.Final Call

Here it is—the final point. The northernmost tip of Malioboro. The very end.

The last fragment of all the memories I’ve long buried—every piece of it rests here.

Tonight might be the last time I breathe in this cool air—air that both conceals and reminds me of just how quiet this place truly is.

The northern part of Malioboro is always like this after midnight. The streets begin to empty. Vehicles pass by only now and then. The street vendors who once lined the sidewalks are now packing up their stalls. One by one, they prepare to go home.

I leaned against a dimly lit park lamp. My hand reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, which had been utterly useless all this time. The screen lit up, showing the time 00:00 a.m.

An hour that explained everything—why the place had grown so still, why the night air felt so hollow, and why… this was the right time to end it all.

For a moment, I opened my messages again. Still hoping—maybe someone had looked for me, maybe there was a short sentence, a question asking where I was. But no. Still nothing. Not a single message had come through.

Maybe… they really have forgotten me.

Or perhaps—because right now they were celebrating their own happiness, they had no time to remember anything beyond what concerned themselves.

And really, remembering me would only ruin their joyful moments.

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

I myself had once been a part of that. When my neighbor died recently, I felt nothing. No grief. No loss. I still went to the wake, not out of empathy, but more out of formality. Because his house was only a few steps from mine.

Perhaps I never had a spiritual, let alone emotional, connection with the deceased—so it was only natural that no sympathy arose. Not because I was cruel, but simply because... there was nothing to bind us.

Maybe the people around me feel the same way about me.

Because from the very beginning, I felt we weren't truly connected. We only knew each other; called upon each other when needed. Or perhaps... I was just foolish, allowing myself to be used, and still considering it all a form of relationship.

But yes, that's just how life is. There's always sorrow that creeps in behind happiness. And conversely, laughter that emerges amidst tears. Both are impermanent; they just come and go, filling and erasing each other.

It felt like there were no more reasons left—so I turned off my phone and removed its SIM card.

I didn't want my body to be found someday, and then for my phone to fall into the wrong hands—who might then use it to do bad things in my name. That kind of scenario happens all too easily in this country. And I just wanted to avoid it.

As soon as I did it, my eyes welled up again…

It was strange, really. I didn't actually want to die yet. There were still so many things I wanted to do in this world...

But those small wishes... they feel like specks of dust in the middle of a storm. They couldn't last long. They couldn't withstand the wind that kept pushing me to the edge.

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 actually many other ways, like drinking poison or hanging myself. But... from the research I'd done, those two methods left behind terrible pain and were often slow processes.

Even though I was ready to die... that didn't mean I had made peace with the pain.

So... after considering everything, I decided that jumping from a bridge remained my primary choice.

A bridge located east of Tugu Yogyakarta Station—I won't mention its name. I don't want anyone to be tempted to imitate the pathetic step I'm about to take tonight.

It's enough that I've carried it this far. Enough that I'm the one choosing this path.

Actually, the bridge's location is still quite far from where I'm standing now. But before this, I'd left my bicycle not far from here. Before I started from the south, I went north first to drop off my bike, then took a detour.

It sounds a little funny, doesn't it—how someone intending to end their life is still thinking about small things like this. But somehow, I want everything to go perfectly, orderly, and according to the sketch I've quietly drawn in my mind.

From this spot, I walked towards the parking area where my bicycle was left. After finding it, I began to cycle slowly towards the bridge.

As I pedaled, my mind was again haunted by flashes that shouldn't have been important—but were now trying to make me waver.

About the old beggar who prayed for my aspirations to be achieved and for me to have a long life.

About the girl with the kalimba who gave me her phone number while holding my hand, as if I actually meant something.

And about the tarot reader, who, for some reason, seemed to know exactly what I was going to do tonight.

All of it felt strange. Too strange.

These three events occurred consecutively. One after another. Each seemed to touch the deepest part of my heart—the part I thought had long been dead.

Honestly, I felt something was amiss. Too much of a coincidence. As if something—or someone—is trying to stop me…

But now... I've arrived. This is the bridge I meant. A silent bridge that looms quite high above the riverbed—about fifty meters, maybe more.

Yet, the truth is, I could only lean my bicycle against the edge of the sidewalk. My body was huddled behind the guardrail, hugging my knees, as if trying to wrap myself away from the increasingly approaching reality.

Cold sweat drenched my body. I was trembling violently. My breath hitched, and my throat felt like it wanted to vomit everything that had settled within it.

In my mind, the image begins to take shape; My body, plunging through the air, slamming into the unyielding ground, then tearing apart—scattered, broken. My internal organs thrown from their places, spilling out into formless chaos.

Even more terrifying was the possibility that I wouldn't die instantly.

What if I was still breathing down there?

Still alive?

Still conscious... for the last few minutes, in a pain I couldn't even imagine?

My heart was resolute. But my mind... my mind hadn't given up. It kept fighting to preserve its survival instinct. It sounded alarms throughout my body, igniting a chest-constricting fear—until my breath felt heavy and fragmented.

But I wouldn't lose. Not now.

I reclaimed control over this body. I yanked my hair as hard as I could. I hit my knees, repeatedly, until the pain defied logic. I slapped my cheeks—hard and repeatedly—to remind myself that this body was mine.

Trembling, I forced myself to move. Slowly, I moved my hands and feet. Like forcing a frozen body back to life.

I crawled, dragging myself to the guardrail.

My muscles screamed, my breath hitched, and my mind was still rebelling—but I kept moving forward.

I climbed the fence slowly, until half of my body was over it.

Just a little more.

But suddenly—

From a distance, I heard someone shout. The sound echoed, cutting through the fierce conflict within me.

For a moment, I thought that person saw me and knew what I was about to do, then tried to stop me.

But it wasn't just one person. A crowd emerged from the north. Some were running, others seemed to be in a hurry, as if chasing something urgent.

Immediately, my resolve wavered. I halted my steps and slowly climbed back down from the guardrail. My breathing still hadn't steadied. My hands and knees were still trembling.

One of them approached me. His breath was ragged, his face pale, and his shirt drenched in sweat.

“Please, sir, we need help! Over there—quick!” he said hurriedly, pulling my arm.

“Help with what? What’s going on?” I asked—also in a hurry, as if infected by his panicked breathing.

“That... that multi-story building at the far end is on fire! If we don’t put it out soon, the flames could spread to the nearby houses!”

My eyes widened for a moment, and before I could think any further, my body was already pulled along by his grip. For some reason, I just let myself be carried away with the crowd.