It Must Be Said.

Ghina Furqan

 My name is Ghina Furqan, I’m a writer of Indonesian heritage based in West Java.

I was raised in Qatar, then left for university to study political sciences in Central Java. I’m not sure when exactly I began to write, I wrote a lot when I was younger because it was therapeutic for me and has helped me explore inner thoughts and feelings. I continue to keep a journal and write as often as I can to this day. My introduction to creative writing was through writing short stories and I fell in love with the art of storytelling. I recently reconnected with poetry writing; the poem format has challenged me to tell stories creatively and concisely. 

There’s a plethora of themes which I explore through my writing; home is something I often find myself writing about, and for me home is something that goes beyond nationality, passport, borders. I move a lot between places like other children in expatriate families so I can’t name a place to call my home, but I know what home feels like, it’s a state of mind. I travel quite frequently, but due to COVID19 restrictions I’m unable to board a flight and be with my parents. The current circumstances have made me gravitate towards exploring the concept of stillness and productivity. I’ve not been this static in one place in a while; though it does make me upset to be far apart from family I’m also grateful for having time to myself. Womanhood is another concept which I find myself writing about from time to time. I’ve written poems based on my memories of the women in my family, including my mother and grandmother. The women in my life are constant sources of inspiration for me in my own personal growth, and I admire them very much. 

I recently started sharing my writing with others online; seeing other people connect with a poem, prose writing or essay that I wrote was incredible, it wasn’t something I expected nonetheless I’m glad and really appreciative that I wrote words that resonated well with readers. It fills me with so much joy when someone approaches me to let me know that they know exactly what I’m talking about in my writing because they’ve gone through similar feelings and/or experiences as I did, it reminds me that I’m not alone in my journey. I hope to continue writing words that speak truth to me and spark feelings of comfort in others when they read.

Ghina’s Poems

Table of Contents

a quiet love


Mother of all jobs

at the end of the day it’s the end of the day

after the storm

a quiet love

I’ve always thought that

in order to love someone

you had to love them loudly

like in the movies and love songs.

I realise now that I’ve loved

and been loved quietly many a time.

A quiet love comes from all distances,

near and far. A quiet love is a yearning

from the heart. A quiet love sparks

adoration in the purest of forms.

This is a love that comforts, brings joy

to and nourishes the soul.


I was taught how to see the world in black and white at a young age.

For my parents, this perception was a blessing, but I often found myself standing in grey areas.

There were times when I was in the black or white, other times I’d stumble trying to step out of the grey.

Sometimes I stayed in the grey, and I think I might stay here forever.

The older I get, the more I realise that having clear cut answers doesn’t make life any easier.

Mother of all jobs

When I was younger and naive,

I thought fathers went to work and mothers didn’t work.

One time I asked my mother if she worked or not,

and I saw a fire lit up in her eyes.

She said to me, “Silly daughter, of course I work.

I work hours, days, nights, weekends; no breaks or holidays for me.

I work to grow and nurture healthy, happy children.

I work so that all is clean with not a single speck of mess.

I work on myself to stay sane.

Pay check or not, and often it is not, I get up and I work.

I work so that you and your sisters will always have a home.

One day, you’ll work too

not because they tell you to but because you can.

You must know your worth and never forget it…

I love you more than anything in this world.

at the end of the day it’s the end of the day

there are moments in my life i look back on and remember thinking: “maybe this is the end for me” / and i panic only to realise that life keeps moving and it wasn’t the end / it was my life splitting into a before and after / i sometimes long to live in the before again but i’m not the same person as i was before / the after me has managed to swallow all the darkness that once tried to drown me / i can see a glimpse of that darkness in my eyes staring back at me in the mirror / i wonder if anyone can see it too / maybe the happy ending is no ending at all / “you’ll heal,” i say to myself / “because at the end of the day, it’s the end of the day.”

after the storm

There were times when my grandmother would pick up a pen, grab a sheet of paper and start drawing. I would watch her, mesmerised. I hadn’t known she could draw, so I asked my mother how her mother learnt to draw, and she told me her mother had never made drawings before. When she sits down to draw, she draws from her mind, she starts gently then pours every line, mark, shape, whatever strikes her thoughts is transformed onto paper, she doesn’t let the pen leave the page until she’s satisfied and can no longer draw anything else. “It’s like rain,” she said and puts her pen down, “everything becomes clearer after the storm.”

You can find Ghina on Instagram and Twitter.

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