Author: Vito Atmo

Dear Giorno,
Today you are two months old
The house is quiet, only your soft breathing filling the room
You do not know words yet
But your eyes already speak
Wide, searching, as if memorizing the faces that love you

I wonder what you will remember of this time
Maybe nothing
Maybe only warmth
That is enough

I write this so one day you will know
On this day you were safe
You were loved
You were the center of our small universe

Twenty years from now, if you ever doubt yourself
Read this
You have been cherished from the beginning
And nothing will ever take that away

Dear Giorno,
Three in the morning, I stepped through the door
Tired eyes, restless heart, whispering the night before
“Wait for me, son, come when Papa’s home
Let it be the weekend when you choose to be born”

And you did.
From 3 a.m. to 10 a.m., the world felt still
Time slowed to a hush, holding its breath until
Your name greeted the morning like a prayer
Soft as sunlight on closed eyes, hanging in the air

Welcome, my son.
Today begins your own count of days
Someday you will read this
And know how love filled the room before you opened your eyes

The day felt endless.
Morning began in white at the church.
Quiet, sacred, still.

By noon we turned maroon with my wife’s family.
Warmth everywhere. Smiles that felt like home.

Night came deep blue at my father’s house.
Crowds filled every space.
2,500 people arrived though we sent only 300 invitations.

Friends from college, work, and old communities came.
Some traveled across cities, some across islands.
My father’s friends filled an entire Airbus from Medan.
City buses waited to bring them into Solo.

The city felt alive.
Laughter spilled beyond the gates, into the streets.
In the middle of the noise, I felt stillness.
Family held me steady.

That night we made promises.
I promised to hold her through storms and calm.
To listen when words are hard to find.
To choose her every day, even when life feels heavy.

She promised to walk beside me in every season.
To remind me of joy when I forget.
To be home, wherever we are.

That night was more than a wedding.
It was proof that love grows wider than we can ever imagine.

My first day at DDTC felt like standing on a threshold.

One foot in the life I had always known, the other in a world I had only imagined. The commute from the south to the north was not just miles.

It was a quiet journey of shedding an old skin. Even as I passed the streets around the office, I was already searching for belonging.

I found it in a four‑story blue house behind the building and thought, maybe this could be home.

That day I met my first squad: Bowo, humble and steady; Gasi, with his chaotic charm and outrageous outfits; Ina, the voice joining from Bogor.

Together we were Brand Relation, a newborn team led by Geno. His simple welcome, “Hope you feel at home here,” landed softer than a whisper yet heavier than a promise.

Looking back, it was not just a job starting. It was a quiet rebirth, a step into someone I had not met yet but was ready to become.

A week after we got together, everything still felt new.
We were still learning how to hold hands,
how to stand close without overthinking it.

That night, Semarang felt quiet.
The streets were almost empty, the air warm with leftover rain.
We sat side by side, not rushing to go home.

She turned to me and asked softly,
“Can you call me sayang?”

My chest tightened.
I said it slowly, like a secret I wasn’t sure I deserved to say.
“Sayang.”

She smiled, not wide but enough to make me forget the world.
We were quiet for a moment.
Then I leaned in,
and for the first time, our lips met.

It wasn’t perfect.
It was shy, uncertain, almost trembling.
But it felt real.
Like the beginning of something we didn’t yet have words for.

Years later, after rings and vows,
I still remember that kiss more than any crowd at our wedding.
Because that night, under quiet Semarang skies,
“sayang” became ours forever.

The night before, I asked her out.
Just a simple plan to go to Semarang.
I didn’t know it would change everything.

We spent the day wandering the city.
Eating whatever caught our eyes,
walking through the quiet halls of Lawang Sewu,
laughing like time didn’t matter.

On the ride home, my heart felt too full to hide.
I told her what I had been holding inside.
She said yes.

I didn’t know that “yes” would echo into years.
I didn’t know it would lead to vows, to a wedding, to forever.
But looking back, this was the first step.
The day I quietly called her mine.

I still remember it, not in color but in feeling.

A far island in Palu. The room smelled like bitter and sweet chocolate melting into the air. A tiny cake sat in front of me, my first.

Mom on my left, Dad on my right. Their hands steadying me as if the world could tip over at any moment.

Around us were kids from the neighborhood, cheering and laughing. I don’t remember their faces now, only the sound of small hands clapping and the echo of joy. The memory is gray, blurry at the edges, but warm in the center.

I didn’t know it then, but this was the first of thousands of days I would keep counting.

The first time I realized life could be both sweet and a little bitter,

and I have been chasing that taste ever.

Dear me,

You slipped into this world so quietly — not knowing whose arms would hold you, or what storms and light would unfold you. A room so small, yet your arrival stretched beyond walls.

No memories yet — only a heart finding its beat, a name softly whispered, tender and sweet. This moment plants the seed of every you to be.

From this breath, the count begins — one step to a thousand suns, toward futures you’ll chase, and selves you’ll someday face.