We accept the change, and embrace everyone to respect history.

After 45 years, Jakarta Institute of Arts is now on it’s way to a massive changes. It’s been explained that the building has suffered many-many wounds during those long and dinamic years. Everytime, they are all fixed them and moved on.

Several months ago, by the hands of Government, Jokowi-Ahok, we got fund to not only make it better, but also make it bigger, that gives chances for more unique and different individuals to join us in this big family.

The students nowadays has to spend their 2 (or maybe 3?) years there learning in a very compromise classes, they maybe graduated already when the new building is built. Some of them will have to learn in another place away from the Jakarta Institute of Arts area. Lecturers and staff must set their desks movable and ready to re-located for a while, during the process.

I saw this, and it moves me. Those corners, secret paths I’ve been walked on to avoid cruel seniors on my way to classes, walls holding my friends’s tears over turbulences happening between assignments, examinations, and jobs inbetween to be able to pay the classes, seats under the tree where we easily spent laughing together and fell asleep between one class with another, secret desks where I often hide my self under it and listen to my walkman and write or reading down there, pretty soon, they will change. They already gone, physically.

Yesterday, more than 400 people (students and alumni) gathered together. They stand on the sites, and spots that was still standing there for a while now. The mission was simple: to capture the last moment of our ‘home’, in whatever condition they are now.

As today people started loading up, the pictures comes up online, my tears comes down. So this is how it feels to let go.

I’m a firm believer that change is good. And seeing my friends yesterday, meeting them again after years, in an -accidentally-but-happens happily- big family reunion, was certainly a livingproof of it. Each of them, was a livingproof of it.

No one was the same person as I knew them before. They are all changed. The exhausted feelings from many activities days before was cured easily when I see them again. Hugging my friends tightly on the path where we used to do the same thing-with our backpack and sweat-sun-smell over our body, it bursted my solitude bubble easily, instantly. Both my arms was simply just spreading open wide to hug them. To once again embracing togetherness, as those old slides just came screening in my heads, took me travelling somewhere else fast, moments with laugh and tears, somewhere between this crazy-busy-town-tik-tok hours, where all we ever expected was a change, for a better everything.

Look at us. And how time flies. The changes in us, look at us.

This is good. We accept changes within ourselves, and now set our foot back to see our handprints in our ‘home’, our soon-to-be-changed-also-‘home’.

I’m proud of this family. We fight sometimes, screaming at each other endlessly, or silently, -just like any other family in this world-, but then we make up and we come home. All that was necessary, was necessary. And all that’s left was an enormous respect for those roof above us, our home.

Those big-strong-arms protecting us for 45 years, now ready to have a make-over.

Cry if you have to, or venting (over anything you can set for the reasons) if you want to. But let’s make it real, accept the change and let go. So that we soon will be strong enough to respect history, our history.

And here it is, the history, our history, my one big family, Jakarta Institute of Arts.

















ray fandy pakpahan



Pictures are personal collections of members of the big family. Thanks a whole bunch for such treats! ^_^

Categories: people, places, stories | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment


This story involves two main characters, a young chef and a beautiful woman, who seems to have a perfect day, as always. The restaurant-the only setting of the movie-captures their perfect day, especially today, when these two strangers put themselves to the test of their perfect life.


Everyday, Daffa, the young chef, always having his perfect day. In his small restaurant, we can see the perfect from people’s smile around the corner, enjoying Sayur Asem and sharing laugh while eating. Everybody loves his cook, and can’t get enough of it.


The perfect woman, Sophie, enter the restaurant, so elegance. People staring at her, amazed her. It makes the perfect day more perfect. Until Sophie can’t enjoy the Sayur Asem normally. She put spices, more and more, over and over, then finally enjoy the Sayur Asem.


Daffa, who always watched the first reaction of after his consumer swallowing the first spoon of his Sayur Asem, shocked. Nobody ever treat his Sayur Asem like Sophie did. He suddenly feels miserable. His perfect day is over.


While we believe that Daffa is recovering him self from shocking, we see Sophie, sitting calmly alone with her food in the corner, look amazingly perfect, as always, and suddenly cry.


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‘Til Death Do Us Part

Wife sits alone. She remember moments, beautiful moments, of her wedding day.

Wife remember today, the preparation for the wedding anniversary dinner, with her Husband.


Then, a very romantic dinner set in the backyard.


Husband whispers love through Wife’s ears.

Wife touches husband under the table.

Both says love, whisper forever to each other, just… unbreakable.


She poured another glass of wine and intensively savor every sips of it.


That’s when she remember, weird ways of Husband acts lately.

Phone calls in the middle of night, whispers over the phone when she slept,

a new way of he dress up lately, weird bills for things she never accepted,

and finally, she remember a visit of a woman, just this morning,

holding a picture of a baby, Husband’s baby.  


it was quite for a moment


And then we can hear the sound of her wedding ring clicking with the empty glass of wine.  

Sounds of clapping hands on the wedding day, when Husband romantically whispered,

‘Til death do us part’, …


—We slowly see Husband’s dead body near the dinner table, lying rigid and cold.

Categories: stories | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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