Jogja: A Journey Through Stories and Celebrations

Today, I'm heading back to Jogja—a city where my roots run deep, where I grew up and came of age. But this time, it's not about me or continuing my personal journey; instead, I'm here to celebrate the happiest day of my friend Afif's life as he ties the knot. For Afif, Jogja isn't just any place—it's his birthplace, the soil where his dreams took root. So naturally, he chose to celebrate his love story in the very heart of his own. My sole purpose for this trip? To attend his wedding. Simple enough, right? Yet, as life often reminds us,

The beauty of a journey doesn't lie in its destination—it lies in the stories we gather along the way.

And this trip? It was no exception.

The train departed Tegal at exactly 10:00 AM, gliding steadily toward Jogja as the landscape blurred past my window. Around me, fellow passengers carried their own invisible worlds—each one brimming with dreams, regrets, and untold tales. Beside me sat a gentleman in his mid-50s, whose face lit up when he began talking about his son. "He graduated with a perfect GPA," he said proudly, his voice tinged with awe.

But pride soon gave way to reflection. He shared how he had once dreamed of joining the Indonesian military, trying four times despite nearing the maximum age limit. Yet his efforts were thwarted—not by lack of determination, but by corruption. Someone had bribed the selection committee, replacing his registration number with theirs. His bitterness was palpable, yet beneath it lay resilience. "Life goes on," he said simply, shrugging off decades of disappointment with quiet strength.

Later, hunger nudged me toward the dining car, where I grabbed a modest snack: a bottle of water and a slice of bread. There, I met another traveler—a man around my age or slightly older. He introduced himself as an overseas worker returning home to Jogja. His story fascinated me. After graduating in Special Needs Education, he became a teacher for students with disabilities, pouring his heart into shaping young lives. But even after years of dedication, his salary barely covered basic needs. Faced with no other choice, he decided to work abroad in a Middle Eastern country.

"There, they value hard work," he explained. "Here? It's different." Listening to him, I couldn't help but think of hashtags like #KaburAjaDulu, which have become rallying cries for so many Indonesians seeking opportunities elsewhere. The conversation lingered in my mind long after we parted ways—a sobering reminder of systemic inequalities pushing talented individuals away from home.

When the train finally pulled into Tugu Station, I disembarked and checked into a cozy hotel near Malioboro. Renting a motorbike, I spent the afternoon wandering through streets alive with energy. That evening, while grabbing a drink at a minimarket, I stumbled upon two French travelers—Flux and Violet. Despite my limited English, we struck up a lively conversation under the stars at an angkringan. They spoke passionately about their love for Jogja's culture, and I found myself sharing snippets of my own connection to the city. Laughter flowed freely as we exchanged stories, creating fleeting but meaningful bonds.

The next morning, I strolled from Tugu Station to Malioboro, savoring gudeg for breakfast—a dish synonymous with Jogja's soul. The streets buzzed with activity: joggers moved briskly, tourists queued for photos near the iconic "Jalan Malioboro" sign, and vendors called out to passersby. At 10:00 AM, I returned to my hotel to meet Dio and Yayang, a married couple and former classmates of mine. Before leaving Tegal, I'd prepared two gifts—one for Afif and another for them. We caught up over the 30-minute drive to the wedding venue, because we haven't seen each other for a long time (maybe half a year).

At the wedding, I reunited with several college friends. Together, we celebrated Afif's big day, clinking glasses over ice cream and light snacks. Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was 1:00 PM. Reluctantly, I bid farewell to Jogja and prepared to head back to Tegal. I thanked Dio and Yayang profusely for chauffeuring me around this beautiful city.

Originally, I had planned to take a bus departing at 2:00 PM. But fate had other plans—the schedule had been pushed back to 9:00 PM. Frustrated but determined, I booked a seat on a travel shuttle leaving at 8:00 PM instead. With hours to spare, I headed to Ambarrukmo Plaza to wait. Sitting alone on a bench outside, I reflected on the whirlwind of emotions and experiences from the past few days. From conversations with strangers to reconnecting with old friends, every moment felt like a thread weaving together the fabric of this journey.

As I boarded the shuttle later that evening, I realized something profound: Jogja never fails to enchant me. Its charm isn't just in its landmarks or food—it's in its people, their stories, and the way the city seems to hold space for both joy and introspection.

Until next time, Jogja. You'll always hold a special place in my heart.