The city breathes in half-light, suspended between consciousness and dream. I am a fracture—split between two selves that cannot reconcile, cannot exist without the other. The dreamer and the cynic, locked in an eternal dance of destruction and hope.

I think about connection—how we spend our lives reaching out, knowing full well the futility of the gesture. The underground man knew this. The romantic dreamer refuses to accept it. And I? I am the space between their certainties.

Memory is not linear here. It coils and uncoils like smoke, like the streets that wind through this twilight city. I remember a woman glimpsed once, years ago—or was she a dream? The dreamer in me constructed entire worlds around a single glance, while the cynic ruthlessly dismantled each romantic fabrication. We are storytellers, all of us, spinning narratives to survive the unbearable silence of existence.

What terrifies me is not loneliness, but the possibility that loneliness might be our most honest state. That all human connection is but a temporary illusion we collectively agree to maintain. The white nights reveal this—neither day nor night, neither real nor imagined.

I’ve stopped trying to distinguish between what I remember and what I’ve invented. The boundaries blur. A conversation I might have had, a love I might have lost, a self I might have been—they all exist simultaneously in this suspended moment.

The underground man would laugh at my sentimentality. The dreamer would weep at his cynicism. And I continue to walk, to write, to exist in the margin between their truths.

Some nights, the city feels like a living organism. Its streets pulse with unspoken stories, with the collective unconscious of every person who has ever felt simultaneously connected and utterly alone. I am listening. Always listening.

I am writing this to prove I exist. To mark my presence in this liminal space where identity dissolves and reforms with each breath. The city is my witness. The streets are my confession.

My pen moves. My heart stutters between belief and disbelief. And still, these white nights continue—indifferent, infinite, eternal.

i just realize that i never stare at you right in the eye for more than 5 seconds. except for that time, in the noodle shop. what were you talking again? i really forgot. i only focus on you deep dark pupil. your eyes smile when our meals finally arrived. i think that was the cutest thing i’d ever witnessed.

i remember we were pretending to be someone else. i was a Fernando, and you were… what’s your name again?? i only remember your pink lips, your short hair, your ear piercing. the way you babying an orange cat that roaming the noodle shop.

~

months passed, but i still remember that date. movie, noodle shop, and coffee (plus a blueberry puff). i’m not gonna hide any feeling from you anymore, but that day was probably my favorite. we laughed and shared each other stories. the only thing that was missing was probably a kiss. i don’t care whether it was a peck, or a long smooth intimate kiss. yup, a kiss would be nice.

i fully understand that you consider what we share is just a fling. for me it’s always 50:50. half of me says that i need you in my life. i need you so bad that i would move a mountain for you. hell, i would kill somebody for you! but the other half says that you already belong to someone else. not me, not even yourself. i just cant stand your empty promises or your baseless lies. i still don’t know what you were hiding. was it a body, or a somebody?

~

right now, there is nothing in the world i want the most except to see your beautiful eyes.

maybe, and just maybe…

one last glance into your sorry eyes.

“What a tiring day today!”
I exclaimed as I closed the car door and started the engine.

“The last meeting nearly killed me for real”
I muttered to myself. After five minutes of cooling down and resting, I began to drive away from the office parking lot.

It was only seven thirty, as I checked the time on my watch. Oddly enough, the traffic wasn’t that bad tonight. I pressed the gas pedal as the traffic light turned green. My car moved slowly through downtown, passing the well-lit tall office buildings that this city proudly boasted.

…

…

…

..

.

I gently hit the brakes as the traffic light turned red. I saw there were two motorcycles in front me. I noticed a convenience store with a bright blue signage on the corner of the street. I also noticed the food place that sell roasted chickens across the street.

Wait, I recognized this intersection. Two more traffic lights, and I would arrive home. I checked my watch: seven fifty-eight. Almost thirty minutes had passed.

“Huh!”
“I didn’t have a thought for a while there.”
“That was nice.”

Anita stands over the bathroom sink, the cold water running over her trembling hands. The blood swirls down the drain, leaving faint red streaks on the porcelain, a stark contrast to the pale skin of her fingers. She splashes her face, the icy water biting into her skin, washing away the last remnants of blood that cling to her cheeks. Her eyes, reflected in the mirror, are empty, hollow—a void where emotion once resided. But within that emptiness, something flickers, a trace of remorse that lingers at the edges of her consciousness, barely strong enough to feel real. For a moment, she lingers, staring at her own reflection as if searching for a hint of the person she used to be. The face in the mirror is hers, yet it feels foreign, distant, as though she’s looking at a stranger.

She tore her gaze away, the sound of the water still echoing in the small bathroom. She turned off the tap, and the silence that followed settled around her. With a deep breath, Anita opened the door and stepped back into the dimly lit hotel room.

She tears her gaze away, the sound of the water still echoing in the small bathroom. She turns off the tap, the silence that follows settles around her. With a deep breath, Anita opens the door and steps back into the dimly lit hotel room.

She turns and walks over to the hotel room chair where her husband’s body sits slumped. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, knowing exactly where he keeps them. She has done this before, many times. With a practiced flick, she lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the familiar menthol taste filling her lungs as she stares blankly out the window.

“How did it come to this, huh?” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. “I gave up everything for you, for us. My career… my dreams… all for what? For a family? We were supposed to build something together, but what did I get? A life full of lies and pain.”

She exhales a cloud of smoke, watching it swirl and dissipate in the dim light of the room.

“I wanted to be a mother so badly… and when we lost him, I thought I’d die too. But you… you didn’t even shed a tear. You just pointed fingers, made me believe it was my fault. Made me carry the weight of that guilt every single day. And I did, didn’t I? I believed you because I loved you… because I wanted to trust you.”

Anita’s hand trembles as she takes another drag, the ash glowing brightly with each unsteady pull.

“But it wasn’t me, was it? It was you. You and… her.” The words almost catch in her throat as she points at the woman lying in the bed. The woman’s naked body is drenched in blood, her once warm, smooth skin now stained a vivid red. “You two took my son away from me. And then you had the nerve to look me in the eyes and told me I was the one who failed. You broke me, piece by piece.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing as she looks back at her husband’s body. His white shirt is soaked in blood, now a deep crimson red. His cold, empty eyes stare lifelessly into the void.

“And all this time… you’ve been cheating with her. The same woman who helped you take away our son. The lies, the deceit, the betrayal… it’s too much. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been drowning in this hell you’ve created, trying to keep my head above water, but I’m done.”

She stubs out the cigarette on the windowsill, the ember fading with a final hiss. Anita’s voice drops to a whisper, cold and resolute.

“You took everything from me… now, I’m taking something back.”

quoted from page 251 of a novel titled “What Would You Do When Your Country Collapse”

there are no stars tonight
only thick clouds roaming above this town
I see red clouds
sometimes orange
sometimes pale grey
reflecting every color this city can offer tonight

I can see one star
sparkling dimly in the northern sky
its light has to fight the thick clouds
that block its way into my eyes
as the wind blows
guiding the clouds
like packs of sheep floating in the sky

my watch says it’s 2 am
I can hear clearly
the sound of a water pump
from the house next door
and the stray cats
meowing in sync

tonight is not a quiet night
as I thought it would be

I’m here sitting
with a cig in my left hand
a glass of rum in my right hand
expecting the voices in my head
to be as loud as it can get

I’m waiting
to have a conversation with my demon
one on one
vis-à-vis

but here I am
not even a single demonic voice come out of my head

even my demons do not want to face me
they leave me hanging
on this gloomy night
in my own void

“Pretty, isn’t it?” I asked, as I gazed up at the night sky.

“Huh? What do you mean?” she replied, her eyes fixed on her ice cream.

“The stars”
“Can you see those stars that look like a kite?”

“They all look the same to me”

“There.”
“Just follow where my fingertips”

“Oh, I see it”

~

I was just a kid back then – I was 6 or probably 5, perched on the back of my dad’s aging motorcycle. The road appeared blurry as we sped along, but the night sky was crystal clear. I was fixated on a particular constellation that looked like a kite. As we rode back home through the dark road, I only focused on that kite constellation, wondering what happened out there – beyond the night sky. That was probably my first memory about the stars.

Years passed, and I found myself on a mountain with my friends. At the summit, we gathered around a bonfire beneath a star-studded sky. Despite the rain during our ascent, the sky had cleared, and the stars shone brightly 2500 meters above sea level. We sipped warm tea, shared stories and laughter while gazing to billion of stars above us. The bonfire’s warmth barely reached us, but the stories we shared warmed our hearts.

I also remembered gloomy day at the beach not so long ago. It was one evening on the beach with my former love, under the radiance of a full moon. The night was devoid of many stars, and we were in the midst of a silent argument. Few words were exchanged, but the crashing waves spoke volumes about our situation. The sea breeze carried a mix of tension and longing.

~

And then, in the hustle and bustle of my work life, I realized how seldom I looked up at the night sky. I faced the impending workdays, one after another. The city’s lights had become my stars, twinkling on screens and as I passed by streetlamps. With a beer in my left hand and a cigarette in my right I yearned to fill the void in my life. In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, I wonder if the stars still sparkled above or if they had migrated to the screens and city lights I now traversed.

Today they decided to go to the city park not far from their home. They brought a picnic blanket, some beers, and sandwiches which they had prepared beforehand. The park was filled with cherry blossom trees in full bloom, creating a mesmerizing view.

They arrived at the park, spread the blanket under a cherry blossom tree, and sat together beneath the gentle pink blossoms. They opened their beers and their sandwiches. The sun was shining brightly, and a gentle breeze made the atmosphere even more pleasant.

They talked about many things, smiling, laughing, and enjoying their beers and sandwiches. Right now, under the beautiful blossoms, he felt peaceful and happy.

The man took a sip of his beer.

“This is nice”
“I never would have imagined that we could experience cherry blossoms on a Wednesday afternoon like this.”

The girl chuckled. “Have you forgotten that you was just fired yesterday?”

Shaking his head, he gazed at the cherry blossoms falling around them.

“I know, I know. But, don’t you think this is beautiful?”

There is a girl
she resembles the spring
she resembles a red flower

even during the summer
when the flower fell and the buds turned red,
the girl was not forgotten

But that was not true

The girl resembles the summer

The girl was afraid
that she might resemble the cold winter
and that she might be cut by the chill

When the spring comes,
will you be the spring one more time?

P.S. happy birthday!

Di tahun 2377 semua jenis bunga kehilangan namanya. Sudah lama sekali sejak bunga-bunga di dunia ini menjadi tidak bernama. Sekarang mereka dibedakan berdasarkan warnanya dan hanya warnanya saja. Bunga merah, bunga kuning, bunga ungu, bunga putih, bunga merah muda, dan lain sebagainya.

Suatu hari seorang kakek berusia 213 tahun mampir ke sebuah toko bunga kecil yang terletak di bawah puing-puing gedung perkantoran di tengah kota.

“Berikan aku setengah kotak bunga tulip dan isi setengah sisanya dengan bunga sepatu.”

“maaf tidak ada bunga tulip dan bunga sepatu di sini. Kalau anda mau, saya bisa memberi anda bunga putih dan bunga kuning ini sebagai gantinya.”

“Kalau begitu berikan aku seikat penuh bunga matahari yang paling besar yang kau punya.”

Lima menit kemudian pemilik toko memberikan seikat penuh bunga berwarna merah muda yang tangkainya penuh dengan duri kepada sang kakek. Senyum sang kakek mengembang lebar. Dengan gembira ia membayar dengan uang berlebih lalu melangkah keluar toko sambil bersenandung.

dikutip dari halaman 103 sebuah novel berjudul “Perang Alien Kedua Meletus Ketika Aku Sedang Mencuci Piring Tengah Malam”.

Pria itu berjalan pelan mendekati rak minuman kaleng. Ia mengambil dua kaleng bir berwana hijau dengan gambar bintang berwarna merah. “dua kaleng sepertinya cukup” gumam pria itu.

…

“totalnya jadi lima puluh ribu, mas” kata perempuan di balik bilik kasir seraya memasukkan dua kaleng bir ke dalam kantung plastik berukuran sedang.

Hari ini bukan hari yang baik bagi pria itu. Siang ini ia dimarahi habis-habisan oleh bosnya di kantor karena pekerjaannya belum selesai.

Pria itu mulai berjalan gontai menjauhi minimarket. “padahal jelas-jelas deadlinenya masih minggu depan!” serunya sambil mengepalkan tangannya erat-erat.

Tepat di bawah lampu jalan pria itu berhenti, mengambil satu buah kaleng bir berwarna hijau dengan gambar bintang berwarna merah, dan mulai membukanya dengan gerakan perlahan. Setelah lima kali tegukan tanpa jeda, ia berhenti minum. Sambil menatap lampu jalan yang berada tepat di atas kepalanya, ia bergumam

“well I know today sucks but this is nice”