A Beautiful Thing

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"Iya, sayang." You said. And a part of me shivered.

It is not that I have never heard the word, I have, but I have never heard it the way you said it. It slurs from your mouth gracefully as if it is the climax of a beautiful poetry that catches me off guard.

It does not echo, not even a space for doubt to slip through the air of your voice.

I almost forget that one simple word can resemble so many great things. When you said it, I hear an assurance that I am not alone, that I do not need to worry, that everything is going to be Okay.

But there is only one thing: please, don't say this too often. Otherwise, I'm going to lose its meaning. Say it just about enough — for you to mean it, and for me to appreciate, to cherish, to remember that I am loved.

Because it's a beautiful thing.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Touch the Rain

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All she ever wanted to do was to touch the rain. It was Sunday, thin air breathing through the gap of the window sill. She desperately waiting for the sun to set. Not that she has anything against the sun, but her favorite time of the day is when the bright blue sky slowly shifting into another form of creature, unseen. When the color bleeds into one another, when it finally gets dark and there is nothing else but the place she lives and the Moon. She heard there is another place down there, so distant called Earth. It looks like a small blue dot, and she heard that it rains there. There are things grow from the ground, something green and sly. It dances with the wind! She thought enthusiastically. It is not just stones and glittering dust like where she lives.

But her sister used to say, it never rains in the Stars. It rains on Earth because the sky is sad so it cries. The sky can cry? She asks. Yes, of course. Don't be stupid. Says her sister. She never asked her again, she does not believe her. She thinks rain is beautiful - droplet of water falls down from above together all at once. She keeps waiting for the sky to cry. But she waited, and waited so long, she is starting to believe her sister that it will never rain here. Although sometimes she would stay wake at night with a little hope that it would rain, she is afraid that she might missed the rain. Until one night she gave up, and swore to never wait for the rain again.

She did not know that a lot of things can happen between now and never. 

And that night, it rains.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Would You Believe Me?

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What if I told you that you are beautiful? Not because of your dark hair matches with the color of your eyes. But because the way your eyes brighten when you listen to your favorite band and share one side of your earphone with me. Not because the freckles across your nose all the way to your cheek, but because the way you compliment your colleague that she looks nice in her new dress. I think you are still beautiful not just because the little extra ounces on your hips and thigh, but because you have a kind heart when you are willingly give up your seat to the elder lady. You are beautiful not just because the thick framed glasses that you have to wear everyday, but because you like to read books and be curious about things and stepping into every character's shoes. Not because the long curls of your hair, but because you are always there for your favorite ones when two buckets of Ben & Jerry's and a bottle of wine are not enough. Not because your dark or pale skin, but the way you you keep your voice low even when you have an argument with someone. Not because the shape of your eyelids but the way you are open to diversity in seeing things, especially the ones that are against your basic beliefs. You are so beautiful because you still always get up every morning to be better and not giving up on life. If I told you that you are beautiful, would you believe me?

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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Love More: Stranger

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"Stop falling in love with stranger!" says Marjorie half-frustrated into the reaction of abrupt phone call in the midst of windy Wednesday afternoon. "But you should have seen him." I said in my defense as my heart was overflowed with emotions like water running over the crystal glass. But I swear, that barista is made out of poetry.

I first noticed him on the first day I had to leave the house early to mermaid-logo coffee due to the loud construction works in front of my building that caused my head to spin far too early in the morning. I was waiting for my iced mocha latte at the end of the counter. There were three new trainees in their white blouse trying to fitting themselves with the coffee maker and all on their first day of work. He came just after putting on his green apron and tied it at the back. He seemed that he just started his shift as manager when the other older lady handed him to the trainees, 'Girls, this is Keats.' I could not help to smirk as if it was part of a scene in a film where the hero just entered the room and the girls looked slightly smitten as he smiled and waved an introductory hi. He has funny name, I thought. As I read his chalkboard name tag on his chest. Keats, It is not Keith — like that English poet, John Keats.

On the second day, I saw him walking by the table where I sat next to the window without his apron on as I recognized his chestnut-colored curly hair. My eyes was glued to him as he went outside to sit on a concrete block, he had his lunch break with a pack of cigarette and a book. Our glances met - brief, like a thunder and I was the ground. I immediately looked away, but just to find out that less than five seconds after, I was back at him. He looked better under the sun - his skin melts and his hair gleams. He just lit his cigarette, putting the metaphor into life. While reading a book on his other hand. Then between the empty seconds, he ran his fingers onto his hair, pushing it back formed the curls of his muddy-blonde hair into a perfect mess.

That's when I had to call Marjorie, when I thought I might have fallen in love with a complete stranger I met at the coffee shop on a Wednesday afternoon. Because falling in love with stranger is safe, like an actual love should feel. And perfect, because it will always stays as an idea, like a full moon on one clear summer's night. Because I am falling in love alone, without the fear of broken heart, out of the reach of brutal reality. I repeated with a voice full of hope of the opposite, "But you should have seen him." hoping that actually I'm not falling in love alone.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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