I found this writing again today, it was written in 2017. It brought me back to a time that feels both near and far. Junior high school. Our class. Our circle. We called it BCC. The name did not really matter. What mattered was the people in it, we are about 25 people.

We grew up together. We laughed at the same small jokes. We understood each other’s silence. Even now, everyone is walking their own path, yet the connection stays. We still encourage each other, support each other, and try to meet whenever we can. Even if life becomes busy, the feeling never leaves.

Then I remembered that moment in 2017.
My father was still alive, being treated in the hospital. I stayed there day and night. The room, the machines, the waiting, the prayers. I was tired, but I stayed. Because that is what children do for their parents.

There were many thoughts in my mind.
College. Responsibilities. Fear of losing. Hope that things would get better. I did not say much, but my friends knew. They felt it.

And they came.

They traveled. They got lost while parking. They made small jokes to loosen the heavy air in my chest. They did not come with big words. They came with presence. And sometimes presence is the most powerful form of love.

They told me, Come with us for a while.
Just walk. Just breathe. Just taste sunlight again.

We ate meatballs. We laughed. We saw the sunset from the flyover. It was the first sunset I saw in the city after days inside the hospital room. I still remember it. The sky felt like it was saying, You are not alone.

BCC could reach the part of me that I usually keep quiet.
They understood without me having to explain.

Now, they are doctors, teachers, civil servants, entrepreneurs, and many other things. Each of them is fighting their own journey. Each of them is carrying their own story. But that moment stays with me. Quiet. Gentle. Unforgotten.

Thank you. Terimakasih…