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Writing will always be my self-defense, my medium. When the tongue can't form words, I find solace and joy in putting thoughts into writing, crafting a sanctuary where emotions dance on the pages.
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So, welcome to the gallery of my mind, where every word is a stroke of the brush in the masterpiece of life.
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My September in the Midst of Chaos
(I made this on September, 3rd, 2025)
This September feels so heavy in Indonesia. Everywhere I turn, the news is filled with protests, anger, and heartbreak.
The unrest began in August, when public anger erupted over lawmakers’ lavish housing perks—benefits so excessive they felt like mockery against the struggles of ordinary people. That anger only deepened with the tragedy of Affan Kurniawan, a young motorcycle taxi driver killed by an armored police vehicle during a demonstration. His death, caught on camera, became a symbol of injustice and sparked a wave of grief and rage.
That image has stayed with me, as it has with so many others.
Now the unrest has spread across the country—Jakarta, Surabaya, Bandung, Makassar. Protesters fill the streets, government buildings and police stations are burned, and casualties keep rising. Security forces respond with tear gas, arrests, and armored vehicles, while leaders seem distant, even absent. Watching President Prabowo attend a military parade in China while Indonesia burns feels like a wound on top of a wound. And yet, amid all this, women march with brooms in hand, symbols of sweeping away corruption—small acts of courage in the storm.
What breaks me most is not only the violence that has unfolded in the streets and even inside our universities, but also the silence that follows. The government, the very leaders meant to protect us, speak as though nothing has happened—or worse, as if the lives lost and the people injured are an insignificant number, collateral in the name of order.
But they are not numbers. Affan Kurniawan was not a number. Every protester gasping through tear gas, every student trapped in their campus sanctuary, every medic who risked their own safety to help others—they are not statistics. They are human beings with names, with families, with futures that deserve to be honored and protected.
When our leaders turn away, it feels like an erasure. Yet silence cannot erase what is true. I carry their stories in my heart, and I refuse to believe their lives are insignificant. Their suffering matters. Their courage matters. Their humanity matters
Amid all this, I find myself emotionally drained. Every headline, every video clip, every conversation feels heavy. And then there’s me—someone whose birthday falls in this very month. I’ve caught myself wondering if I’m ungrateful for not feeling excited, for struggling to celebrate.
But I’ve come to realize this isn’t ingratitude; it’s empathy, it’s exhaustion, it’s the natural response of a heart that cannot ignore the pain of its people.
Still, I remind myself that my birthday does not have to compete with the chaos. It doesn’t have to be loud or filled with fireworks to be meaningful. It can be quiet, a small act of defiance, a reminder that life continues even when the world is unsteady.
This September, I carry both truths: my country is hurting, and yet my own life is still worth honoring. My presence, like everyone’s, is a light in itself. And maybe holding onto that small flame—no matter how fragile—is already a form of resistance, already an act of hope.
As my country searches for justice, I too search for gentleness within myself—because both are needed for us to move forward.
The storm has raged for many days, battering us with its relentless winds and waves. But now, let us pause—take a moment to rest and thank God for seeing us through. We’re still here, still standing strong, still holding on. The storm could not tear us apart, and for that, I am deeply grateful. I thank God for everything—for the chance to walk this ferocious road together, hand in hand. Our ship still sails, though battered, refusing to sink. Compromise—this is what we’ve learned and continue to learn. It’s not easy, but we try, recognizing that we are only human, prone to mistakes and imperfections. We’ve seen each other’s flaws, yet we choose to stay, to keep learning and growing together. It’s through compromise, honest communication, and keeping a cool head that we’ve found ways to rethink our own inclinations. We’ve carried scars, both old and new, but we’re committed to healing them. Healing is not a destination but a journey, and as we walk this path, we...
Million bulbs in the void, bursts into a piece as its light disperse, like a supernova, we dwell in the fading light, fight against gravity and grow red, restart, become blue with fury, sedated by dark, concourse into the blackhole, turning it into a singularity, succumbing to the demise, reconciled with eternity. We were once scintilation, before we collapse into one, so what are we now? -vic
Suatu hari ada seekor merpati yang jatuh cinta kepada setangkai mawar putih. Setiap hari merpati berusaha untuk mengungkapkan perasaannya itu kepada mawar putih. Tapi mawar putih tidak pernah merespon merpati. Bahkan mawar merah pernah berkata kepada merpati : "Aku tidak akan pernah bisa mencintaimu Merpati ! Tidak Akan !" Kendati begitu, Merpati tidak mau menyerah, setiap hari dia datang kepada mawar putih untuk mengungkapkan perasaannya. Taletapi tak sama sekali membuka hati mawar putih. Mawar putih selalu menolak merpati. Sampai pada suatu hari, ketika merpati mendatangi mawar putih yang kesekian kalinya untuk menyatakan perasaannya, Mawar putih berkata pada merpati "Aku akan bisa mencintimu, tapi dengan satu syarat, kau harus mengubahku menjadi mawar merah !". Merpati pun menyanggupi persyaratan itu, walaupun ia tak yakin bahwa ia bisa untuk mengubah mawar putih menjadi mawar merah, tapi ia akan berusaha memikirkan seribu cara. Karena ia begitu mencintai mawar p...
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