Category Archives: Metaphor

Relationships Are Like Books?


I suppose, relationships are like books.

Entering the battlefield of love is like walking into a bookstore, or a library, or anywhere else

bookful (like it’s even a word). On the left side, to the right side, on all side, to all possible side.

I find shelves with tags, some are familiar to me, some are not, some I am not sure if I’m familiar

or not. Just like the real world where I hunt for relationship.

I wonder, I wonder, which section is going to suit me best?

Sometimes, I choose based on reasons. A lot of the other time, I choose because of something

I’m ashamed to say—–fate (in whispering volume). But whatever section it is, I’ll find books.

And here’s when it gets tricky.

Finding things, doesn’t always mean you can have them, right?

There, then, like I said before, relationships are like books. Furthermore, the finale question

is always the same, “So, what’s my book?” What genre would satisfy me? How thick I can

manage to read? What cover I’d like to stare, again… and again?

Thus, I wonder, I wonder, which book is going to suit me best?

I wander my eyes, as far as my sight can go, as far as I can take into my focus. Books, are all

around the place. Big books, small books, diary full of personal things, self- learning books that

(probably would) help me to reinvent myself, fantasy fictions that will make me live in the

non-existing world? Or maybe I’d like to try the tragic drama? Mystery? Astrology? Darn, it’s


Confusing, because the more choices you have,

the harder you can think right and take the right decision.

Nevertheless, I go to the next step, because I have to. I go (or I went?) to the next step. I believe

that time doesn’t wait for anyone, who knows what tomorrow bears.  Thus, here’s what I do, a

little warm greeting to begin with. “Hello, books, please be nice to me.” I said to myself withan

inaudible voice. After that, I continue to another step, I started to choose. And I find that-of

course subjectively-some books don’t even get my attention, the ones I like to have are too

expensive to purchase, the others? Well, I don’t think I’ll understand so I skip them. Above all, I

only want to say that these-get rejected-books, are not ‘not qualified’ enough, it’s just, they are

not (again) fated with me.

Now, what happens to the others that are fated with me?

Long road, long-long road they go. Some, I can enjoy since the beginning to the end (a very rare

case), some, I must struggle to stay at the boring-tiring beginning to get to the fun part. In some

other cases, I give up because I’m not committed enough to finish them. Some, I could

finish without any problem. But even for the finished books, some are not even in my memory at

all, some are lost even before I can save them, some I accidentally find again in my long-long

forgotten treasure box, some I can’t describe what I actually feel about it. Some, become my

favorite. Some others, I hate.

But books are easier than relationships.

When you choose them, they don’t reject. When you buy them, they won’t cheat on you and go

the become someone else’s. When you choose to want to read them again more seriously, they

don’t forbid you. They are not alive. It’s easier. But relationships, for crying out loud, are harder

to understand. Anyway, to some certain levels, I still think that relationships are like books

because no matter what, they always give you something to think about, and some feelings to feel

about, despite how insignificant they are.

So, now, now, I wonder, I wonder, what book are you reading?


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How To Deal With Hemorrhoids

I suppose, bad feelings are like hemorrhoids. You want them removed but it’s hard to do it by yourself. Furthermore, you’re also ashamed to show people your private area and let them know how bad it actually is.

You don’t, no one, no one really do want their inner bad side to be exposed—–especially in that way.

But on the other hand, if it’s not treated well, it’ll get worse and by the time it can’t be hidden anymore, it’ll reveal itself—-in the most indelicate way. That’s why, I believe the best option to take is to have a complete stranger to do the thing, right?

Well, this, is what I usually do when I have the hemorrhoid. To cope with it, I’ll look for new people, new (you can say)  friends to help me deal with it. And ‘by new people and friends’, I mean doctors, therapists, whoever, I don’t care who,

as long as we don’t know each other and we won’t.

As long as I can get rid of the hemorrhoid without making it something for anyone I don’t want to, to remember I’ve ever had it inside me. I want it to stop bugging me, but I don’t want people to know that I’ve ever struggled with it, because it embarassed me in some particular ways. I don’t want them to know that someone like me have that kind of ugly matter, that grows, alive, on and in me. It’ll hurt my pride and dignity and values. It is going to.

Here’s how my logic works, let’s put it this way, if you have a lover, would you want him to know you have a hemorrhoid? No, you don’t, and you bet you know the reason so I don’t need to explain. But, if (anyway, I doubt it) you do want to tell, for any reason. Please, tell me why? Why would you want him to know such an embarassing thing. He won’t be able to cure it anyway, can he? And the risk is, he’ll dump you because you are having such problem—–inside of you.

So, why would you want your lover to know that you’ve such unpretty feelings? For what? He won’t be able to cure it anyway, can he? And the risk is, he’ll dump you…

Maybe, probably, by any chance, I was wrong about how to deal with this hemorrhoid thingy. Though, it has always been successful for everytime  I have it and I am accustomed to the way I deal with it. If it really truly essentially is wrong, I just want to know why can it be wrong? I need consequential explanation to reason with it. Still, I think I am right.

Speaking of which, what about you guys? How do you deal with your hemorrhoids?

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Ten Thousandth Color

This little boy is standing on a rainbow. He fidgets, afraid to fall but excited as well. He has never seen such beauty so closely. Curiously, he checks on the skin of the countless colored optical-meteorological phenomenon and started to count. He wonders, he wonders,

“Rainbow, what is your hundredth color?”

The little boy uses his finger to point out the color’s name he could recall, and in no time, he has found his first, “Alizarin Crimson, ah, this color burns, it’s rosy, like mommy’s lips. This is number one, I suppose.” With flickering spirit, the boy continues to count the colors. After the second of Umber, and the fifth of Rich Lilac, the journey continues from Ao to Coquelicot, Dogwood Rose to Drab, Twilight Lavender to Byzantine, until the color Big Dip O’ruby catches the boy’s attention.

“It looks like… wow! Something I remember, but I don’t remember.”

He tries to catch the color, but it quickly escapes. “No! Where do you want go? O’ruby, oh O’ruby, don’t run away from me!” Unfortunately, color is something you can’t control or keep, well, not forever, time will take it away, somehow.

The boy rubs his nose and holds his tears before they fall uncontrollably. He is sad, but he tries to find back his enjoyment by counting the color, and before he realizes it, he has reached —– “Ninty ninth! Aaaah… it’s the Screaming Green! Wait, wait, now, it’s time for the hundreth, and it will be…” The boy’s eyes pop, he almost gets what he’s searching for and almost forgets his sadness of losing the O’ruby, but when he does so, he can’t believe what he has just found, “White?”

It’s the purest white he has ever seen. Almost without any stain.
It is the whitest white, or is it not? He thinks.

“Maybe this is not an ordinary white. Maybe it’s Unicornolod, or maybe my eyes is getting dull.” The boy mumbles to himself. The small voice inside his head tells him to capture the white, but when he remembers about the O’ruby, he chooses to let it go.

Not satisfied, he then decides to find the two hundredth color. It is Aureolin, the yellow color reminds him of the rubber ducks he used to play with when he takes a bath. You bet the rubber-ducky color can’t satisfy him, so he goes for the three hundredth color which is Bright Pink that looks exactly the same as his sister’s ribbon —– to only brings him worse disappoinment.

“Why the colors I found are all ordinary? I want an uncommon color, a special one.”

Therefore, he upsetly digs for the four hundredth and finds Chartreuse, but he has lost joy, he can’t help himself, even the Dark Tangerine on the five hundredth, Fandango on the six hundredth, and Bisque on the seven hundredth can’t cheer him up. “I want my O’ruby back! Hiks… hiks…” He begins to cry. Now, he becomes conscious of what he really wants, “Why… why can’t I have it? I don’t want the other colors, I don’t want them, I want my O’ruby, just my O’ruby.”

It’s not for a short time, he cries for days and nights. No one knows how long he has cried before he regains his conscience, but it’s certainly on one particular second when he stops his own tears and encourages himself, “maybe, maybe, I’ll find what I am looking for on the ten thousandth color.” So, he wonders, he wonders,

“Rainbow, what is your ten thousandth color?”

Even though he is tired of counting and recalling the name of the colors (regardless of his color-genius trait), the boy won’t give up and by the end of the time, he has reached the nine thousand ninty ninth color, Café Au Lait.

“Finally, it’s time for the ten thousandth!” The boy rejoices and inhales a lot of air before he closes his eyes to by the count of one, two, three… he opens them again and smiles when he sees what he sees, the ten thousandth color is right there.

“Finally I found it,
something I don’t remember, but I remember.”

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Who Suffers More?

Once upon a time, there were 2 women, they were at the exact age, the exact physical appearance, they are twins. They both got married at the same age of 23, right after they had finished college. The marriages lasted for the same 20 years. They both had 2 children. They both greatlly love their husbands and families as much. Everything was the same but one,

the way they lost their husbands, it was different.

The first woman, Janet, found her husband had passed away in his room because of a sudden heart attack when she got back from work. She lost him because of death. Right after the event, Janet felt like losing a big part of herself, she couldn’t stop from crying everytime she remembers any memories about him. She missed him a lot, but he had gone for good. There’s nothing else she could do but to suffer from his leaving.

The second woman, Bella, found her husband was having an affair and therefore, after a lot of fights and tears and broken hearting screamings at each other, they both decided to get divorced. Bella’s husband moved to live in another country right after the event, cruelly left Bella and his children. Everyday, after the event, Bella felt depressed, she kept thinking what had gone wrong? What’s wrong with her? Why would he cheat on her? After these 20 years of being together, why? But all those so-many-whys couldn’t be answered. Therefore, she suffered from losing him, of course, in a different way compared to Janet. She lost him because he chose to leave.

So, who suffers more? Janet, who knows her husband (who of course truly love her) is gone because of something he didn’t choose? Or Bella, who knew her husband left on purpose? If you were to choose between those two women, who do you want to be? Janet or Bella? If (only if) you need to suffer from losing someone you truly-really love, if you can choose the ending of your relationship, which one do you think is the worse and which one is the better?

Which one do you think you can cope better and give you less suffering? To lose your partner because of the deathOr to lose your partner because he never really love you?

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Love Is Like The Rain

Do you remember how we met? It was the heaviest rain ever, but the both of us were feeling the same drought, inside. So we decided to play this game. A game we believed could grow an oasis for the both of us.

Yes, we pretended to fall in love with each other…

It was at an old library. I saw books, all written with the nonetheless ink of blood. Of course, not literally.

Dust on the corner of the unreachable shelf, and the shadow behind the darkest wooden chair. Those were us. Plain to hurtful, none of us could move from the sad position we’re set on.

What were we doing? What were you doing? What was I doing? Are these even the right questions for the situation? I can’t even tell. Can I?

Well, I don’t think so, and if by any chance I could read mind, I would say you’re on the same side with me. But, even with that logic, we managed to act well for the role, a lover.

I guess we really had at least something for each other, or we were just too crestfallen

The petrichor filled the air, and while added by the smell of decaying books, it was a sedative. But it’s not poisonous, no, of course no compared to the risk we’re taking from getting into this game.

Next, to be concise, we passed the day, that rainy-phony day. And I must say it’s not bad, we’re having such a great fun. We talked about a lot of things and we listened to each other.

We were connected.

But there’s a problem. On the next day, we both felt lost. We didn’t feel the same anymore with each other. I bet you felt the same.

So, we decided to go back to the library. We tried to find something we thought we accidentally dropped there. But we found nothing.

By the coming of the night and another heavy rain, we gave up. No, we didn’t give up on each other,

We gave up on lying to ourselves and put an end to this silly game…

We didn’t just abruptly leave each other after we realized that ending. We chose to stay at the library first, enjoying the truth. Actually, we didn’t even feel wounded, maybe it’s because we know that love was never there for us. So, we searched for some books to finish the night. But rather than reading, I was writing my thought on a blank paper inside a random book. ,

love… is like the rain.

You can’t say it is raining,
if there’s only a drop of water falling from the sky…

Yes, you can’t say it is love,
if there’s only a day you feel so…

It should be countless

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