Goresan Tinta Theola

I’m not the type of person who thinks much about love. To me, “what even is a love story?”. People say college is the best time to fall in love, to build stories with cool people, to feel your heart race while waiting for a text, or to secretly smile when you see someone from afar. I once imagined how cute it would be to have a partner like the student council president (BEM), someone busy with meetings but still making time to walk me home after class, hehe. But it turns out, all of that was just a fantasy, a fairytale I had seen in campus dramas. In reality, even up to my fifth semester, I still walked home from campus alone, passing through crowded hallways without anyone waiting for me. I still sat alone at the canteen, waiting for a message that never actually came. Sometimes, I comforted myself by saying, “It’s okay, I’m still young. It’s not the time to think about love yet.” But at some point, I began asking myself, “What does it feel like, to have someone waiting for you, some...

I never thought I would find myself in a situation like this. It was the first time I had ever experienced such a serious accident. Initially, I only wanted to visit my friend’s boarding house, but I never expected that everything would happen so quickly, in just a matter of seconds. That night, I felt extremely restless in my room. The walls that usually felt comforting suddenly felt tight and suffocating. I wanted to find a calmer atmosphere to refresh my mind. At that time, my head was filled with so many thoughts, and assignments were piling up, yet I had no motivation to work on them. It felt like I was exhausted from the same routine every day but didn’t know how to break free from that feeling. I remembered that I had a friend from high school who was also studying in Surabaya. So, I decided to contact her, hoping we could meet up and talk for a while. Maybe we would just sit somewhere, buy some snacks, and share stories to lighten the burden I was carrying in my mind. I hoped t...

For me, loss is the most painful phase in life. How could it not be? We are forced to let go of things we love, things we care about, and things we have enjoyed every second with. In my life, the hardest loss I have experienced was having to say goodbye to the middle school students I taught English to during my internship, those kids who made me feel seen and needed almost every day. Every morning, I had to wake up earlier than usual, leaving home when the sun had not fully risen, traveling 10 kilometers to arrive at the school on time before the morning assembly started. Sometimes, I had to leave even earlier, worried about traffic. If I got stuck in traffic, I would be late, and I never wanted to make the kids wait. Going home was not easy either. The heavy traffic in the afternoon often greeted me with the endless sound of honking horns and fumes from vehicles, making me exhausted before I even reached home. At night, I still had to attend my classes, finish assignments, and prepar...

  Her name is Ola. Since childhood, she has been accustomed to living under strict discipline and a structured daily routine. She spent five years at a boarding school on the outskirts of a small town, where the call to prayer served as a reminder of time, and memorization was a daily ritual. Ola’s world was filled with religious texts, the advice of her teachers, and lengthy discussions about Islamic jurisprudence. But amidst the pages of tafsir and hadith, Ola quietly harbored one dream: to study English Literature. For Ola, language is a window. She loved how words could shape the world, how poetry could whisper pain, and how novels could serve as an escape from the harsh realities of life. But her dream was no easy feat. In the world where she grew up, English Literature was not the primary choice. And the world of higher education... was too far removed from what she knew. While her friends were busy applying for college after graduation, Ola joined a service program at a bo...

     After all the Eid activities were done, we finally stayed home to recharge our energy. It was not just a regular kind of tired, it was the type of exhaustion that made you feel like you had not slept in days. Just imagine it, traveling from one city to another in such a short amount of time. Especially my dad, who had taken on the heroic role of driving us everywhere. He was practically our personal chauffeur throughout the whole Eid al-Fitri season. He drove from Bali to Malang, then from Malang to Tuban, from Tuban to Pekalongan, and finally back to Malang again. Each trip was long, crowded, and filled with traffic, especially with so many other families doing the same Lebaran routine, visiting relatives and traveling back to hometowns. What amazed me the most was that my dad barely complained. Sure, he looked exhausted and had visible eye bags the size of small bags of rice, but he kept going. He would just down a cup of coffee, stretch a little, and th...

 After nearly a week of celebrating Eid in Pekalongan with my dad’s side of the family, I finally returned to Malang. The excitement of Eid had barely settled when it was already time for another round of silaturahmi , this time with my mom’s side of the family. The timing felt almost too perfect. As soon as one celebration ended, another was waiting. But honestly, that’s the beauty of Eid: it stretches, lingers, and wraps you in togetherness for days on end. The reason we headed back to Malang right away was because of the annual family halal bihalal , it is a tradition deeply rooted in Indonesian culture where extended family members gather after Eid to reconcile, catch up, and strengthen bonds. This particular event was with my grandmother’s extended family, my mom’s mom’s side. And let me tell you, if you think one side of the family is already big, this one is just as massive. It all began with my great-grandparents, just the two of them, starting a humble life toget...