*From Bandung to Paris: Why I Survive at The Burned City*

 

Riot in Paris (Antara, Foto)

Minutes after the mayor left Braga Street — one of the most iconic areas of Bandung — the crowd was gathering to consolidate. But the police thought they would cause destruction. So, the police fired tear gas that, seconds later, hit the protesters brutally.

Instead, the crowd fought back. Many of them ran away in panic, screaming, crying out loud while trying to save their lives. Anger was through the roof. The silent night turned to chaos in hours.

I was watching from a narrow alley with my camera rolling. It was the most terrible experience I have ever seen, and I will never forget it.

At 2 a.m., I heard the sound of sirens from ambulances nonstop. And the firefighters tried to control the burning buildings — stores were destroyed as well. Thick clouds of smoke and flames were everywhere.

On the way back home, I heard a live news broadcast reporting at least 200 people arrested, hundreds of injured people taken to hospitals.

I didn't get enough sleep that night. I kept wondering why the riots could happen, and even more — why simultaneously in almost all the big cities in Indonesia, such as Jakarta, Bandung, Yogyakarta and Makassar? What really happened? What were their intentions? And why was Greenpeace involved?

I was sitting on my bench, watching TV, sipping my coffee with cigarettes already on the table. Yes, I have passed the nightmare. And thank God, I am still alive.

Riot in Bandung (CNN Indonesia)

Now, I know. Today is the commemoration day of two years of President Prabowo and his Vice President Gibran Rakabuming Raka ruling the nation.

But most people were disappointed. Flawed policies, followed by high corruption, resulted in wrongdoers in public service. The massive forest fires in Kalimantan have had a serious impact on nature's sustainability. Instead, the government plans to replace forest diversity with palm oil for quick money and investment.

Meanwhile, our neighbours, Singapore and Malaysia, sent official protests condemning the thick haze in their skies.

People's prosperity declined, education was lacking, and purchasing power was declining. The price of fuel rose in the last few months, and people felt that basic daily needs were difficult to afford.

The President's popularity sank to 20 percent.

I was thinking, again and again. Why is it happening now in Europe as well? See what happened in France, Belgium, and Italy at the same time?

The quality of life is declining. And climate change is the real sign to stop the greedy!

If I had interviewed the mayor of Bandung earlier, the protesters would have been more careful and would not have let intruders join the demonstration that turned into riots.

The mayor said, "People's anger is okay, but looting, burning cars, or destroying private property is not."

At the end of his speech, he said, "I am standing here in front of you to keep your rights running well in a conducive way. And at the same time, I will never tolerate whoever tries to break the rules. Looting is a crime! They will reap what they sow."

*UPDATE: Oct 22 — From Braga to Paris*

As I finish this article from my bench in Bandung, my TV shows the same pictures from France.

On October 17, France saw one of its worst days of unrest in years. What started as nationwide demonstrations over high fuel prices and declining public services turned into riots. Town halls were set on fire in Limoges and Marseille, shops were ransacked in Paris, Lyon, and Bordeaux.

According to Reuters and Le Monde, nearly 1,800 people were arrested and hundreds of police officers were injured. The government has now asked local mayors to impose partial curfews from 9 p.m. to 4 a.m.

France's bond yields rose to 4.96%, the highest since 2002, because investors fear the government cannot reduce its debt while the country is burning.

I watched this from Bandung and I understood: this is not only about my city. From Kalimantan's burning forests to the haze over Singapore, from Braga Street to Paris — the quality of life is declining everywhere. And when peaceful voices are not heard, chaos fills the vacuum.

Climate change, cost of living, corruption — it is the same anger with a different accent.

--

The 41st Minutes That Killed Viettel: Kyle Colonnas's Expensive Mistake

Persib Bandung defeated The Cong Viettel 1-0 on the second matchday
of Group E in the 2026/2027 AFC Champions League Two
(ACL Two) at Jalak Harupat Stadium, Bandung,
last night, October 14, 2026.

Bandung was flooded with crazy supporters at 7pm on Wednesday, October 14, 2026. They yelled and shouted nonstop since the players came down on the Jalakharupat Stadium, Soreang, Bandung, last night. Traffic was jammed, vehicles were stuck, but the hard sound of the drum band beating loudly made every heart tremble! That was the greatest match ever. 

Since the opening whistle blew, both teams went straight for the attack. They traded blows fiercely. The match was exciting. It looked balanced. But Persib kept pounding on the hearts of the Bobotoh, who were roaring in Jalak Harupat Stadium, Soreang, Bandung.

By the second minute, my heart had stopped. Peralta broke free and shot—just wide. In the seventh minute, he was there again, and again the ball refused to go in. The stadium was groaning, 27,000 people holding their breath at once.

I was sitting in front of my TV, coffee getting cold, muttering, "Come on, come on."

Until one crucial moment, Peralta, Persib's main striker, made a brilliant run. He shot the ball like an arrow, dribbling it all the way into Viettel's penalty box.

But the Viettel FC defender, seeing that dangerous move, immediately tackled him savagely and roughly to stop him, sending Peralta crashing down!

Without hesitation, the referee, who saw it with his own eyes, punished that illegal action with a penalty. Silence for one second in Jalak Harupat, then an explosion.

Peralta stepped up himself. He placed the ball, took three steps back... and executed it coldly. The opponent's net shook. Bobotoh roared hysterically. Score 1-0 for Persib.

Down 1-0, Viettel became more aggressive and fired up, crossing the line, until the referee showed a red card. Paulinho out. And Viettel had to play with only 10 men.

On the other side, Persib's captain Marc Klok also tackled hard to stop Viettel's attacks until he was shown a red card and forced out, his position replaced by Thom Haye. Both teams played with 10 men. Until the final whistle blew, the score did not change.

The defeat of Viettel happened because of one of the most expensive mistakes made by Viettel's center-back, Kyle Colonna, wearing number 2, who dropped him roughly in the 41st minute of the match.

Then in the 45th minute, Peralta executed it himself until the net of Nguyen Van Viet, Viettel's goalkeeper, shook. The score 1-0 for Persib lasted until the match ended.

Top of Group E. Six points. 

Persib Juara!

Persib Beat Port FC Thailand 3 - 1 in Their Backyard!

What a dramatic trailing! With just three minutes remaining, Persib Bandung turned it on late to beat Port FC at the Shammarsat Stadium in Thailand. Persib made its winning debut in Foofball Club (Shopee Match), 3 - 1, last night.   

After Garuda roared at GBK, Maung Bandung silenced Port FC, Thailand.  Indonesia broke a 35-year curse by beating Thailand 4-2 on penalties at Gelora Bung Karno. Almost 80,000 people roared inside GBK. 

Three days later, October 8th, Persib made Thailand hurt again—but not in GBK. This time in Thailand's own backyard. At Thammasat Stadium, Pathum Thani, Maung Bandung beat host Port FC 3-1 in Group B of the Shopee Cup. Port FC's home, full of their supporters. Not ours. 

 I watched it from Bandung via live streaming on a YouTube channel. Bobotoh were not there flooding the stadium like at GBLA. The stands were orange and blue—Port FC colors. That's what makes the win sweeter. 

Persib Bandung showed a steady mentality during their first Group B match. Port FC dominated the first half, pressing high with nine attempts. Teja Paku Alam saved us three times. 0-0 at half-time. 66th minute, a penalty for Port FC. Jude Soonsup-Bell sent Teja the wrong way. 0-1 behind, in their home, with their crowd screaming.

Then the new Persib woke up. The coach is no longer Bojan Hodak. Since 2026, it's Igor Tolić—Croatian, born in 1977, Hodak's former assistant from 2023 to 2026 who won consecutive Liga 1 titles with him.

Tolić's men poured forward instead of giving up. Mariano Peralta equalized with a precise low finish. 1-1. 

Then Luka Menalo crossed, and Berguinho smashed it. 2-1. In the final seconds, Menalo himself slotted a pass from Peralta. 3-1. 

Three goals in 10 minutes late in the game, silencing Thammasat. For Thai fans, this is the worst month. First, their national team lost to Garuda at GBK; now their club lost 1-3 at home to Maung Bandung. 

For us in Bandung, watching on YouTube at home, it felt different from GBK but just as proud. GBK was loud and massive. Thammasat was quiet revenge—we won in their land, without our Bobotoh army. 

Hodak built the defense. Tolic adds courage. He already beat FC Seoul 1-0 away in ACL Two. Now Port FC is 3-1 away. Persib is no longer a tourist in ASEAN. 

The Shopee Cup has just started, but the message is clear. If Indonesia can break the 35-year curse at GBK, Persib can break the curse of never winning away in Thailand. Go ahead, Maung Bandung!

GBK Roared: The Night Indonesia Beat Thailand 4-2 on Penalties

Indonesia Ends 35 Years of Waiting

At 11:30 PM, Gelora Bung Karno was emptying. 80,000 people had just screamed themselves hoarse as Indonesia beat Thailand 4-2 on penalties. I stayed on my bench. I needed to understand why a regional final felt bigger than a World Cup.

Indonesia has 280 million people, and most of them love football. For 35 years, we waited for the ASEAN Cup. For 35 years, we were mocked as the runner-up specialist. That curse ended last night.

It took a long journey. PSSI replaced coaches many times—Shin Tae-yong from Korea, then Patrick Kluivert from Holland, until finally John Herdman from England brought us the crown.

Behind it was Erick Thohir, the minister and owner of Oxford United and former owner of Inter Milan. His plan was simple: call back our diaspora. Players with Indonesian blood from their ancestors came home through naturalization. Critics said we were dominated by Europeans. Malaysians mocked us. It wasn't true. They love Indonesia, and Indonesia loves football.

This year, FIFA appointed Indonesia as host, but with a new system. The ASEAN countries were divided into divisions. Division 1: Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, Pakistan, Bangladesh, the Philippines, and Vietnam. Hosted in Indonesia. Division 2: Hong Kong, Laos, Brunei, Cambodia, Timor-Leste, Myanmar. Hosted in Hong Kong.

Australia is now part of ASEAN football, but they chose not to participate to equalize the competition—their FIFA ranking is far above the rest.

The road to the final was crazy. In Division 1, Malaysia held Indonesia to a draw. Then on October 2nd in Bandung, Malaysia destroyed Singapore 6-0. We looked blocked from the final.

Then came the miracle. Indonesia beat Bangladesh 9-2. An unbelievable score. On aggregate goals, we overtook Malaysia. Harimau Malaya went home. So it was Indonesia vs Thailand in the final — the ultimate proof of who is king in the region.

I watched it live at GBK on October 5th. The vibe was not ASEAN; it was the World Cup. Tickets sold out days before. People came from Jakarta, Bandung, and all over Java. Some who came late couldn't even enter. President Prabowo sat beside FIFA President Gianni Infantino in the VIP tribune. More than 80,000 were inside; millions more watched on TV and YouTube.

At 7:30 PM, Anggun C. Sasmi opened the ceremony. At 8 PM, the ball rolled. From kick-off, the tension was suffocating. We started carefully. Then Indonesia scored. GBK exploded. Minutes later, Thailand equalized. Silence. Then a Thai defender lost his temper—red card. Thailand down to 10 men.

We should have won easily. Instead, disaster. Thailand counter-attacked and scored. 1-2 for Thailand, against 10 men, in Jakarta. Garuda behind the White Elephants. It was embarrassing.

President Prabowo, Erick Thohir,
and President FIFA Gianni Infantino at the Tribune 

In the last minutes, Herdman gambled. Two fresh players in. Thailand did the same, parking the bus with total defense. Garuda pressed. 65% possession but no goal. Until—in the dying minutes—we equalized 2-2. The stadium shook. 90 minutes over. Extra time, 2x15 minutes. Same story. Thailand defended with everything. 

So it went to penalties. Sudden death. Supporters held their breath. Indonesia 4-2 on penalties. The roar was something I will never forget. Prabowo and his ministers jumped up, hands in the air. The 35-year curse was finally broken.

By 11:30 PM, everyone was leaving, but I stayed. Both coaches last night—John Herdman and Thailand's Anthony Hudson—are English. Herdman from Consett, Hudson from London. Same school, same tactics. At the end, penalties are just luck. And luck was ours.

I got home at 1:30 AM and rewatched it online. FIFA's website was flooded. Sports channels worldwide were analyzing an ASEAN final. Why? Because 280 million people feeling the same emotion at the same time is powerful. That collective catharsis spreads fast.

Now a bigger challenge awaits: the World Cup. Asia has monsters—Japan, Australia, Iran, South Korea, and Saudi Arabia. On FIFA rankings, they will beat us easily. But football has its own ways. There are always miracles on the field. This dream team is on fire. Nothing is impossible if they keep fighting, keep improving, and keep believing. We still have months to prepare. Go ahead, Garuda! Give us more pride. The time is on your side now!

Inspirits: Seven Old Friends, One Garage, and Music That Heals

Me, holding the white guitar, with Rudy (bass),
Tony (red guitar) and friends
in the garage. This is the preparation moment.

 The night jamming with guitars, coffee, and friends in the garage. We showed the real playing after the preparation.

''Honey Don't" by the Beatles was the first song we played. Followed by "Baby It's You" and "Here, There, And Everywhere," we played beautifully. 

There were five players: Syarif Hidayat, nicknamed Abot (vocals); Rudy, nicknamed Yoyo (bass); Iwan (melody guitar); Yunan (rhythm/keyboards); and Zaenal (drums). They are professional players who often perform in many places. 

But since we were coming (Tony and I) as guest players, we created the jam sessions in seven. These are old friends who still love loud music. 

We do not only play The Beatles. We play rock 'n' roll and pop. From Chicago to Koes Plus, we play what makes us happy. The location is simple: the garage of Pak Yunan's house at Jl. Melong Kidul, Bandung. No big stage. Just a mixer, some cables, a small table with coffee, martabak, and cigarettes. That's enough to make us feel joys spend the night together with cheers.  

Preparation takes minutes for setting up, mixing, and tuning. Yunan had already prepared before the whole team came. And we enjoyed every minute of it. We played as if we were a real and the best band. We sang the songs and played like professionals! 

The live music vibe is joyful. If I make a mistake, like when I forgot the lyrics, they do not get angry. We just laugh. Playing with these old friends reminds us of when we were young.

Honestly, playing music makes us feel young again. For 5 hours, as we play in the band, we forget all our troubles. Even though music does not solve problems, it heals our pain and raises our mood. Music cures the bad times. 

After playing in the band, we get new inspiration and a better view of how to handle life with a better mindset. That is what we call Inspirits—the life and rise of inspirations. 

It's not the first time we've met at the same place; we did it for the second time, and it was three years ago. 

Thank you, Kand Yunan, for the pleasure and for being the host.   

Bandung, 2026—Live from the garage at Jl. Melong Kidul—

coffee, smoke, and old friends playing like a pro band.

45 Tahun Kebersamaan Fikom Unpad 1981-2026

Temu Kangen 45 Tahun Fikom Unpad, 1981-2026

45 Years Later - From Class of '81 to Rema's House in Ciateul, Bandung. 45 is the age when someone becomes mature. You should know better what, where, and why you are here now. As a comparison to army ranks, at 45 you are a colonel or lieutenant colonel. You already know whether you will become a general or not. It depends on the career you are in. Do you hold an important and strategic position or just a mediocre one? That will tell you how far you can go. 

Even though the future is a mystery and no one can predict it accurately—because life is not linear—at least you can predict your next stage. So did I, when I saw my classmates again at our reunion, 45 years after we left college. We graduated from the Faculty of Communication Science at Padjadjaran State University in Bandung. 

Tahun Pertama, Publisistik Unpad 1981

We had been together since we knew nothing, in the class of 1981. After graduation in 1988, we were separated and pursued different career paths for a long time. 

When the internet and social media connected people around 2010, we started tracing each other one by one to gather in the virtual world. And finally, on 27th September 2026, someone took the initiative to gather us in person. The place was Rema's house at Jl. Ciateul 33, Bandung. 

Our class had about 90 people, and only 45 could attend. Some had passed away, others were sick, some couldn't come because they lived too far away or abroad, and some had other reasons. But the fact that 45 people came on time is something great! 

Surprisingly, we met again when most of us had left our jobs or retired. Some of us had become grandmas and grandpas. It was amazing! Time has changed everything—not only our appearances but also our lifestyles, compared to when we were teenagers. We talked, laughed, ate, drank, and made joy together. 

We didn't just say "how do you do," but "how have you lived your life so far?" The favorite questions were: Where do you live now? How many children and grandchildren do you have? And what are you doing now? 

These questions were not just lip service; we really wanted to know. As we get older, we share a common curiosity about health. We avoid talking about what we have achieved or how much money or property we have. It sounds impolite and ridiculous. Instead, we try to see what is the same about us, not what is different. 

This was amazing, because we take care of each other. Yes, time has changed everything, but it has also tightened our bonds into a great family, a great brotherhood, and, most importantly, a deeper care for each other. Does that sound good? That's what reunion means for us now, especially when we reach 65. 

The meeting was arranged by Rema Karyanti, the host, with Kang Aan, her husband, Dr. Jenny, our best announcer, and Ani Yuningsih leading the games. They cheered us and raised the joys all the time we met.  

But we have also had time to reflect as we asked Wirianingsih, a mother of 11 children, Havidz and Havidzah, to speak in her busy time. Her experience was really great. 

"All of us must have a clear vision for our children, even grandchildren; they are like soft clay, so choose to be a good one. Don't ignore their golden ages (0-7 years), the time when their brains develop significantly. God has created me with His plan...be the best as far as you can go! And the first thing is fear of God,'' she said. 

The wisdom from Ibu Wirianingsih relates to our time today, since we are getting old. And I have made it into beautiful quotes.     

We have committed to meet more often. We never know what life will bring us tomorrow. Will we meet again? I hope so. 

Written on September 28, 2026, one day after our reunion at Rema's house. For my 44 friends who came, and for those who couldn't. 

Surprised Moment in my Time"

The Ministry of Manpower
Republic of Indonesia
(Foto Editorial.id)

In 1993, when I was a junior reporter, the chief editor assigned me to cover a news story on safety and health in the workplace. It was called "Kesehatan dan Keselamatan di lingkungan Kerja (K3)."

It was promoted intensively for the first time since the government of the Republic of Indonesia developed the country with massive infrastructure, such as buildings, main roads, bridges, etc. Then I went to the ground to cover it. I saw and watched how people were working, erecting a big building in Jakarta.

I noted everything in my notebook. I found some misuse in working, such as how the workers used the safety ropes improperly and how they used helmets, boots, and the clothes they wore. I found that some of them were below the standard of safety at work.

Then I prepared myself to meet the minister in charge. I tried to conduct an interview during his super

Abdul Latief, Former Minister
of the Ministry of Manpower,
Republic of Indonesia

busy time. The secretary said, "The minister is very busy. You have to make an appointment to meet him. "Hm... sounded like a rejection. Okay, but I needed it now to clarify the facts.

The door was closed! No interview without an appointment! So, I lay myself down on the sofa at that big office for a few moments.

But suddenly, I saw a minister with a few assistants coming out! And I ran fast forward the minutes before he got in the car.

Without any hesitation, I shot the minister with a question. He ignored me. So, I shot him with a sharper question to get his attention, and it worked well. He started staring at me sharply. Then I approached and got close with my mini recorder and started asking him about his policies, the regulations he knew, and... started confronting him with the facts I had seen on the ground.

He looked a bit angry. But I didn't care. Instead, I bombarded him with more and more facts! The minister raised his temper. He hit the roof with the questions. And this was the golden moment for the photographers behind me. They were really happy about the great moment I had created.

To make a long story short, once the 'accident interview' was over, I returned to the newsroom at noon. And I started writing the story. After sending it to the editor, I went home as usual. Nothing special, I felt at the moment. But then, about a week later, the director's secretary told me that they had just received a phone call from the secretary of the Ministry of Manpower of the Republic of Indonesia.

They asked me to attend and be present at their special event at 9am in their office. Yes, it was the ceremony! And they gave me the prize and certificate of appreciation with a thick cash envelope! 😄 

An announcer called me to step on stage as the first winner of 'The Best News Writer of the Year 1993.' This competition was held by the Ministry of Manpower of the Republic of Indonesia in collaboration with the Indonesian Journalist Association.

Oh my God, I couldn't believe it. Why me? They chanted my name and the agency I worked for twice. Instead, I glanced to my left and right many times. I found myself confused. Me? The big prize? And for what? 

So, I took steps on the stage with shaking legs. It was really, really surprising and unpredictable! On the stage, Mr. Abdul Latief, the minister, who was known as a successful businessman, shook my hand tightly and said his congratulations. "This is the most important," he smiled while handing over the thick envelope. "Thank you, Pak," I replied shortly. 

Later, on the way home, I was still asking myself.  I felt do nothing; I just wrote the news as usual, really just did my second nature. But what I thought was ordinary doesn't mean the same in the eyes of others; they have their own minds. 

I didn't even know that at the time I was covering the news, they were conducting such a writing competition. It was the biggest deal I had ever made, since I always criticized what the government did!

But thanks to God. It's something that I never predicted. If I had known there was a competition being held, I would have made my writing better.

The Collapse of a Maritime Nation's Pride: Reflections on 81 Years of Indonesian Independence

Pengibaran Bendera di Istana Negara (foto: UMJ)

On one occasion, in 1993, I met Capt. Gita, after he returned home from his great mission sailing 11,000 nautical miles from Jakarta to Vancouver, then continued to San Diego for 1,250 miles, to join Indonesia's pavilion at the World Expo '86 in Canada.

He said: _"I have delivered the ship to be preserved well. I will not touch it again."_

The Beautiful Phinisi Nusantara
(photo: Tempo/Bondan Winarno) 

Years later, the Phinisi Nusantara — which had survived 67 days at sea, during which the Commander of the USS Constellation gave them a formal salute, a distinction rarely afforded to any vessel — finally sank. The crew and Marines lined up on deck, greeting the Indonesians with thunderous applause. It was a moment when a traditional wooden ship from Indonesia was deeply respected by the US Navy and drew massive public attention at the Canada Expo '86. Truly a testament to human resilience.

But it finally sank in Kepulauan Seribu.  It hit a reef and ran aground on a sandbar. With neither adequate attention nor proper help arriving in time, the historic ship — once saluted by the US Navy — finally sank in "safe" waters, only 30 miles from Jakarta. A truly tragic ending.

The Real Heroes,
Capt. Gita and Crew
(private doc)

Having led from the front and managed to weather countless crises, Capt. Gita looked toward the horizon, but he found no silver lining in the dark clouds. On July 11, 2022, the Captain who had left an indelible mark on the waves passed away, finding his final sanctuary in history.

Now, I am thinking again and again. Is there any proper way to commemorate Independence Day today?

A few minutes before the Phinisi Nusantara arrived in English Bay, Canada in 1986, one of the crew raised the red and white flag on the forward deck of the sailboat.  

The Tragic Ending
(photo: ANTARA)

That successful voyage raised the sense of pride of the Indonesian nation. 

And now, every year we raise the same flag as the crew did. But instead of on the forward deck of the ship with pride, we do it in front of our house. We feel nothing.

Since our founding fathers, Soekarno-Hatta, declared Independence Day in 1945, the nation's pride has been sparking and rising everywhere.

The month of August has been a special moment every year, especially on August 17th. No work, no offices open, except for important and emergency services such as hospitals, disaster response agencies, and the fire department.

Most Indonesians celebrate Independence Day every year and everywhere with enthusiasm. The atmosphere is full of cheers and joy.

But even in the middle of the joy, laughter, and celebration, there is one thing that always distracts me.

Lately, I have found so many officials doing dishonorable things — disrespect and even destroying the heart and spirit of Independence Day with their greed, abuse of power, bribery, nepotism, collusion, and corruption at every level of government. It is still disappointing, not only for me but also for those who know how the government is supposed to serve its people.

At 81 years old, Indonesia should be a great nation, far exceeding many countries in Southeast Asia. There is no excuse, because we have a lot, from human resources to natural resources.  Just look at how rich Indonesia is: mining, gold, gas, oil, and the wealth of our forests and seas.

But all of these precious things haven't been managed well. As a result, most Indonesians still live below the poverty line.

Sadly, many Indonesian ruling elites in political parties and those who hold power in their hands are drowning in this euphoria of freedom through collusion and corruption.

How tragic is what Capt. Gita did with his Phinisi compared to our condition now.

Life feels more difficult and is getting worse: more unemployment, prices in the market rising sharply, livelihoods becoming unaffordable, and the management of health and education in ruins. I hope I do not see the wealth of the nation sinking like the Phinisi.

Farewell, Captain. Happy Independence Day.

"81 Years of Merdeka: Voices from 17,000 Islands"

Today is August 17th, 2026. It's a great day for the people of Indonesia.  

Everywhere — think about more than 17,000 islands in this archipelago with almost 300 million people living here now — but they are united by one nation, one language, and one homeland called Indonesia. People are creating great events to commemorate its Independence Day, each in their own way.  

The commemorations are not only conducted formally by the central government, but are also happening informally. From district leaders and influencers to the heads of every housing complex, they create artistic events, fashion shows, funny competitions, craft exhibitions, or just make something to chase away the gloom. With music, singing, dancing, and street attractions, they create the funniest things to entertain people with laughter.  

Yes, it is a great celebration that people can create. So, please come and see Indonesia now.  

Why are Indonesians so enthusiastic about the ceremony? And why do so many people involve themselves in these massive parties?  

Because we gained our freedom through war, struggle, and diplomacy, and after ending the Japanese occupation in 1945, we finally had our independence through the Proclamation read by Mr. Soekarno and Mr. Hatta in Jakarta, at 09:00 am, Friday, August 17, 1945.  

So, it's been a long time. And now Indonesians are commemorating the 81st anniversary of Independence Day.  

Colors of August 17th  

Every moment has its own colors. So does today.  

The commemoration this year feels different from the years before, as every nation in this old world grows.  

People are trying to make something better than before. They attempt to explore all the possibilities across the boundaries.  

So, if you go to one or more random places in Indonesia right now, you will see how people commemorate Independence Day in their own ways. Even though most Indonesians live in poverty, we are rich in creativity. This spirit is sparking through the land, across districts, and into the smallest housing complexes in every region.  

Right now, I am sitting on the rooftop, writing down through this small screen on my smartphone whatever comes to mind, without thinking too much.  

But the feeling I can catch clearly is happiness and cheerfulness. Along with it comes pride as an independent nation, honoring the heroes, and gratitude for the legacy we’ve inherited from our ancestors.  

Whatever people do, as long as it is good for others — go ahead!  

Merdeka! 💪💪  

Bandung, August 17, 2026

Phinisi Nusantara: 11,000 Miles of Glory, A Tragic End 30 Miles From Home

A Tribute to Capt. Gita Arjakusuma (December 4th, 1946 - July 11th, 2020)

Phinisi Nusantara
(doc. Tempo-Bondan Winarno)

Six years ago, the sea took back one of its own.  

On July 11, 2020, Capt. Gita Arjakusuma passed away in Bogor at the age of 74, leaving a wife (Mrs. Dodi) and two children (Genardi Pratama and Nithya Ayudita).

But his voyage still sails within us.

His name was Capt. Gita Arjakusuma. In 1986, he led 11 crew members aboard Phinisi Nusantara, a traditional Indonesian wooden ship, from Port Muara Baru, Jakarta, to English Bay, Canada.  

11,000 nautical miles. 67 days.  

Their mission: to represent Indonesia at the World Expo under the theme Transportation and Technology.

The Doubt  

Departed from Muara Baru port,
Jakarta, Vancouver, Canada
(photo: doc. Tempo-Ali Said)

Before they left, many people doubted.  

Even the press called it a “mission impossible.” Some cruelly said it was just “sending dead bodies out to sea.”  

But Capt. Gita didn’t sail for headlines. He sailed for Indonesia.

The Arrival  

After 67 days, Phinisi Nusantara arrived at English Bay.  

The Commander-in-Chief of USS Constellation gave them a salute of honor. Phinisi Nusantara was the only ship treated with such distinction. All crew and Marines from the USS Constellation lined the deck and greeted them with big applause. They even held a formal courtesy and invited Capt. Gita to dinner. A wooden ship from Indonesia, respected by the US Navy.

Capt. Gita Arjakusuma
(doc. Tempo)

The Journey Continues  

After Vancouver, the journey continued.  

Capt. Gita sailed another 1,250 miles in 9 days to San Diego to deliver the ship to a university, as a reward for the American oil company in Indonesia that supported the voyage.  

But the university declined. Not because they didn’t honor it, but because they didn’t know how to maintain and preserve such a unique ship.  

So Capt. Gita returned home. And Phinisi Nusantara was brought back to Indonesia by cargo.

From Glory to Tragedy  

Once home, the ship was used to promote Indonesian tourism. It served short-distance sailing trips for joy, from Jakarta to the Kepulauan Seribu.  

He delivered it to be preserved. He never touched it again. He never even knew who  was in charge

One day, during a routine trip, Phinisi Nusantara hit a reef and ran aground on a sandbar. It could not move.  

There was no adequate attention. No proper help came.  

And so, this historic ship — the ship that crossed the Pacific and received a salute from the US Navy — finally sank in the Thousand Islands.  

In waters so safe. Only 30 miles from the capital city. A tragic ending.

Legacy  

As Indonesia commemorates August 17th, I remember Capt. Gita.  His voyage is part of our legacy: struggle and achievement.  

I documented his story in a book (Capt. Gita Arjakusuma; Menyisir Badai, Kisah Pelayaran Pelaut Legendaris) to honor his life so the younger generation will know. He is a hero who stands apart.

A Final Reflection  

It saddens me that Indonesia, the largest archipelagic nation in the world, pays so little attention to how we treat the sea and how we honor our own.  

We celebrated Phinisi Nusantara on the world stage, then let it die 30 miles from home.  

I hope future generations will follow in Capt. Gita’s footsteps. To love this country. To love the sea that connects our 17,000 islands. Because the sea is what will bring us to a strong nation and to prosperity.

Fair winds, Captain. 1946 - 2020. The Merah Putih sailed because of you.

He crossed 11,000 miles of ocean for Indonesia. Capt. Gita's success continues to defy the odds in our minds because of his gentle demeanor in the face of the ocean's power.   

We must cross the distance in our hearts to remember him.  

Fair winds, Captain.

1-1 Heartbreak: How Singapore Knocked Indonesia Out in Jalan Besar Chaos

Indonesia's national team drew 1-1 with Singapore and crashed out of the semifinals. From VAR drama to a last-gasp equalizer, here’s the full chaotic story.

                                             Written by: Kang Ogenk

Even when we lose, we still love the national team. But that motivational line feels empty now. Failed again. Even with a squad full of naturalized players. What can you do? This is football. John Herdman’s team: total failure. Read the story while sipping your kopdud, ki aki !!! (coffee + cigarette, old man)

Jalan Besar Stadium was no longer a stadium. It had turned into a duel arena between two nations who had both lost their sanity. Garuda came with one mission: must win. Singapore only needed a draw. Simple? No. This is football, where logic often gets kicked farther than the ball.

First Half  

Garuda went on the attack immediately. At home, fans had already prepared coffee and fried bananas, plus a backup heart. After just a few minutes, Mitchell Lee Baker almost scored past Mohamad Izwan bin Mahbud, but a Singapore defender cleared it. The Indonesian fans screamed so loud the Merlion statue nearly migrated to Batam.

In the 20th minute, Baker was taken down in the penalty box. Should’ve been a penalty, but referee Al-Amouri from Oman didn’t budge. Fans yelled, “That’s a penalty. Are you blind?!” They called for VAR. The referee’s ears were apparently on airplane mode.

Indonesia vs Singapore:
Playout entertaining
1-1 draw.   
Photo: The Jakarta Post

23rd minute, Cahya Supriadi made a brilliant save. Fans clapped so hard their coffee cups shook. Singapore kept attacking, but the wall of Dony Pamungkas, Rizky Ridho, Shayne Pattynama, and Wahyu Prasetyo held firm like barbed wire.

In the 29th minute, Baker was brought down in the box again. The whistle stayed silent. Fans got hotter. “The ref’s been bribed!”  

34th minute, Thom Haye got a free kick, but the ball went wide. Fans who had stood up had to sit back down with the face of someone who just lost their Wi-Fi password.

43rd minute, Song made a hard tackle and got a yellow. “Go play tarkam!” fans shouted.  

45th minute, Ivar Jenner’s shot was blocked for a corner. The first half ended 0-0. Singapore smiled slightly. Indonesians started biting their nails.

In the locker room, John Herdman suddenly turned into Mario Teguh. “You guys are amazing. You’d be even more amazing if you won. Come on, boys!”  

In the Singapore camp, Gavin Lee gave a sermon: “We only need a draw. Don’t get careless.”

Second Half  

Indonesia vs. Singapore: drew 1-1

The coffee wasn’t even finished when, in the 47th minute, Ragnar Oratmangoen—aka Wak Haji—after a team-up with Thom Haye and Jenner, smashed it into the net. Goooal!

The archipelago exploded. Fans jumped so hard gravity considered resigning. Some hugged the TV, kissed the flag, and screamed until aliens in orbit thought Earth was under attack. A NASA satellite spying on Xi Jinping even stopped moving. “Wait, what’s this?”

Corrupt prisoners yelled from behind bars too. Their nationalism was no less than a masked mass organization.  

In Singapore, fans froze. Marina Bay Sands seemed to hold its breath.

58th minute, Ivar Jenner and Ui-Young Song got into a shoving match. Song was initially shown red and Jenner yellow. Then Al-Amouri stared at VAR for so long, like he was watching episode 147 of a soap opera. All cards were canceled. Indonesian fans erupted again, “Boooh!”

Then disaster struck. Chaos in front of Indonesia’s goal. A loose ball fell to Ilhan Fandi. One shot, and Cahya’s net was breached as the keeper fell. Singapore goal!

This time Singapore went wild. Their fans screamed like they’d just found a national treasure. The MRT probably went into shock. The Merlion roared all the way to Batam, while Indonesian fans instantly turned to statues. If the aliens were shocked before, now they were probably calling home: “Earth is crazier than our reports said.”

The match ended 1-1. Singapore is through to the semifinals. Garuda collapsed.  

Indonesian fans went home carrying disappointment…

Sad, ki aki.

🙏🏻 That’s it 🤣

From Banker to Sate Vendor: Indonesian Man Conquers Zurich

The Most Prestigious Newspaper in Switzerland Gave a Satay Vendor a Full Page

Rio Vamory, Indonesian
Satay vendor 

A former banker from Padang Panjang left his Zurich finance job to sell satay on the street. NZZ gave him a full page. The story of courage and smoke.

A man from Padang Panjang, Indonesia, left his career as a banker to chase his dream: selling satay on a street corner in Zurich. 

In the city center of Zurich, the capital of world finance, something unusual was happening on the sidewalk. Among the high-rise luxury banking buildings, executives in fancy suits, expensive watches, and thousand-dollar jewelry stores... they smelled something different in the air. Smoke from Arang. 

The aroma of chicken satay filled the street. And who brought it, set it up, and pushed the three-wheeled _gerobak_ to make that smoke? He is Rio Vamory, 34, from Padang Panjang, West Sumatera. A former banker at one of Zurich’s most famous banks. Now a satay vendor. 

Neue Zürcher Zeitung, the oldest and most prestigious newspaper in Switzerland—the reading reference for politics and financial elites in Europe for centuries—gave Rio one full page. For a newspaper like NZZ to cover a satay vendor is serious acknowledgment. 

Facade Swiss National
Bank branch Zurich

"Not many, almost no bankers change their profession to become chicken satay vendors. And this brave man did it,” said an NZZ editor. 

But how did a banker in Zurich end up selling satay?

Rio was born in Padang Panjang in 1983. His life was not simple. His mother, Rosmindah, moved to Switzerland after marrying a Swiss citizen of Tibetan descent. 

As a child, Rio lived in a small Islamic boarding school, a _pesantren_, in Bogor. Years later, his mother missed him too much. In 2006, when Rio was 25, he was brought to Switzerland. 

He went to college. After graduating, he worked in banking — the “bright path” to success for most people. He earned more than enough for a comfortable life in Zurich. He could afford everything. 

But there was one thing he couldn’t find at his office desk. “I was not happy working in the bank.” Simple words. Huge consequences. He didn’t quit impulsively. He planned for years. Even as a student, he wrote his thesis about food trucks. 

Long before he left the office, he prepared capital, ran crowdfunding, studied public selling regulations, perfected the menu, and figured out how to deliver _real_ Indonesian taste to a city that had never known it. 

"If I were nekad, of course not. I had planned it for years,” he said. 

NZZ Office

In May 2017, he started selling chicken satay on the streets of Zurich using a classic Indonesian three-wheeled _gerobak_. Not in a restaurant. Not in an AC building. Outside, like a vendor in his hometown. 

The smoke from burning _arang_, the bamboo skewers, the peanut sauce, and the sweet soy sauce—he brought all of it from Indonesia to the heart of Europe. 

His first customers weren’t Indonesian. They were bankers in ties, lawyers, and executives from multinational companies. Curious about the strange, delicious smoky smell on their city streets. They stood and queued for lunch, ignoring smoke on their formal clothes, enjoying skewer after skewer of chicken satay they’d never found anywhere else in the city. 

The story spread. Indonesia’s Tourism Minister praised him publicly. And NZZ gave him one full page. 

Even with popularity and public attention, Rio never forgot where he came from. From every Swiss franc he earned, he set aside part to donate to forest sustainability in Sumatera. Every skewer of satay he sold, part of it flowed back to the land he was born in. 

Why satay?

It's not easy to bring to Europe. Not like _Nasi Goreng_ that you can cook in a closed pot in an apartment. Not like _rendang, which is easy to reheat. Satay needs _arang_. It needs smoke billowing up. It needs skewers burned one by one in front of buyers. No shortcuts. Just like his decision to execute his dream. 

Zurich got satay. NZZ got a one-page story. And Indonesia got living proof that a traditional taste from Padang can cross boundaries — even through the cold wind of Europe.

The Secret to Conquering Steep Hills in Bandung

Nagreg Lama, Bandung

Bandung is famous for two things: amazing food and amazing cycling spots.

Cyclists from all over West Java come here for the views.  

In North Bandung, you’ve got Dago, Tahura, Punclut, Tebing Keraton, Lembang, Maribaya, and Tangkuban Parahu.  In the South: Ciwidey, Soreang, Majalaya.  

Nagreg Ring Road

West: Padalarang, Cimahi, Cimindi.  

East: Ujung Berung, Cicalengka, Patung Kuda, and Nagreg.

The problem? Most of them come with brutal, steep hills. 

A lot of cyclists see a climb and immediately turn around. They’d rather ride 20km flat than 5km uphill. I get it. I used to be that guy too.

After years of getting dropped, walking, and cursing on these climbs, here are the 5 tiny secrets that actually work:

1. Don’t look at the top. Look 3 meters ahead. The moment you stare at the top of the hill, your brain quits.  

Instead, pick a spot 3 meters in front of your wheel and focus on pedaling smoothly to get there. Think of something funny. A happy mind pedals better.

2. Pace yourself. 

Start slow. The #1 rookie mistake: attacking the hill too fast. You’ll blow up in 30 seconds.  Start easy. You can always speed up later. Hills are a marathon, not a sprint.

3. Shift early. Manage your gears. 

Bike Gear

Don’t wait until your legs are dying to shift down. Anticipate as soon as the road tilts up; drop a gear. Keep your cadence smooth, not grinding.

4. Use the "Zigzag" method—switchbacking. This is the most important one.  

When it gets too steep, don’t go straight up. Ride side-to-side in a zigzag.  

Why it works: You’re making the road longer, so the gradient feels less steep. Plus, it gives your brain something to do besides suffering. You focus on steering, not pain.  

I’ve used this on Dago and Punclut for years. It works.

5. Break through the mental block.

Hills are 70% mental. Tell yourself: "Just to that tree. Now just to that sign." Believe you can do it. Your body will follow your mind.

The last two are the real game-changers: switchbacking and mindset. Master those, and you’ll never fear a steep hill again.

Good luck on every climbing journey! See you at the top 😉

Karma Begal at Flyover Kiaracondong

As you sow, so shall you reap. 

Late midnight at Flyover Kiaracondong, Bandung.

Lita Anggraini,
22 years old

Four men—sadistic robbers the city called "Begal"—were waiting under the overpass for their next victim. 

They didn’t have to wait long. At 11:30 PM, a woman rode through alone on a motorbike, wearing a full-face helmet and moving fast.

The place was dead quiet. There were no other riders, no one on the street. She was climbing the flyover when the four men watched her from the darkness.

With just a glance, a blink, and a silent signal, they agreed without speaking: This is our target. They drew their weapons.

200 meters ahead, she started down the slope. Two of them stood in the middle of the 10-meter road, 60-cm machetes in hand, shoulder to shoulder. Another waited 10 meters behind, and the last one — Warno Gamblis, the one they called the most brutal — hid 6 meters ahead. She saw them and hit the gas.

She managed to swerve past the first three, but Warno stepped out. At close range, he swung his blade, and it struck her neck. She fell instantly, blood spreading across the asphalt, while her head—still in the helmet—rolled a few meters away. Like a pack of hungry lions, they swarmed in.

Motorbike, bag, jewelry, and the wallet from her pocket. All of it took less than 10 minutes before they disappeared into the dark. 

Flyover Kiaracondong
photo:unsplash.com

In a quiet place, they counted the loot. Warno opened the wallet, took the cash, and was about to throw it away when he saw a photo inside. It was a little girl sitting on a man’s lap, and a half-body picture of a young woman.

He stared, then stared again, and cold sweat broke across his skin. On the ID card it read: Lita Anggaini. 22 years old. Born in Sragen, Central Java. He ran back to the flyover. There was police tape and a crowd and a body without a head covered with cardboard.

With his heart in his throat, Warno pushed through and hugged her. “My daughter... oh my God. You’re my daughter. Lita... It’s me. Your dad.” 

People went silent. Some cried. Before the police could speak, he held out both hands.

“These are my hands, officer.” Click. Handcuffs. 

In the police car, his voice was breaking:

“I’m tired of running. Tired of hiding. I have done it many, many times. And now... I’ve killed my own daughter.”

Lita had left Sragen after high school with one dream: to become a nurse.

Her parents couldn’t afford the tuition, so she worked as a cashier at a minimarket by day and went to nursing school by night, living in a small rented room with big hope. That night she was only going to the store.

She borrowed her boyfriend’s motorbike and helmet. Her dream didn’t end in a hospital. It ended under a flyover and by the hands of the man who was supposed to protect her. 

Reflection: 

Sometimes God works in ways we can’t understand — not to destroy us, but to wake us up. Warno spent years robbing, hurting, and running, but it took one photo to stop him.

One face that looked back at him from his own wallet. Karma isn’t always thunder. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s a wallet.

Sometimes it’s seeing your sin reflected in the eyes of the person you love most. And it leaves me asking:

How many times do we pass each other in the dark before we choose not to be the ones who cause the pain?

Pedaling Through the Chaos: A Midnight Reflection

 The clock on the wall ticked toward 11:00 PM. It was high time to sleep, yet I remained wide awake.

 A storm of thoughts fought for space in my head. I thought about myself; my family; friends; the work I had left behind; empty pockets; drained savings; bills past their due dates; and debts that hooked me, demanding payment. All these worries mixed into one giant knot: problems.

 

Sometimes you have to ride
in the dark to see the lights 

Ugh, I felt messy! But deep down, I knew I could handle everything, even if no instant solution came to mind.

"Heck with it," I thought. I didn't care anymore. Cortisol spontaneously surged through my body; I felt a warmth in my chest. "It is time. I have to do something," I hummed to myself.

Quickly, I prepared to go out before the night slipped away. Without thinking twice, I decided to deep dive into the night alone. I had to turn these problems into a moment of clarity.

I grabbed my old Trek bike from the wall mount. Next, I put on my brightest, most eye-catching jacket with fluorescent strips on the sleeves and back. I checked the front and rear lights—the most important tools to ensure visibility in the dark. I picked up my helmet, locked the door, walked through the yard, and latched the fence.

 A few minutes later, I found myself on the road, starting to cycle slowly. Where was I going? I had no idea. Just keep pedaling.