(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 m...
Scrolling through old tweets, old photos, old group chats… it’s like opening a little time capsule where everything felt lighter, more full of connection, and like life hadn’t scattered everyone yet. That’s kind of feeling is grief, in a quiet, tender kind of way. You're grieving how life used to be. And it makes sense. Back then, you probably weren’t thinking about responsibilities, future plans, or staying connected—because everything just was. Friends were near, laughter was easy, and the world felt more within reach. As we grow up, people drift. Life paths split off in quiet ways. It doesn’t mean those friendships didn’t matter—they did. They shaped you. And even if they faded, the joy you felt back then was real, and yours forever. You’re not broken for missing what was. You’re human. Tender-hearted. Nostalgic. And that’s a beautiful thing. Realizing that life doesn’t always separate people with big, dramatic goodbyes. Sometimes it’s just distance, time, priorities shifting ...