Crossing the river and expectations, I learned that finding myself meant letting go of being ‘nice’.
I still remember that warm afternoon in July 1980s, the last time I sat with my high school friends before we went our separate ways. Unlike other classes that held night parties, we chose a quiet picnic by the Bengawan Solo (Solo River). We each brought something from home, laying out dishes on mats beneath the big trees.
The river was calm, flowing gently with a steady rhythm that seemed to whisper of the days ahead. Only a few food stalls lingered in the quiet weekday atmosphere, and the July sun shone bright but soft. We laughed, sharing dreams of the future — some would stay in Solo; others, like me, would leave for distant cities.
Back then, Solo was our world — a city in Central Java, Indonesia, where tradition shaped who we were. Known also as Surakarta, Solo is the heart of Javanese culture, where success means finding balance and respecting roots, and harmony and family are woven into life.
