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Under the moonlight, thinking of how life is like when I am finally living alone; or when I finally learned to not be available for people who surely does not care. Would I be happier, I wonder? I have been into the same situation over the years, yet I am still holding a flower to offer to each of every people I see— when in fact, mine has already died out of dehydration; out of not taking a good care of its petals.

All my life, I used to think that I am not a people pleaser but rather a good friend instead. Yet slowly, I am realizing that I am just so in denial. For I gave them the whole damn sea, and they'd come and give me a drop of a water; I gave them the constellation and yet I received a dying star. A bullets of words were threw at me— and yet the blind me took it as if it does not hurt at all. I painted my own house and welcome every people who knock on my door, I told myself it's okay. My mom taught me to be generous, to be welcoming. And yet as I grew up, I have realized that being one was damn exhausting. 'Cause who would open their doors when you had burnt down your house? Who would be generous to feed you when you have ran out of foods? No one.

No one would dare to give me seas; no one would dare to offer me the single flower they have. Frustrated of how my life turns to be, I kept asking myself who am I when I am not the Rhii who would lend her hand even it's hurting? Who am I when you feel happy? For I can just hear the sweetness of your voice when you are calling me desperately for help; for I just can be noticed when you've ran out of choices.