beautiful wings unfold.

Learn from the butterfly.

that we are capable of transformation.

Discard doubts, face fears.

Step forward, achieve your dreams.

Like a caterpillar that transforms into a butterfly.

Let go of the shackles of the past, welcome the future.

Fly high, reach your dreams with confidence.

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My Indonesian friend sent me this poetry this week. Yes, I understand his feelings that he discribed in this sentences. Everybody is struggling with something when they are younger like this way. However everybody has possibility to be a butterfly like this in the future. So you should not give up becoming your own butterfly. Because life can be beautiful for everyone.

This chef is a person I respect and love

There is an Italian restaurant near my house run by one chef, who is about the same generation as me. The pasta here is my favorite.

Of course, the pasta here is by no means microwave-cooked. As you probably know, there are a lot of foods in Japan that can be cooked in a microwave. If you come to Japan, please check it out at a convenience store or supermarket. In addition to pasta, we also have fried noodles, pilaf, fried rice, ramen, and even frozen bento boxes. These are relatively well-made products, but I don't really like them.

Well, the owner of the Italian restaurant is very particular about his cooking. It's even moving.

One day, I visited this restaurant with my wife. Then we ordered “Karasumi Peperoncino.''

Do you know Karasumi? If you are Taiwanese, you probably know Karasumi. This is salted and dried roe from a fish called mullet. This is very tasty and expensive.

The owner of this restaurant actually made the mullet roe himself to make the “Karasumi peperoncino.'' So he got an egg from a mullet somewhere, salted it, then dried it, and made mullet roe. After weeks of preparation, on the day I visited the restaurant, he used the mullet roe to make pasta.

amazing!

What's more, he doesn't charge a high price for the pasta dishes he takes so much time and effort to make. The price is such that anyone in Japan can easily eat it.

This chef is a person I respect and love.

"HOME" by Dwianto from Indonesia

I went home with tears they firmly wiped my cheeks

I came home with a long face they rained down smiles

I came home with mud as big as my body their love became a spring of water 

I came home with an explosion of disappointment they poured an ocean of hope

I slammed the door loudly as I left full of anger

I crossed the white walls they had because of my mischief

I ruined the living room

I throw pillows and bolsters in the bedroom

My home remains a home

The door stays wide open no matter how hard I slam it.

The walls are always clean no matter how many times I scribble on them.

The living room is always tidy no matter how often I ravage it

My room is always tidy whenever I come back

I always thought my house was a miracle

I thought my house was sophisticated with the help of technology

I thought my house was a stupid building that couldn't fight back

I thought my house was just a place to go home after I partied with the outside world

I was wrong, I fell into error

My house is just a house, really a pile of bricks and cement

The real home is the life inside

Father and mother turned out to be the real home in the house I thought

Dad is a strong pillar that supports my good and bad behavior.

Mom is the pottery that embraces me in the cold of the night.

The love of my father and mother turned out to be a roof that kept me from the heat and rain.

The spring that radiates is in fact the sweat of my mother and father.

A home is just a home without a father and mother, a father and mother is a home

Father and mother are heaven that God dropped on earth.

Father and mother are the home we return to no matter what we experience.

Father and mother are the true home we return to.

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This is a poetry which my friend made, and he lives in Indonesia. Poetry ties between hearts of people living in different countries. Yes, "house" doesn't mean just a building. Even if you are living in a big city or a tiny village, you can understand what this poet means. I can say that "house" means namely a family. Or I may be able to say that "house" means "wife," " husband," "siblings," "parent," or "lover." Maybe, you may say that house means homeland. Anyway, house means something that this young poet wrote here. For everone.