The sound of dripping water kept echoing, ringing as if it could deafen the ears. The silence fell too deeply. There was only a vast white expanse flooded with shallow water. Then stood a single lush tree the source of the falling droplets.
Beneath the tree lay a frail young man, clutching the pain in his chest and heart. His tears fell as steadily as the droplets from the leaves, only softer, unable to compete with the ringing in his ears. One hand pressed against his heart, the other struggling to support his body as he tried to lean against the tree.
His eyes opened, slightly squinting against the overwhelming emptiness. He did not know where he was trapped. All he could see was a white void with shallow water and a lone tree. He truly did not want to think about how he had ended up in this absolute emptiness. No—he refused to think about it anymore.
His strength was drained. Half of his soul felt gone. The ringing in his ears grew relentless, until blood trickled from them. His eyes ached. His heart beat weakly. His chest felt torn apart. There was nothing more painful than this.
He stopped thinking. Even breathing became difficult, coming in broken gasps. After all the effort he had made in the past, in the end there was only a silence so painfully profound.
He could not endure it anymore.
Unable to support his body, he collapsed once again.
Clang...clang...
The sound of a soda can being kicked by a passerby jolted Eby out of his long daydream. The shuffle of footsteps scraped roughly against the asphalt. The murmur of the crowd blended with the drone of engines and the suffocating fumes of vehicles piercing the air.
The city seemed accustomed to its own gloom.
Today was November 12th, 2012.
At the corner of the street sat a 21-year-old young man, smoking a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, lips pursed in bitterness. A thin stream of smoke drifted upward. The final drag left only a shriveled cigarette butt.
With a flick of his fingers, he sent the remaining stub onto the asphalt.
His name was Eby, a young man living a life without certainty, drifting like a kite with its string cut loose. Alone. No family.
Sometimes he thought life was unfair. There were people who lived comfortably—perfect families, a roof over their heads, delicious meals on their tables. And then there were people like him. People seemingly destined for misfortune. Living in suffering. Dying in hunger. Taking shelter beneath the rain. Walking under the scorching sun. Eating food that tasted stale.
Was God truly there?
Did He really watch over His followers?
If He existed, why distribute fate so unevenly, as if heaven were merely a promise to compensate for a lopsided destiny?
Eby had never seriously considered these questions before. But today, he realized something.
Was he cursed?
Or was this karma from a past life?
None of it made sense.
"Damn it. Life is so boring," he muttered softly.
With the last cigarette gone, Eby walked along the sidewalk as usual, slow steps, no direction, no destination, no feeling. Carrying only one hope: that perhaps a miracle, possible or impossible—might come.
At 3:20 PM, the call to prayer echoed gently, cutting through the city's noise, signaling the time of worship for Muslims. Eby paused for a moment.
Truthfully, he did not even know what religion he belonged to. He had grown up without faith.
But he knew one thing.
In the neighborhood where he lived, there was an elderly man who had always been there for him—a 70-year-old man who lived near his rented room. Eby called him "Aching." Though Eby had no faith and Aching was not related to him, Aching was the one who always invited him to the vihara to pray.
Eby did not truly pray to something called "God." To him, it all felt abstract. But he knew Aching's intentions were kind, introducing him to Buddhist teachings so he might find inner peace and not dwell too much on worldly matters.
Eby grew up surrounded by people of Chinese ethnicity, and Aching was one of them, one of the few who showed him genuine care.
In the late afternoon like this, Eby usually accompanied Aching to the vihara. While Aching prayed, Eby helped clean, dusting the altar, arranging incense sticks, sweeping fallen leaves from the courtyard.
"Does today feel special?" Eby wondered. "Why does everything feel so quiet?"
"By, do you remember what Cing once told you?" Aching said gently. "When you feel alone, when you feel the world never sides with you, remember that Cing will always guide you toward the right path, the straight path—so that you may discover the true meaning of your life, the reason you were born, and live with happiness as your true self."
"I still remember… but I'm not sure that will ever happen."
Aching smiled faintly. He sighed softly and wiped the Great Buddha statue with a cloth. Eby picked up a duster and cleaned the ash left behind by incense smoke.
His mind wandered.
The vihara was never this quiet.
But today…
It felt different. Too silent. Too still. Even the chaos of the outside world seemed muted.
"Eby," Aching called softly. "A stillness like this only comes once. Savor it while you are with the Great Teacher. One day, the world will no longer feel the same. When the world is no longer whole, remember not to be swayed by fleeting pleasures. Remember that the purpose of life is to seek peace of the soul."
"Why are you suddenly saying things like that? Don't tell me the world is going to end again. You've said that so many times, Cing."
"It may not be visible today. But tomorrow, you will understand."
Silence fell between them.
Without many words, Eby tidied up and headed home. It was already 5:35 PM.
His house was small, only about 200 meters from the vihara behind the traditional market. The market bustled every morning with vendors and buyers. Behind it ran a brown, slightly foul-smelling river, especially after rain. Houses stood tightly packed along the riverbank some built of brick, others of wood and tin.
It was crowded. Noisy.
But it was home.
After arriving, he washed up and boiled some bananas. He placed them on the table and sat at his old study chair. Taking a sheet of paper and a pen, he began writing in his diary.
Today feels… peaceful.
Very peaceful.
Sometimes I think… a day like this would be perfect to fly away freely, to become a drifting soul. Even if people say such souls are not accepted by the world or the heavens, honestly, the world is not that bad.
I can still breathe.
I can still walk wherever my feet take me.
I can still taste the grilled fish I catch.
There are still small things worth holding on to.
Everyone has their own path in life. If I am poor, then I simply need to work harder. At nineteen , no, twenty-one now—I have never received a proper education. I do not have that privilege. But who knows, in the future… if I am still alive… maybe I can learn something. Maybe education can help me find meaning. Maybe I can be useful not necessarily to the world, but at least to myself amid this injustice of life.
Eby – 12-11-2012
After writing, Eby folded the letter and placed it inside an old cracker tin. Inside were many other letters he had written since he first learned to read and write. Though he had never attended school properly, Aching had taught him how to read, count, and write. Sometimes they talked about history. Sometimes about politics. Sometimes about love stories. And occasionally about Aching's hobby—playing badminton.
Eby paused.
He remembered the boiled bananas.
He went to the kitchen and drained them. The scent of boiled bananas was distinctive—sweet and comforting. He ate three bananas with a cup of sweet warm tea. Eby loved sweetness. Sweetness helped him forget the bitterness of the world.
After eating, he lay down on his thin Palembang mattress. Though simple, it was soft enough to rest on. The clock showed 8:17 PM. Usually, at this hour, he would wander around the town square. But tonight, exhaustion weighed heavily on him.
It did not take long before he fell asleep, sinking once again into the world of dreams.
To be continued…