how do i start?
20/01/2026
My son woke me up at 2 a.m. screaming “paaaaaa” while slapping my face. I woke my wife and asked her to breastfeed him, but he didn’t want to go back to sleep. An hour passed. It was already after 3, and he was still wide awake — fresh as freshly baked Mako bread.
I picked him up and sang his lullabies. At first, he resisted, pointing at everything he wanted to play with. I held him tighter. Not long after, he stopped pointing. His little hand drooped. I kept holding him until I was sure he was deeply asleep. It was already past 4 when I put him down beside his sleeping mother. All I remember is the nearby mosque starting its prayer.
My eyes felt heavy. I shouldn’t sleep at that hour because in six hours I had to be at the office, so I took my Tuku coffee from the freezer, defrosted it, and sipped it slowly until it was half empty. Half empty? So I’m a pessimist? Never mind.
It was raining outside around 5 or 6 — I can’t remember. It’s been raining every day this past week in Bekasi. I kept my head up and went to work. The rain only lasted ten minutes. A good sign.
My wife woke up around 7, followed not long after by my son, screaming, “aaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
“Yaa sayang,” I answered, without coming to him.
“AAAAAAAAAAAA,” another long scream in response.
Get Sultan A. M.’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
“Sabar buset, Tuy,” I said as I walked to the room.
There he was — sitting in the middle of the bed in our dark, cold bedroom.
And there it was: my usual morning routine, except for the “I shouldn’t sleep” part.
It’s 14:51 as I write this sentence.
I’m in the coworking space of my office building, writing on Medium instead of actually working. It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure there’s a storm heading my way in a couple of days. Again, it’s fine. It’s not my first storm anyway. But.
It’s 14:58 as I write this one.
My wife just texted me. She’s in her own storm. She did something she wasn’t supposed to do at work, and now she’s panicking. I feel the panic too. I know the issue — we’ve discussed it and found the solution— but a storm is still a storm. Something always gets wrecked.
So, how do I start?
I don’t know. This platform feels a lot like Blogspot back then. It’s not my first time writing either. I used to write in college — on paper, with unreadable handwriting. Maybe this is a good way to preserve my thoughts, like some kind of journal. I’ll try to write here regularly, so next year I’ll have something to learn from 2026.
