On a cloudy Saturday, I stagger my way out from my new dorm room in Banyumanik. I  just finished unpacking all the boxes of things I brought from home. It’s almost 2 in the afternoon and there’s nothing left to do so I went outside. The rain had just dried up and yet my black t-shirt was  already damp from sweat. My hand was sore from all the lifts I did. So this is it, i thought to myself. A life I have desperately prayed for. This is it. My liberation path, a journey towards adulthood.

And yet, as the sun caves in, loneliness crept underneath my toes. I must've been kidding myself. I was freshly out of high school. What I had back then was just a pocket filled with rough ideas about how the world function. How am I supposed to survive this?

But before the demons can touch me, I heard a faint sound of knocking, followed by the sweetest chuckle behind the wall. It was you. Your Midas touch on my rosewood door, July's flush and your warm hands cure. When I open the door, the warmth from your smile surges in. It filled my heart and soul, turning my hesitation into sense of wonder. It was the beginning of the semester. The beginning of a life I never thought I would ever have.

Then I know the rest of you, one by one. Most of our first meetings were accidental. Some of those first were not the most pleasant ones. But who are we to predict where the wind would take us? We can make a forecast, sure, but never a pledge. As the heat wave preserves, so does our conversations. It took us places, those midnight talking. It took us to the past, where we were 10 and afraid of darkness, spiders, blind vans, and math tests. It took us to the future, where we graduated, got our first paycheck, and rule the world in its glory. 

As I look into your eyes, I find myself wondering; when does the desire to live start to feel so foreign to me? When does the prospect of a future seem so warm and enticing? On the cold skating rink, on the beach, at the top of the hill, in the cinema, at a night festival, in the city square, drenched in a rainy concert, in Cak Eco’s bustling kitchen. The more I let myself get lost in the sound of your laughter, the more bearable tomorrow seems. The more I let myself believe all the things you said about me, the more grateful I am of my existence. 

What did I do to deserve all the love you continue to scream?

You know, Hanya Yanagihara once said: friendship, companionship: it so often defied logic, so often eluded the deserving, so often settled itself on the odd, the bad, the peculiar, the damaged. A lot of times I found myself so undeserving of all the friendship I have and had. To say that I am full of flaws would be a huge understatement. I am beyond broken. And yet you receive me with such loving arms. You mend a heart you didn't even broke. You wipe away my tears with so much care. You taught me how to learn and unlearn things. You taught me how to spell my name with pride. You taught me to be kind, to others, and mostly, to myself.

Life has ways of stripping us from things that made us human. With blinding headlights and stormy nights. It lead us to narrow alleyways, thick with the smell of artificial beatitude. It brought us to our knees. It got us begging and crying for things we deserve but never meant to have. A perpetual torture in which people couldn't help but to wonder and wonder and wonder. Spiraling into the abyss of memories we fail to muse without it ripping our hearts apart.

Twenty years of living and it came as a revelation to me. As clear as the morning skies, as sure as the nightingale's sacrifice. That is; in the middle of such mayhem, peace can be found in anchorages. The rusty wires that holds you through the haywire stream. The solid decks that ground you down. The promises of new ships to come and take you away. It was you. It has always been you. An anchorage. A lifeline. The slow downpour to my burning days. The brightest flame igniting my darkest nights. A force of happiness that would make Oizys woke up from his millennia of somber reality.

To loved is to be changed. If all those dark days of being pushed to the bathroom wall, being photographed and mocked, and being knocked down in the middle of the class was all it takes for me to get here, I would gladly go through the same hell all over again. I would walk every paths, burn every walls, just to get to you. I couldn't be more grateful. I couldn't be more alive. I couldn't be more changed.