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I didn’t really want to go at first.

It wasn’t just hesitation—it was something deeper. A creeping doubt about my entire existence in this space. I kept thinking, Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I never did.

Then why did you push so hard to be part of it? Weren’t you the one eager to get in back then?

Maybe. Maybe I just changed my mind halfway through.

I thought this time would be different. But so far, it feels like the same old story.

And in the worst-case scenario? A year passes, and I find myself stuck, unable to move forward, quietly and silently pushed out of the frame.


---

Sunday. Start to finish: 10K. 09:08 to 10:01—exactly one hour.

A full family boarded the train—parents and a child. The child was running wild inside the car, completely unsupervised. A security guard stood far off at the back, pretending not to see a thing.

C’mon, man. Do your job. Discipline this family. I can’t yell at them—I don’t have the authority—and meanwhile this kid is actively damaging public property!

Finally, after endless minutes of chaos, the mother strapped her son into a baby carrier. At last, a hint of civilization. Peace returned. I could finally breathe.


---

Dukuh Atas Bridge was buzzing with life today.

It looked like a mall suspended in midair—floating above a river in the heart of the city. A transit-oriented fever dream made real. Whoever planned this was a genius.


---

“I don’t want to go…”

“I think I’ve just wasted my money, time, and energy—for nothing.”

But I got an invitation. I accepted it. I promised to show up. That’s the only reason I was there. My casus belli for the day.

When I arrived, only two people were there—one I knew, one I didn’t. I sat a little apart, not close enough to intrude. I didn’t feel like inserting myself into anyone’s circle.

Then someone else showed up. We’d known each other for a while, but somehow we’d never clicked.

“What’s your favorite local writer?” he asked.

I didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t that I wanted to be rude—I just genuinely didn’t know what to say. I don’t read modern authors. I read the classics.

“He’s been dead a long time,” I finally said.

“Classics, huh?” He seemed to lose interest instantly and drifted away.

So… who’s being rude now? Ha.


---

One more person came. We sat in silence.

Another arrived. Same thing—quiet.

I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. My head was full of noise.

Why am I here?
I don’t belong here.
I wasted everything for this?


---

Eventually, he came—the one who had invited me.

We talked. He pitched me an idea. I accepted. It looked promising. I hoped it would flourish.

But now that my part was done, I asked myself: Do I really need to stay for the rest of the event? Can’t I just leave?

So I left—right before the main program began.


---

And then, an hour later—I came back.

I don’t even know why. Maybe just to linger. I could stay until 3 p.m., after all.

Everyone had already formed their little circles—tight-knit groups chatting and laughing. Except a few of us, the outsiders. Maybe three of us, drifting near the corners, absorbed in our screens.

I joined them. I was one of them.

While the others chatted, we were locked into our own worlds—heads down, devices on.

I opened the proposal the inviter had shared. I read it closely, analyzing its strengths and weaknesses. I studied the others that had failed. I searched for patterns, wondering whether ours had a real shot.

It was good—but I wasn’t getting my hopes up. The authorities could easily shoot it down.

Then the inviter approached.

Are we continuing the discussion? I was game.

“So, all we can do now is wait for their decision, huh?” I asked.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Can we at least edit the proposal? I had a few ideas.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

That was it. Discussion over.


---

He stepped up and suddenly hijacked the event, announcing our proposal to everyone.

Since I already knew the details, I stepped back. I took out my phone. My photographer instinct kicked in—this felt like a moment worth capturing.

After a few failed shots, I got it—the perfect one. I sent it to the group chat, along with the proposal draft.

That, I guess, was my main contribution today.


---

Next objective: get out before 3 p.m.

But I couldn’t just leave on my own. There’s a whole exit protocol here—socially exhausting if done solo. You have to report to the event leader, then say goodbye to every single person who’s staying.

One by one.

Easier to do in a group.

So I waited. Watching. Waiting for anyone to start the chain.

Whoever goes first—I’m tagging along.

“Why are you so quiet?” someone finally asked.

"Ah… well, I’ve already done my part."

Entertained the proposal, made my contribution. I’ve got nothing left to do now. Just waiting to leave.

And then—I saw them. A group was moving to leave.

I joined them. I got out safely.


---

What’s next?

Now, all I can do is wait for the verdict. Maybe next month.

If we pass, things might get a little hectic.

If not—well, then I guess nothing really changes.

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