It’s just me.

Yes, the truth is—it’s only me.

Here I am, in Jakarta, surrounded by millions of people yet feeling like the loneliest soul alive. A city that never sleeps, where laughter fills the streets and headlights paint the night, but none of it belongs to me. I walk through the crowd like a ghost, unnoticed, unheard, unseen.

Every morning, I wake up to silence. No “good morning,” no voice calling my name—just the faint hum of the city outside my window. I eat alone, travel alone, laugh alone even when there’s no one around to hear it. I fall sick alone, cry alone, and pretend that I’m strong when no one is watching.

Sometimes I hold back my hunger because I have to save what little I have left. Sometimes I count every coin before deciding if I can afford a meal that day. And when my wallet is empty, I whisper to myself, “It’s okay, you’ve survived worse.” But deep down, I know—I’m tired.

Jakarta looks so alive from the outside, but for me, it feels like a giant stage where I’ve forgotten my lines. Everyone’s moving fast, chasing dreams, chasing someone, chasing life—while I stand still, just trying to breathe.

Maybe one day, I’ll find a reason to smile again. Maybe one day, I’ll have someone to share my mornings and my nights with. But for now, it’s just me. Me and this city.

Me and my silence.

Me and my loneliness.