.Final Call

Here it was—the very end. The northernmost point of Malioboro.

The last fragments of memories I had long buried all rested here.

Tonight might be the last time I breathed in air this cool—air that was both a disguise and a reminder of how empty this place truly was.

The northern part of Malioboro was always like this past midnight. The streets grew quiet. Vehicles only passed now and then. Street vendors who once lined the sidewalks were packing up, one by one, preparing to go home.

I leaned against a dim lamppost, pulled out my phone from my pocket—useless, really. Its screen lit up: 12:00 a.m.

The hour explained it all—why the streets were silent, why the night air felt hollow, and why... this was the right time to end everything.

For a moment, I opened my messages again, hoping—maybe someone had looked for me, sent a short line, asked where I was. But no. Nothing. Not a single message.

Perhaps they had all forgotten me...

Or maybe they were too busy celebrating their own happiness to remember anything beyond themselves.

And truly, remembering me would only ruin their joy.

I understood. This was another face of human life—a natural dualism. A common dynamic—someone laughs, while another cries.

I had been part of that cycle too. When my neighbor died recently, I felt nothing. No grief. No sense of loss. I still attended the funeral, not out of empathy, but out of formality. His house was just a few steps away from mine.

Maybe I never had a bond with him—emotional or otherwise. So of course sympathy never came. Not because I was cruel, but because... there was simply nothing tying us together. Perhaps those around me felt the same way about me.

From the start, maybe we were never truly connected. Just acquaintances, calling on each other when needed. Or maybe... I was the fool, letting myself be used, still convincing myself it was some form of relationship.

But that’s life. Grief hides behind joy, and joy appears among tears. Neither lasts; they come and go, replacing each other in turn.

...

There was no reason left—so I turned off my phone and removed the SIM card.

I didn’t want my phone falling into the wrong hands when my body was found—used for something vile in my name. Too easy in this country. I just wanted to prevent it.

As soon as I did, my eyes welled up again...

Strange. I didn’t actually want to die. There were still so many things I wanted to do in this world...

But those small wishes felt like dust in a storm.

In my mind, I had a plan. If I had to end everything, then I wanted to jump from a bridge high enough so that the chance of survival would be truly minimal.

I knew there were many other ways—drinking poison, hanging myself. But from what I’d read, those left unbearable pain, often slow, dragging on.

Even if I was ready to die... it didn’t mean I was at peace with pain.

So after weighing it all, I chose the bridge.

A bridge east of Tugu Station, Yogyakarta—I won’t name it. I don’t want anyone tempted to follow the wretched choice I would make tonight.

Let it end with me. Only me.

The bridge was still far from where I stood. Earlier, I had left my bicycle nearby. Before starting from the south, I had gone north first to drop it off, then circled back.

It felt absurd, really—that someone planning to die still bothered with small details like this. Yet somehow, I wanted everything neat, perfect, just as I had quietly sketched it out in my mind.

...

From here, I walked to the parking lot where I had left my bike. Once I found it, I began pedaling slowly toward the bridge.

As I rode, my mind was haunted by flashes that shouldn’t have mattered—yet now tried to sway me.

The old beggar who prayed for my dreams and long life.

The kalimba girl who gave me her number, holding my hand as if I meant something.

And the tarot reader, who somehow felt as though she already knew what I intended tonight.

It all felt strange. Too strange.

Three encounters, one after another. Each touching a part of me I thought had long died.

Honestly, it felt uncanny. Too coincidental. As if something—or someone—was trying to hold me back...

But now I had arrived. The bridge stood silent, towering above the riverbed—fifty meters high, maybe more.

And yet, all I could do was lean my bike against the curb. Curling into myself behind the railing, hugging my knees, as if trying to hide from the reality creeping closer.

Cold sweat soaked me. I trembled violently. My breath caught, throat tightening as though it would spill everything inside me.

In my head, the image grew clearer; my body plunging, slamming into the ground, torn apart. My insides scattered, shapeless.

More terrifying still—the thought that I might not die instantly.

What if I was still breathing down there?

Still conscious... for those last unbearable minutes, in agony I couldn’t even imagine?

My heart was resolved. But my mind... my mind still fought back, clinging to its survival instinct. It sounded alarms through my body, flooding me with suffocating fear—until my breath came short, ragged.

But I wouldn’t lose. Not now.

I forced back control. Clutched my hair as hard as I could. Slammed my knees until pain silenced reason. Slapped my face—hard, again and again—to remind myself this body was mine.

Shaking, I forced myself to move. Slowly, I dragged my arms and legs, as if coaxing a frozen body back to life.

I crawled, pulling myself toward the railing.

Muscles screamed, breath raced, thoughts rebelled—but still I pushed forward.

I climbed, inch by inch, until half my body was already over.

Just a little more.

But suddenly—

A voice shouted in the distance. It rang out, cutting through the fire of my struggle.

For a second, I thought someone had seen me, realized what I was about to do, and tried to stop me.

But no—it wasn’t just one. A group appeared from the north. Some were running, others hurrying, as if chasing something urgent.

At once, my resolve wavered. I pulled back, slowly climbing down from the railing. My breath was still uneven, my hands and knees trembling.

One of them rushed over to me. His breath was ragged, face pale, shirt drenched in sweat.

“Please, sir, we need help! Over there—quick!” he urged, tugging at my arm.

“Help with what? What’s happening?” I asked, my own breath catching in his panic.

“That building—over there, it’s on fire! If it’s not put out fast, the flames will spread to the neighborhood!”

My eyes widened. And before I could think, my body was already being pulled along with them. For some reason, I let myself go, swept up with the crowd.