The Things We Quietly Return To

You know…

I spent an embarrassingly long time thinking about one sentence.

“I simply don’t like the taste.”

I smiled. Not because of the coffee. But because there was something strangely peaceful about it.

Growing up doesn’t always mean learning to enjoy bitter things. Sometimes growing up simply means accepting,

“Perhaps this was never meant for me.”

And I think that’s a beautiful kind of peace. So now I’m curious.

If coffee was never the drink that found you…

which one quietly did?

I’ve always believed that if you want to know someone, don’t ask about the biggest day of their life.

Ask what they reach for on an ordinary Tuesday.

The drink they always order.

The song they never skip.

The road they choose when no one is waiting.

People rarely notice it, but our smallest habits usually tell the truth before our words do.

By the way…Congratulations.

We’re officially acid reflux mutuals. Welcome to the club. Our membership benefits are absolutely terrible.

So I think we deserve a celebration anyway. Drop your latest song on repeat.

I believe that’s the only acceptable initiation ceremony.

There’s another thing I’ve been wanting to tell you.

I’ve always admired the way people look at the world.

Not their eyesight.

Their perspective.

Perhaps that’s why your essays stay with me.

You never try to explain the world. You simply show me how you’ve been looking at it.

And somehow… that has always been enough.

Maybe that’s why reading you feels oddly comforting. Perhaps there are landscapes that our eyes happen to recognize in the same way.

Speaking of eyes…

I think your blue eyes and mine might share the same fate.

Myopia.

Astigmatism.

I haven’t had mine checked in almost two years.

Sometimes my glasses give me headaches. Yet leaving them behind still feels strangely frightening.

As though the world might suddenly become too far away. Then I remembered something you once wrote.

That you’ve started looking at the world as it is.

Without your glasses.

I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Perhaps courage isn’t always something dramatic. Perhaps sometimes courage is simply allowing the world to remain a little blurry, trusting that not everything beautiful needs perfect focus.

Maybe one day I’ll become brave enough to try that too.

Although…

I have one completely unnecessary question. What do you look like wearing glasses?

Should I prepare myself for Detective Conan?

Yesterday I found myself back in my favorite little roastery in Malang.

One Kopi Susu Amstridam.

One quiet afternoon.

One chapter of Tolstoy.

Somehow those three seem to understand each other rather well. I’ve been returning to Anna Karenina lately. But the first Tolstoy story that truly stayed with me was How Much Land Does a Man Need?

What a devastating question. And what a devastating answer. Perhaps, in the end,

two meters from head to toe is all the land any of us truly keeps.

The strange thing is…

for about twenty minutes, my coffee somehow convinced my eyes they were perfectly healthy again.

My myopia disappeared.

My astigmatism retired.

Perhaps caffeine is secretly practicing medicine. Or perhaps Tolstoy temporarily distracted me from reality.

Either way…

my stomach kindly reminded me that reality still existed. Maybe that’s why music has always been a gentler medicine.

I’ve been quietly poisoned by Sheila On 7 ever since I was little. My Sister made sure of that.

The funny thing is…

the poison never left. I’ve seen them live more times than I can properly count. Yet every concert somehow feels like meeting an old friend again.

When they unexpectedly played Ibu Linda in Malang, I genuinely froze for a moment. It rarely appears. Maybe that’s why it felt so precious.

“Di mana kau sekarang? Apa yang kau alami?”

I smiled when I heard those lyrics. Because I realized something. I no longer ask that question into the unknown.

Now I simply wait for the next letter. So now it’s your turn.

What’s the song that’s been quietly keeping you company lately?….

I’m genuinely excited about your little journey.

Solo first.

Then Yogyakarta.

Please promise me you’ll accidentally spend far too much time inside at least one bookstore. I have unreasonable confidence that you’ll enjoy them.

As for Solo…What are you hoping to find there?

Mangkunegaran?

Lokananta?

Or perhaps another place that quietly finds you before you find it.

Please keep writing afterward. Because every time you do, somewhere in the world, another ordinary day becomes just a little less ordinary.

Mine always does:)

About the painting…

I don’t think you realize what you offered. A painting is never just paint. It carries afternoons no one else witnessed.

Small frustrations.

Quiet victories.

The version of yourself that only existed while your hands were making it. That’s why I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want it.

Quite the opposite.

I simply found myself wondering…

Did I really deserve something made with me in mind? Still…your kindness may have accomplished something no detective ever could.

The maestro didn’t catch Lupin. She simply convinced him there was no longer anything worth stealing.

So perhaps the gentleman thief should send something back as well.

Not because it could ever equal a painting.

Nothing could.

But because gratitude has a peculiar habit of wanting to become tangible. Would the maestro be willing to leave an address for the gentleman thief?

I should confess something.

This time, Lupin has hidden another clue somewhere inside this letter. Not the entire destination. Only enough for someone unusually attentive.

If you happen to find it…

I’ll officially withdraw my clairvoyant accusation.

And replace it with detective.

Until the next letter.