Life's cruel hands forced him into adulthood before he could truly be a child. A lone wolf he became, driven by the relentless pursuit of survival, striving to scrape enough coins to fend off hunger, to find shelter for himself and his frail mother. The weight of responsibility pressed upon his shoulders, stealing away the innocence of youth.

In the midst of daily struggles, he harbored an insatiable curiosity, an itch to learn that couldn't be quelled. He embraced knowledge like a lifeline, for it was a path to escape the suffocating clutches of his circumstances. He devoured tales of distant lands and wisdom from any source he could find. But his dreams of deeper learning were crushed like fragile glass beneath the heavy boots of reality.

I remember those somber evenings when he would share his meager wisdom with a whisper in his voice, the dim light casting long shadows across his tired face. He told me stories of our origins, not of grand beginnings but of cosmic tragedy. "We're nothing more than stardusts," he'd say with a hint of bitterness. "Remnants of long-dead stars, blasted into oblivion, left to wander the cold void of existence."

As he spoke, the weight of his words settled like a dark cloud upon my young mind. The universe he described was not a place of wonder and hope, but a cold, indifferent expanse where life was but a fleeting spark in an abyss of nothingness. The stars that adorned the night sky were not celestial dreams, but grim reminders of the chaos that birthed us.

His bleak perspective seemed like a curse, tainting the world with shades of desolation. It was a harsh reminder that life could be unforgiving, that dreams could be crushed under the weight of reality, leaving us stranded in the vast darkness of our own existence.

In my heart, I wished to escape this gloomy legacy, to forge a different path for myself. But as I ventured into the world, I found traces of my father's struggles etched into my very being. The world echoed his story—filled with hardships, where dreams were deferred, and hope often seemed like a distant illusion.

Yet, amidst the darkness, I discovered a glimmer of resilience—the same unyielding spirit that kept my father moving forward. It was a defiance against the void, a refusal to succumb to the shadows that threatened to consume us. Through the struggles, I learned that knowledge could be a light, a beacon in the darkest hours, guiding us through the murky waters of life.

And so, I carry both the weight of his darkness and the flicker of his thirst for knowledge. My journey is an ode to his struggle, an endeavor to find meaning in a world that often seems devoid of purpose. As I gaze upon the starry night, I can't help but wonder if, indeed, we are but remnants of cosmic catastrophe, destined to wander the cosmos without a guiding light.

But in that same darkness, I find solace. For I know that even amidst the chaos, we have the power to create our own meaning, to find purpose in the mere act of seeking knowledge and understanding. In the vast emptiness of the universe, I see a canvas upon which we can paint our own stories, where the stardust of wisdom and resilience can shine bright against the backdrop of the unknown.

15 July 2023.

Pasha Fatahillah,

Happy birthday, pops.