Day In, Day Out

Twenty Thirteen Twenty thirteen is a bad show. I don't intend to remember any part of it but the year can be concluded as below: Twenty Fourteen I'm on my way to a destination I don't know where alone. I'm slowly giving up on life. An abundance of gratitude goes to twenty thirteen and the wonderful people I'd met throughout the year.

  When it is time, it is time.   Every day and night, human be a Muslim or a believer of other religions prepare themselves for their way home in the best way that they know. Too frequent, we are busy preparing ourselves for our journey that we almost forget about the journey of the livings that we are to leave behind.  When we, human, are born to earth, we are assigned by God different roles; some are major and some are minor. Both are important but the major counts the most. The major to me are the roles as a Muslim, a daughter/son and a sister/brother if applicable. I am born to earth to be a daughter of a wonderful married couple and later become the eldest of four. As the first symbol of love of this couple, I grow old with love, expectations and responsibilities. The three are well-blended in me that when Malaikat reminds me of death, the first that pops up in my head besides of my deeds and conducts is the lives I shall leave behind. I weep and...