Langsung ke konten utama

Titik Terendah

(foto random saja, yg pertama ketemu aja udah)

Terkadang ada saatnya kita harus menyentuh titik terendah dulu untuk memulai kembali, rasanya di satu sisi ingin menyerah, di sisi lain rasanya ingin berusaha lebih keras, saat tidak ada tempat lagi untuk berlari atau bersembunyi, pilihan yg tersisa hanya berdiri, berusaha berdiri lebih kokoh dari biasanya, agar tidak goyah saat kesulitan menerpa.

Rasanya semuanya sudah gila, semua kacau balau, bahkan menulis pun perlu drama, kalau tidak ada drama ya tidak ada kisah, tidak seperti dulu, hal positive jadi cerita, hal negatif jadi sampah, sekarang malah terbalik, hal negatif jadi cerita, hal positive... tidak ada sepertinya, hahahha....

Terkadang rasanya ingin mengutarakan pendapat, meneriakan keinginan, dan berjalan dengan gagah melawan arah, tapi di waktu yg berbeda, rasanya cuma "yahhh.. sudah lah" sepertinya semakin dewasa bukan semakin mengerti, tapi semakin tidak peduli, sudah tidak ada yg penting lagi rasanya.

Tapi di pikir2 serba salah, pengen marah ga tau harus ke siapa, pengen maki, jg rasanya cuma bisa ke diri sendiri, pada kenyataannya tidak ada orang yang "WAJIB" untuk membantu kita, tapi yang jadi masalah adalah semua orang merasa "BERHAK" untuk ngomongin kita, menjadikan kita drama gratis dalam hidup mereka, padahal kan hak dan kewajiban itu sebenarnya satu jalur, ada satu harus ada yang lain nya, minimal kalau mau jadiin hidup saya drama hidup anda, anda bayar donx! 

(Curhat galau karena baterai laptop rusak dan lain sebagainya)


Komentar

Posting Komentar

Postingan populer dari blog ini

📖 Journal of DeLuna — Entry II: The Powers Beneath the Crown

If the king of Dunskar stands at the peak… then beneath him lies a web that never truly rests. There are four powers here. Not equal—but none insignificant. The Nobility came first. Old families, their names carved into the foundations of the kingdom itself. They do not rule outright, but their bloodlines built Dunskar. Land, wealth, influence—most of it flows through them. Some smile at the crown. Others measure it. Then, the Church of the Sun. They worship Solus, the ever-burning eye above the world. Their temples are quiet, but their reach is not. Faith here is not forced… yet somehow, it is everywhere. Even soldiers bow their heads before battle. I cannot tell if they serve the king… or if the king simply allows them to exist. The third is… unusual. The Guild. Not a government body, yet somehow essential. They write the guidebooks—records of monsters, ruins, forbidden paths. To adventurers, it is survival itself. To the crown? A tool, perhaps. Or a risk. Information is ...
Posting Komentar
Baca selengkapnya

‎📖 Journal of DeLuna — Entry I: Dunskar

‎Dunskar is not ruled by age. ‎It is ruled by presence. ‎I arrived expecting a kingdom bound by tradition—an old king, a fixed line of succession, predictable order. I was wrong. ‎ ‎The throne of Dunskar does not belong to the eldest child, nor the firstborn. It belongs to the one who can take it… without tearing the kingdom apart. ‎Every ruler must carry the blood of the previous king—this much is sacred. But blood alone is not enough. Among the royal lineage, they choose. ‎ ‎Not by simple decree, but by a form of judgment. Influence. Strength. Charisma. The ability to command not just soldiers… but belief. ‎ ‎They call it a “vote,” though it feels less like democracy and more like quiet warfare. Alliances form in whispers. Loyalty is tested long before the crown is placed. ‎ ‎A weak heir is never crowned. ‎A strong one is rarely unchallenged. ‎The current king—whoever he may be—does not simply inherit power. ‎He survives for it. ‎ ‎And perhaps that is why the people do no...
Posting Komentar
Baca selengkapnya

📖 Journal of DeLuna — Special Entry: The Weight of Knowing

We left the gathering behind. The colors faded first. Then the voices. Then the sense that the world was… wider than I could follow. For days, we walked. The ground changed slowly. Red gave way to something softer. Not yet green—but no longer harsh. And still—I found my attention returning to the same person. Sondre Eldar. Though no one calls him that unless they must. To most, he is simply the Caravan Master. I had watched him before. Everyone does. But not like this. Not with questions that refuse to settle. It began with a memory. A sound I could not place. Clicks. Tongue against teeth. The language of the Siltfang. I had heard it clearly. And I had heard him answer. Just as clearly. For several days, I said nothing. It felt… inappropriate to ask. As if the answer would not be given freely. Or worse—as if it would. He noticed before I spoke. “Something on your mind,” he said. Not a question. Just an observation. I asked anyway. About the language. He did not answer immed...
Posting Komentar
Baca selengkapnya