Istirahatlah Kata-Kata

“It was good. I guess the movie’s great for people like us—undergraduate students coming from faculty of social and political sciences. For people who understand what democracy is and what does it cost. It’s a festival-class movie. It’s an activist-kind-of-movie. The meanings were scattered around and embedded on symbols. Very symbolic, like simulacra. Even the soundtrack wasn’t served by lyrics but by whistles. I’m sure you will understand and like the movie, as I do, but I guess the rest will not fancy it that much. It was just too difficult to understand if you don’t have prior knowledge about the subject and the context. I watched it with my friend who took Accountancy degree and he didn’t understand even a tiny bit part of it.”

It was my friend’s answer when earlier today I asked for his opinion regarding to Istirahatlah Kata-Kata (Solo, Solitude) movie. It was first premiered at cinema on Januari 19th 2017 but I couldn’t found the right time to watch it up until today. Last night I silently prayed for the movie to last longer on cinemas because I can’t bear any guilt for not watching this award-grabbing movie and thank God the movie was actually expanding cities and playing on more cinemas. The cinema was half-full (note the positivity) and the good news is that almost everyone was youth, approximately on their early or late 20s!

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata is a movie directed by Yosep Anggi Noen. The movie tells stories of Wiji Thukul, a poet who is highly critical and unafraid of Suharto tyranny regime whose words are often yelled proudly by the crowd during political protests—thus, he is declared a fugitive by the regime. The movie covers those difficult times when Wiji Thukul has to escapes from the island of Java and forced to changes his identity several times, leaving his wife, Sipon along with his two children under constant surveillance in Solo.

It was a very slow pace movie, but not the kind of dragging that made you feel bored. It was a very slow pace movie that gave you a sense of intimacy. There’s not much dialogues and backsounds whatsoever. In several parts of the movie you can even intensely hear the sound of Wiji Thukul gulped down his water or when he brushed his pencil against the yellowing paper, you can intensely hear the sound Thomas made when he inhaled and exhaled his cigarette and turned it into ash, you can intensely hear the sound of Sipon weakly sweeping the tiles in a helpless attempt to sweep her insecurities. It was a very slow pace movie that made you feel sorry for almost everything. It was a very slow pace movie and it’s depressing. It’s depressing yet beautiful.

Moreover, I found myself a bit disagree with my friend who said that Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was an activist-kind-of-movie. Here you will not watch Wiji Thukul or anyone else being involved in any demonstration, nor will you watch any scene in which people were screaming at the top of their lungs in the name of democracy. It was not a fiery and raging movie. This movie was intense, but it was as calm as still water. Even when Wiji Thukul’s daughter was being investigated and his books were being plundered, there was no apparent rage being shown. Sipon just held her daughter’s little hand so firmly. Even when an apparatus didn’t bother to queue at a barbershop, bragged about his power and the regime’s authority, there was no apparent rage shown. Wiji Thukul just buried his face behind his hat with chattered teeth. Even when Wiji Thukul couldn’t risk going to the public toilet and having to shit on his home instead, there was no apparent rage being shown. Wiji and Sipon just made fun of the smell, being grateful that they were still alive to smell any. There was no apparent rage being shown, but it left an inexplicable pang in my heart.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata didn’t depict Wiji Thukul as a mere activist; but most of all, as a human, a husband, a father, a friend. Not merely as a person with principle and dedication, but also a person who got a heart and feelings. The depiction of Wiji Thukul is as flawed as any human can be—missing sleeps, skipping family dinners, losing words and inspirations, being suspicious to noises, having unwritten thoughts putting on ties of colors he dislikes on his exhausted neck, and other emotions any under-pressured man may experiences.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was not a movie about loud literal voices being spoken. It was not a movie with bustling soundtracks on every scene. It was not a movie with engaging dialogues that let audiences understand everything without even have to think. Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was a movie about people being silenced. It was a movie about a regime so dictator they could actually shut people down by taking their lives, and they meant it. It was a movie about a regime so full of bastards, but they were afraid of words. It was a movie about words...much more powerful than any swords. Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was a retrospective solemnity that doesn’t try too hard to show its importance. We already knew it by heart.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was beyond brave and brilliant. I cried two times during the movie (precisely during the scenes I posted above). Everything about it was so emotional. Watching this movie made me wonder about how it feels like to live in that time. When your government was so sensitive even towards the slightest notion or movement of yours. When nowhere is safe. When government who ideally should be there to protect and uphold all sort of your human rights turned into a wolf that intimidated and silenced you down.

Watching this movie made me realize that all the so-called conflicts and problems we got in our country right now is insignificant compared to what our country experienced in the past. It’s shameful how we now fight each other over having perspective that vary. How we accuse each other for being wrong and condemn them for having different opinions. We worry too much, we fight too much that we forget to focus on what’s important. Our country experienced all kind of nightmares that this generation couldn’t even come close to imagine. Our country had dark, cruel, terrible secrets—and it’s unfair to keep it buried down. It’s a violation to continue being innocent for years to come. It’s time to bring the awareness back. It’s time to talk about it in public. It’s time to stop taking our easy life for granted.

It doesn’t matter whatever degree you took, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a multinational corporate manager or if you’re a labor. Wiji Thukul wrote to fought for all of us. His spirit should reverberate in all of us. Doesn’t know about him and his struggle is one thing, but knowing his name and a glimpse of what he has done yet refuse to know him further as a human is another. He fought for all of us. To watch this movie and to have his name on our mind and heart—even for just a moment, is a way of saying our gratitude. That wherever he might be at right now, he matters. And he lives. He still lives—he always lives all along in our mind and heart. His body might be missing and his whereabouts are unknown, but his voices will always be heard and his being will always be not just respected, but loved as well.

For those who have watched the movie and shared similar perspective with me, thank you for understanding his stories and being fully aware that his unknown whereabouts up until now is something we should not ignore, and please know that it matters. For those who have watched the movie and didn’t quite understand it, thank you for watching—for choosing to watch this movie when you have plenty choices and buying the tickets and helping it to get trending, it’s probably about time for you to read more about Wiji Thukul to understand him more, and please know that it matters. For those who haven’t watched the movie but having the intention to watch it, thank you for keeping this movie in your mind and for resonating his name over and over again, it is because of you that the movie get played on more and more cinemas, and please know that it matters. For those who haven’t watched the movie and didn’t have the intention to watch it, but read this blog entry anyway, thank you for being ignorant with a slight of curiosity—it can kill the cat (or topple down a regime!) if being put on the right place at the right time, and please know that it matters.

I’ve spent hours contemplating the words to say but no combination of twenty six different letters could ever accurately describe how brilliant the movie is or how it has made me feel. Last but not least, writing a movie review is totally not my cup of tea, but Istirahatlah Kata-Kata should definitely be everyone’s glass of water, so I wrote anyway.

Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan: Things that Happen when the Kampung Itself is the Tourism Object.

Last weekend I went to Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan, one of the most anticipated tourism objects in Malang. No, I wasn’t there for any selfies or fun—though I have to admit that I took some and I had some—but the main reason I was there was to conduct a field observation for Health Communication subject.

Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan is a relatively small neighborhood located exactly side to side with Brantas river. The area is so narrow that you have to turn off your motorcycle engine and walk with it. No house has any fence, let alone a front porch or a yard. To completely explore Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan you have to have be as fit and as careful as you can, because you have go up and down through several precipitous brick-stairs. I was so worn-out on the first day, thanks to my nonexistent preparation. Have done situational analysis for my field observation proposal, several medias labeled it as ‘slums’ before it has been perfectly transformed into Rio-De-Janeiro-inspired tourism object. Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan was the result of collaboration between the brilliant minds of GuysPro from UMM with decofresh, a wall paint brand. The project leader is a friend of mine, Nabila, a cheerful, bright and easygoing young lady whom I met at a public relations competition we joined earlier last year.

The class agreed to conduct a field observation at Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan because it was a tourism object that is located exactly in a kampung—a residence, a neighborhood. To be exact, the kampung itself is the tourism object. Thus, things are a little bit problematic there. How would you like it if strangers direct poses and take pictures in front of your front door? How would you like it if you can’t take a nap because of those never ending footsteps and giggles? How would you like it if you have to let people walk slowly all around you on an alley that was already narrow enough even for you and your neighbors?

Things were not easy for Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan’s residents. Some are happy while some are not. Some are proud while some are not. But most of all, some are getting the benefits while some are not. When we talk about health, it is not always about the physical matters. It is about the mental and social matters as well. I’m a communication student and I study about health communication, which is the study of how health information is generated and disseminated and promoted and how that information affect individuals, community groups, institutions and public policy.

A friction is undeniable in a tourism object which is also a residence. Most people think that by paying a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah, they are free to do whatever they want. That by having a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah means Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan is all theirs to take. People visit and have fun at Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan for hours and then get home, while on the other side Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan has been other people’s home for all these years. Tourists walk by the old man sitting on his front door, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah can substitute for their manners. Tourists gather around the only open space on Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan, taking photos with several beautiful paintings and murals as backgrounds, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah can buy the local kids’ only facility to outdoor activities. Tourists yell at their kids and at their friends—tourists basically yell at each other, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah is there to pay for the local toddlers and local elderly people’s right of tranquility. Tourists trespass the train railway and the edge of the river, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah is a warrant of their safety. The hoarse voice come from a very noisy megaphone endlessly reminding tourists to step back and stop doing so, as if the locals deserve that burden from a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah. Tourists throw away trash and neglect the “do not litter” signs placed here and there, because on their tickets, it is written that their 2000 rupiah will go for the green and clean maintenance at Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan.

They do indeed have the ticket, but what do they actually pay for?  On a tourism object that is located exactly in a kampung, which one is more important; a happy tourist or a healthy resident? We don’t have to pick just one if we can and commit to make both happen.

The class was divided into 6 groups based on our focal targets: toddlers and kids, teenagers, productive aged people, elderly, formal health staffs, and informal health ones. We then conducted a field observation for two days; analyzing the latent problems and doing our best to find the solution and its alternatives by interviewing our focal targets and gathering related information from the chief of hamlet and cadres. We are fully aware that our researches are deeply flawed because it was done in quite a short period of time, thus the input was not as rich as it is supposed to be. But at least we have got several glimpses which we are now currently working on (yes, my field observation report is not done yet). These reports later on will serve as academic suggestions for the stakeholders in their decision making processes. Last but not least, we hope for nothing but for Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan to be better.

(Oh and here's a quite decent self-potrait of me! Didn't take much of it, of course. I'm a ~researcher~ not a ~tourist~, remember?)

Let's Not Hate, Let's Celebrate.

When I was a child and I have no idea about what religion is—let alone about what MY religion is, I always think of Hari Raya simply as the day when I get to gather with my big family. And by big, I mean literally big; aunties and uncles telling me their childhood stories, cousins exchanging toys and laughs and sometimes tears, grandmas and grandpas continuously saying that I’m much bigger than the last time they saw me, which usually ended up in a long talk about when exactly did the last time they saw me. But the answer is always the same logic, a simple one. If it was Christmas, then the last time we met was on Eid al-Fitr, and if it was Eid al-Fitr, then the last time we met was on Christmas. There is also some exception in which we met on a marriage celebration of a relative, but that case is quite rare.

For the young me, all Hari Raya is all the same. Hari Raya means family day. Thing that matters the most in that day is how we spend it with our loved ones. Hari Raya is an excuse for workers to have a day off, it is an excuse for children to visit their parents, it is an excuse for everyone to be home, wherever home is. Hari Raya gives us room for forgiveness, knowing that no matter how bad we have ruined this year, we can always start everything all over again. Hari Raya gives us room for acceptance, and how our own family is the best at accepting us. Up until now, all Hari Raya is all the same for me. Just as how we Moslems family form togetherness by plaiting our ketupat, Christians family also form togetherness by decorating their Christmas tree. Just as how we Moslems family feel at an ease by humming takbir on the way to mosque and on our way home from shalat, Christians family also feel at an ease by singing their praise to God in a form of a peaceful song.

One of my uncles converted from Catholic to Islam and became a much respected man on the mosque as he never hesitated or ashamed to sweep the tiles and clean the dust on the mosque’s cabinets, while my other uncle (his brother) stayed as Catholic, baptized his children and raised a family with true devotion towards the religion. Both of them are my uncles and they are truly good uncles for me. They are still brothers by blood, regardless of what their religions are. They still respect and care for each other. My Moslem uncle passed away last year and my Catholic uncle was one of the people to carry his body on the shoulder and dig his grave. He wiped for the death of his brother. He loved him so dearly not because he understood his religion, but because he understood him completely as a person.

One of my grandmas was once Catholic but now she has not been practicing for a while and none of us asks her why because it’s between her and God, and none of us has the right to be involved in such a relationship. Yet her children are all converted to Moslems—one of them is growing beard and married to a woman with burqa. And he still calls her ‘Ibu’, as she is still his mother after all, regardless of what religion she believes in, regardless of what practices she has been or been not doing.

My Mom started wearing hijab on the fasting month back in late 2008 and she has never detached it ever since. But the way my Mom behaves and lives her life—as long as I can remember—is all the same, whether before she wore hijab or after she wore it. My grandma wore hijab on her late 50s and not wearing hijab previously didn’t make her less influential in the community, just as wearing hijab didn’t make her more influential in the community as well. They made me understand that wearing hijab doesn’t make one smarter or prettier or anything better, yet wearing hijab also doesn’t make one dumber or uglier or anything worse either. Wearing hijab and the quality of self are two very different concepts and society really needs to understand how to separate them.

I know Moslems who are good people, and one of them is a 90 year-old Grandma who trembled on her Ied Al-Fitr shalat and shed tears of happiness seeing her whole bloodlines gather together is her old, big house. Bedrooms are being cleaned up and beds are being made up when on usual days it’s just her hugging her old pillow on a cold night, her grandchildren are waiting for their turn to take a bath when on usual days it’s just her waiting for the water to get heated, dining table is full of dishes when on usual days it’s just her and her own matching plate and mug. I know Catholics and Christians who are good people, and some of them are my uncles and aunties—the parents yet also the children who came home at least once in a year to the old, big house they’ve been raised at; solemnly kissing the old, paperish hand of their mother, and telling their son and daughter to do so to the woman who they respect the most, the woman who meant the world for them.

Hari Raya is all about living the good moments in the present yet being nostalgic for the good moments in the past. Hari Raya all about love; and each and every single individual in the world is responsible and has the right to radiate the love, at least to his or her little family, at least on this special occasion of the day.

Let’s not hate. Let’s celebrate.

Dan Aku Ingin Selalu Berada di Dalamnya

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada tapakmu aku dalam menjejak
Walau segala di sekelilingku perlahan terserak

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada tungkaimu aku menggelayut
Serupa bocah kecil yang memejamkan mata saat bermain ayunan tanpa rasa takut
Meyakini bahwa sejauh apapun ia terlontar ke segala arah, angin takkan mengkhianatinya

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada dadamu aku bebas mendesah
My numpahkan resah yang melimpah ruah
Pada dadamu yang merekah
Aku menemukan cercah

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada figurmu aku menemukan dinding-dinding kokoh yang melintang
Pada tegapmu aku menemukan sokongan yang menggenggamku kencang
Pada lekukmu aku menemukan ruang-ruang lapang yang tanpa ragu memantulkan gemaku lantang-lantang

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada pundakmu aku menata kain taplak dan sebuah vas kristal senada berisi buket harapan yang meneteskan embun segar
Baru saja kupetik setelah sebelumnya menyingkirkan seikat kegelisahan yang sudah layu dan segenggam ketakutan yang lama telah meranggas kuyu

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada irama detak jantungmu yang konstan serupa rintik hujan
Aku menatap kehidupan dari balik teralis jendela sembari mencecap kopiku perlahan

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada aliran darahmu yang menggelegak laksana ombak
Aku berkawan perdu yang luas menghampar dan cangkang kerang yang menawarkan diri tuk terdampar

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada hembus napasmu aku belajar bahwa penat tak ubahnya secarik kain ketat yang bisa kutanggalkan kapan saja
Bahwa kenangan hanyalah wajah buram dan latar pudar di dalam pigura yang kini tak lagi berarti apa-apa

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada kerut raut di wajahmu aku menyusuri kepribadianmu yang serupa karya seni
Yang kupandang dalam decak kagum tiada henti
Yang hingga kini masih saja terus kumaknai

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada lengkung senyum di ujung bibirmu aku disambut kelok pelangi
Memang tak selalu berwarna-warni
Namun ketidakpastian itulah yang menjadikannya layak dinanti

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada helai rambut ikalmu aku berkemah
Tanpa perlu susah payah mendirikan tenda dan mencari kayu bakar bermandi keringat
Dalam dekapmu aku senantiasa hangat

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada sidik jarimu aku menyapukan jejak
Berharap dengan demikian kita takkan pernah berjarak

Tubuhmu adalah rumah
Pada nadimu aku meniti perjalanan
Sepenuhnya memahami bahwa di manapun aku kini maupun nanti berada
Aku selalu berada di rumah

Karena tubuhmu
Adalah rumah

Upon Considerations and a Decision

You may fail to see the so called empowerment in my act of subduing to the norms of what you perceived as an obviously patriarchal religion, but I believe that Islam and Quran itself—like any other religions and its texts, are widely open for interpretation resulting in one's comprehension that in no way can be generalized.
I, with full consciousness, choose to cover this way because I'm fighting against a systematic oppression in which women's bodies are being commodified and objectified and sexualized. This is my kind—a different form of empowerment resulting in that when I'm in public, my whole self is in my own control, and that's including my body and my gender and my sexuality. People have to deal with me and my brain and my abilities and who I really am without having to judge the body and physical traits I inherently born with. I know, people will always judge anyway, but the point is, in my opinion, feminism is about respecting people's choices and backgrounds and understanding how different things empower different humans.
You may embrace your ultimate freedom through your nudity because you are so done with the society oversexualizing your mammalian glands, while at the same time I may liberate myself through the twist of my hijab because I want to be the only one who's in control of even one single hair strand of mine. And that's completely fine because on the bigger scale, oh dear my fellow sisters, we are still in the same line of a fight against the same kind of enemy.

Secarik Kisah tentang Laut dan Rasaku yang Tak Kunjung Surut

Barangkali cinta tak punya muara dan kita adalah jiwa-jiwa merana yang terperangkap dalam pusaran fana. 

Dua Ribu Tiga Belas

Bersama kita pernah datang dengan setelan hitam putih yang senada
Bersama kita pernah mengulurkan jabat tangan dan menawarkan seulas senyuman
Menyebutkan nama-nama yang pada awalnya susah kuhapalkan
Menyuguhkan wajah-wajah yang pada awalnya susah kubedakan
Bersama kita pernah datang pada hari pertama
Merasa canggung menuntut ilmu tanpa berseragam putih biru maupun putih abu-abu
Merasa canggung bertransformasi dari buku tulis menjadi lembar-lembar binder yang tipis
Bersama kita pernah tertunduk berharap tak ditunjuk
Bersama kita pernah memberanikan diri mengacungkan jari
Bersama kita pernah bertepuk tangan untuk jawaban-jawaban yang tepat sasaran
Bersama kita pernah menertawakan celotehan yang terucap spontan
Bersama kita pernah menguap bosan pada rutinitas yang semakin tak karuan

Bersama kita pernah dihimpit deadline yang sama
Segala media sosial penuh sesak akan keluhan yang masing-masing dari kita pun rasakan
Bersama kita pernah berlarian menuju loker-loker di lantai dua
Persetan dengan mandi, apalagi menyemprotkan minyak wangi
Yang penting lembar-lembar ini segera sampai dan dinilai
Bersama kita pernah datang di waktu yang tepat
Bersama pula kita juga pernah beberapa kali terlambat
Bersama kita pernah melalui malam-malam yang terlalu singkat
Untuk tugas 3000 kata yang entah bagaimanapun caranya harus tetap dibuat
Bersama kita pernah melalui hari-hari yang terlalu panjang
Untuk 3 kali jadwal kelas dengan materi-materi yang melelahkan
Bersama kita pernah mengumpat pada pihak-pihak yang itu-itu saja
Bersama kita pernah begitu muak akan himpitan warna jingga
Dan segala sudut serta temboknya yang seakan memenjara

Entah sudah berapa kali kita berfoto di dinding yang sama
Entah sudah berapa kali rumah kedua kita ini kebanjiran
Entah sudah berapa kali matahari berpijar dengan berlebihan
Entah sudah berapa kali kita terlambat mengembalikan buku-buku perpustakaan
Entah sudah berapa kali aku duduk di kursi yang sama
Entah sudah berapa kali aku berganti tas dan memakai setelan baju yang itu-itu saja

Satu lagi malam berhasil terlewati
Satu lagi hari menanti untuk dilalui
Tiga revolusi bumi terhadap matahari sebagai porosnya
Dan kita semua masih bersama
Tiga revolusi bumi terhadap matahari sebagai porosnya
Kadang terasa sesingkat kita mengedipkan mata
Tiga revolusi bumi terhadap matahari sebagai porosnya
Kadang juga terasa layaknya jeda yang tiada pangkal ujungnya
Tiga revolusi bumi terhadap matahari sebagai porosnya
Berapa lama lagi waktu yang disisakan oleh Tuhan untuk kita tetap bersama?

Entah sudah berapa kali kita saling menyapa
Entah sudah berapa lama beberapa dari kita tak lagi bertegur sapa
Entah sudah berapa kali kita bercanda tertawa terbahak tercekat
Entah sudah berapa lama beberapa dari kita memendam sakit hati rapat-rapat
Entah sudah berapa kali kita satu kelompok dan bekerja sama
Entah sudah berapa lama beberapa dari kita tak nyaman dengan beberapa yang lainnya
Ada yang cintanya terus tumbuh dalam teguh
Ada yang cintanya meranggas dan terhempas

Jarum jam senantiasa berputar
Langit yang benderang lalu menggelap lantas berpijar
Tanah kerontang lalu becek lantas membiaskan lampu yang berpendar

Kita ibarat langit sore yang ditenggelamkan senja
Namun terlahir kembali setiap pagi dengan semangat yang sama
Bahkan lebih menggelora

Namun hanya bersama kalian,
Beban ibarat tas ransel yang bisa kulepas dan letakkan
Namun hanya bersama kalian,
Mentari yang benderang menyilaukan bisa dalam sekejap disisihkan pijar rembulan
Namun hanya bersama kalian,
3000 kata narasi, materi presentasi, dan video-video dadakan adalah sebuah manifestasi perjuangan
Namun hanya bersama kalian,
Aku bersyukur atas setiap waktu yang sukarela kalian sisihkan

Waktu
Adalah hal termulia yang Tuhan anugerahkan
Melalui hadirnya kalian
Tiap detak jam dan detiknya yang kita bersama habiskan
Tak akan pernah siapapun dapat kembalikan

Suatu saat nanti kita akan terlalu tua untuk mengingat semua materi semester enam
Namun kita tidak akan terlalu tua untuk mengingat umpatan atas kelas-kelas yang mendadak ditiadakan
Suatu saat nanti kita akan terlalu tua untuk mengingat materi kuliah
Namun kita tidak akan terlalu tua untuk mengingat memori-memori indah
Suatu saat nanti kita akan terlalu tua untuk mengingat kesalahpahaman yang belum tuntas
Namun kita tidak akan terlalu tua untuk mengingat kita dua ribu tiga belas

Setelah ini
Waktu kita bersama tak lama lagi
Setelah ini
Semua permasalahan lekas kita sudahi
Setelah ini
Mari kita mulai kembali
Mari menjadi versi paling baik dari diri kita sendiri
Karena perjuangan kita sejauh ini
Bukan hanya guna mencapai garis akhir kita beberapa semester lagi
Perjuangan yang kita lalui
Senantiasa berlanjut dan tak akan pernah terhenti