It’s been almost a year since I graduated from PCR.
There was no big ceremony, no overwhelming euphoria.
Just an empty space that, over time, started to feel strangely familiar.
People often ask, “So, what are you up to now?”
And my answer hasn’t really changed since the first month: playing games, helping a little in the garden, and mostly—just being still.
My days move slowly. I usually start late, then play Dota 2—not to climb the ranks, but simply to forget the time.
Whenever boredom creeps in, I head to my parents' garden.
There, I help out with whatever tasks are needed: pulling weeds, watering plants, clearing fallen branches—anything, really, as long as my father notices.
And after that, he pays me—haha.
It’s not hard work, but enough to get my hands dirty and calm my thoughts.
Besides, it’s not bad—my dad gives me around Rp250,000 a day.
But it’s not really about the money.
It’s more about having something real to do. Something that makes the day feel a little less wasted.
Sometimes, when I feel like socializing, I go to Pekanbaru.
It’s livelier there—more people, more conversations, more places to grab a cup of coffee with friends.
But in the end, I still spend most of my time at home.
Playing games, waiting for the night to pass, while quietly listening to a heart that still doesn’t know where it wants to go.
I’ve thought about continuing my studies.
But honestly, in my opinion, none of the campuses in Pekanbaru offer anything better than what I’ve already experienced.
The choices feel stagnant, too close to a comfort zone I know all too well.
And what about moving to another city?
The thought has crossed my mind, of course.
But whenever I imagine leaving my hometown, I feel… not quite ready.
There’s a bond I haven’t yet found the strength to let go of—maybe to this house, to the garden, or to the small, quiet things that make these slow days feel whole.
I know, out there, many people are running fast—looking for jobs, building businesses, joining all sorts of training.
And to be honest, sometimes I feel left behind.
But strangely, I still haven’t found the urge to catch up.
There’s nothing I truly want to chase just yet.
It’s not that I don’t think about the future.
But for now, I just want to enjoy this pause.
Maybe this isn’t about being lazy.
Maybe it’s about giving myself a chance to breathe.
To let the silence speak before I fill it again with ambition.
I still don’t know where I’m going.
But maybe, from this stillness, something will quietly grow.
Maybe from the games I play, the weeds I pull, or the early mornings I spend in solitude.
And even if nothing grows right now, that’s okay.
Not everyone needs to move fast.
Not every step has to be loud.
Sometimes, the journey begins in a long silence—
as long as we’re honest with ourselves, and we don’t close the door when time finally comes knocking.
Bangkinang, July 11 2016
Aspi Yuwanda
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