To my Prime Minister

You realized that you are not Superman, even though you wear your underwear outside your pants, even though you wear a cape from your lovemaking sheets and drive an old chopper with your chin up high 

Believe me, I've tried.

Trying to be a Doraemon for the world, I learn, that there is hurt and fear that can't be fixed by any magical band-aids or magnificent poetry No matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. 

And Milady, I'll tell you, I know all the trick, I'm the eyes in the sky, I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house and find her, the girl who lost everything in the fire, to see if you can save her. She, who standing on your cape.

There are broken hearts and pain that time won't heal, it cuts so deep into the soul. No matter how hard you tried, how many hours of therapy, how many pills you pop inside your body, how many tears of desperation you shed. It won't go. You will open your hand to catch, and wind up with only blisters and bruises

Yes, I'm naive. Pretty damn one. I know that the world is made out of the sand castle, it can crumble so easily. It is a chess board, you win some you lose some. But we are not the pawn, both you and I are born to build our legacy for the world. Both our name is meant to be written in the history book and stories that pass on generation to generation.

"I am the Prime Minister and You are the President" It is our first line the first time we meet. You, the girl with a small hand and talks with your eyes, always asking for more. A small voice, but never once willing to apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. We are a warrior.

You know, that you can always find a way back to me, no matter what happened. Life has hit you, hard, in the face. Waiting for you to get back up, just to kick you in the stomach, getting the wind knocked out of you as the only way to remind how much your lungs love the taste of air.

In the time, when it finally hit you, drained you, hand you heartache, slip war and hatred under your doormat and push you to the corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them, they really ought to meet your President.

Vien, Jakarta, June 25, 2019

for the one who said "I want to be the next Prime Minister" back in 2012