In Between Transit (revised ver.)

Train stations have always felt like borrowed time to me. Spaces we pass through but never truly inhabit. We're allowed to exist there, but only temporarily, only in service of going somewhere else. The tension of in-between spaces, the pull of transitional movement has always drawn me in.

I stood at Hamamatsuchō Station watching people move like water through a narrow channel. I wasn't looking for anything in particular when I saw a man inside a noodle shop, eating udon while standing. His bowl sat on the narrow counter in front of him. Everyone around him was moving, flowing toward platforms and exits, and he was there, paused but not quite still. I wondered if he even tasted it, or if the noodles were just fuel, something to get through before the next train came.

Days later, at Nebukawa Station, I found myself waiting on a platform, and across the tracks I saw a woman sitting alone on a bench. She had nowhere urgent to be, or if she did, she wasn't letting it show. Her hands were folded in her lap. She was looking at nothing in particular, or maybe everything. The kind of waiting that doesn't check the clock every thirty seconds.

I keep thinking about these two people. I've been holding these two moments together, turning them over. Both were in transit. Both alone in public. Both waiting for something to take them elsewhere. But one was standing between movement and one was sitting in stillness, and somehow that difference felt enormous.

Maybe what I'm circling around is how we inhabit these liminal spaces—these thresholds that aren't quite departure and aren't quite arrival. Do we stand, ready to move the second the path clears? Or do we sit, claiming the in-between as its own kind of place?

I don't know which one I am. Some days I'm the standing man. Some days I wish I were the sitting woman. Most days I'm both, caught between the need to keep moving and the ache to just stop and breathe in these threshold spaces that belong to no one.

sentiments

On the second day, we were attempting to walk a half-marathon distance (21 km) across Tokyo. An ambitious plan, as it turned out we were too tired by the end and only finished 18 km. Other than the planned stops like Suga Shrine, the Setagaya public toilet, and 21\_21 Design Sight, we saw a lot of interesting things along the way. A couple doing a photo shoot in wedding dress, the Tokyo National Stadium rising against the skyline, and then, unexpectedly, these sumo athletes. I’m not sure where exactly they came from or where they were headed. But it felt oddly cinematic. I think that’s the charm of experiencing a city by walking through it. It slows everything down, puts you right up close to the city’s life, one step at a time.

You will find many shrines and temples across Japan. When I was in Kamakura, I visited shrines and temples. I did some praying in two different shrines. I learned how to do the praying ritual by observing how the locals do it.

1. Take a bow outside the torii gate before entering the shrine.
2. You walk to the shrine, and take another bow.
3. Throw a coin to the offering box in front of you. (preferably 5 yen coin based on local custom)
4. Grab the rope with both hands and ring the bell twice.
5. Bow deeply twice.
6. Clap your hands twice at chest level then keep your hand pressed together and you pray silently.
7. After you finish praying, take another bow and leave.

Not all travel stories are fun and all. I had a “bad day” too during this trip. On the third day, we went to an outskirt area called Tokorozawa, Saitama. We planned to walk from the Totoro fund house to Sayama Lake, then to Sayama Lakeside Cemetery. The thing is, it was raining all day long. And Tokorozawa is a rural area. We walked through small village roads, farms, plantations, and forest. It was like trekking or hiking. As a person who dislikes rain, this situation was hellish. But not for Adi. He really enjoyed the rain. He imagined he was the main character in some anime world or something, while I was nagging the whole trek. It wasn’t just the rain; it was the combination of the rain, the trek, the atmosphere, and being completely wet. Imagine trekking through a tea plantation in the rain. Something like that. It became more enjoyable later when we went to the neighboring town for lunch. The rain didn’t bother us as much then.

In this trip, I was accompanied by my architect friend. Some of our destinations were architecture objects. I could say, for him, it was something close to an architecture pilgrimage. He told me about some architect figures like Tadao Ando, Kengo Kuma, and Le Corbusier. He also taught me a little bit about architecture: the material, the facade, the form, etc. I listened and looked, and slowly started to see what he was seeing.

But my favorite spot was the Tokyo International Forum, and it wasn’t even in our itinerary. On the fourth day, while we were strolling around, we stumbled onto it by accident. The place is enormous. And what strikes me first is the verticality of it. A soaring glass atrium that feels simultaneously open and enclosed, like being inside a cathedral made of light. The ceiling climbs so high above me that it made me feel very, very small standing there. Like genuinely small.

If I ever visit Tokyo again, I would not go to Shibuya Crossing. It’s way too crowded, and not in a thrilling way. The kind of crowd that makes you anxious. Too many people from every direction and you just wanna get out from there. My friend felt it too: got overwhelmed, and need to leave. Most people there aren’t actually trying to get anywhere. They’re crossing the intersection just to experience the crossing itself, phones raised, rushing through the crowd, then turning around to do it again. I get it. I did it too. But once is enough. It’s more of a spectacle than an experience, and it fades quickly.

There was one thing I really wanted to do while in Japan: experience an onsen. I convinced Adi to include Hakone in our itinerary after visiting Odawara. Honestly, I didn’t know much about Hakone at first. I just noticed on the map that it was close, and a quick search told me it was famous for its onsen. Good enough reason.

The experience itself was genuinely awkward. Being completely naked in a public hot spring bath, surrounded by a couple of nihonjin men, and being the only gaijin in the room has a way of making you hyperaware of yourself. The nihonjin men acted completely normally. We did not.

Eventually I mustered up my courage and just went with it: walked to the open bath confidently, pretending no one was looking. Adi, on the other hand, remained shy throughout, still covering himself by the time I’d fully committed to the bit.

Verdict: it was a new, awkward, and oddly freeing experience. Would do it again.

Metadata

All photos are shot on film using Pentax MX + SMC Pentax-M 50mm f/2 lens

Film stock (in order):
1. KW 800T
2. Kodak Pro Image 100
3. Ilford HP5 plus 400
4. Fujifilm Fujicolor 100
5. Kodak Portra 800
6. Fujifilm Superia X-Tra 400 (expired)
7. Kodak Portra 400
8. Fujifilm Fujicolor 100

Forgotten Adventure

Since I was young, I’ve dreamt of exploring the world, venturing through dense forests, hiking towering mountains, and swimming in crystal-clear seas. This longing for adventure has always been a part of me—a deep desire to experience the raw beauty of nature and the thrill of discovery. It all started with a simple curiosity: what would it be like to live the stories I read in magazines, to step into the pages of those thrilling tales of exploration?

By the time I reached high school, I took every opportunity to make these dreams a reality—hiking mountains, exploring deep forests, and camping on quiet beaches. Whether I was backpacking with friends or traveling solo, my camera was always by my side, evolving from a small pocket camera to a more robust DSLR. I made photography my way of capturing the landscapes, moments, and feelings of freedom that came with each adventure. My mission remained the same: to capture the breathtaking landscapes and unforgettable journeys. I aimed to preserve the essence of these experiences—turning them into stories told through photos.

However, life has a way of shifting priorities. As I entered college, the longing for adventure began to fade. Though I continued to hike and travel, the experience felt different. The fiery passion that once fueled my explorations had dimmed.

Forgotten Adventure is a tribute to the adventures that shaped me, a reminder of the life I once led. It is a chronicle of my obsession with freedom, the thrill of traversing the landscape, and the joy of seeing the part of the world i have never seen. Through these pages, I seek to relive the exhilaration of discovering new horizons and the profound journey of self-discovery.

Through this book, I want to tell a story, glimpses of my quest to push boundaries, capture inspiring images, and forge unforgettable memories. It is a testament to the friendships made along the way and the relentless drive to explore the unknown.

Taman Melati sebagai Monumen Hidup

Berlokasi di sebelah utara Fakultas Teknik UGM, bersebelahan persis dengan daerah Pogung, Taman Melati muncul sebagai kompleks apartemen yang dekat secara fisik sekaligus meresap dalam perjalanan hidup saya. Taman Melati adalah saksi bisu kehidupan saya sebagai mahasiswa Fakultas Teknik UGM yang tinggal di Pogung Dalangan, dan saya sebagai alumnus yang kembali ke Jogja.

Saya sempat memotret Taman Melati yang masih dalam tahap konstruksi pada tahun 2017. Proyek pembangunan Taman Melati berjalan ketika saya masih berstatus mahasiswa, dan selesai seiring dengan kelulusan saya. Setelah itu, saya pulang kampung.

Hanya berselang dua tahun sejak wisuda, saya kembali ke Jogja untuk bekerja di kota ini. Taman Melati sudah berubah; kompleks apartemen ini tidak lagi hanya berupa ruang-ruang kosong. Taman Melati sudah menjadi rumah bagi para penghuninya.

Taman Melati seolah menjadi arsip hidup saya. Foto yang saya ambil saat masa konstruksinya pada tahun 2017 menghadirkan kilas balik ke masa-masa kuliah. Saya bisa merasakan kembali melankoli yang terpatri pada foto tersebut. Pada 2023, dengan kamera di tangan, saya kembali merayakan Taman Melati dan juga pencapaian hidup saya. Foto lama yang bersebelahan dengan foto baru dapat menggambarkan perjalanan yang telah dijelajahi oleh waktu dan kehidupan.

Perbedaan yang di antara foto-foto tersebut mencerminkan bukan hanya evolusi fisik Taman Melati, tetapi juga evolusi dalam diri saya. Taman Melati adalah monumen hidup yang mengingatkan pada perjalanan dalam hidup saya.

Between the Difference