In mid-2027, the Jakarta sky was no longer a mere canvas of blue or gray; it was a perfect reflection of the chaos creeping beneath. The scent of exhaust fumes and trash mingled, forming a familiar putrid smell—the stench of a suffocating nation. Politics had become an absurd play, its stage dominated by the shadowy grip of the military, stifling every aspect of civilian life. Experts, whispering fearfully behind closed doors, called it fascist. They were right.
On television screens, the faces of leaders came and went, displaying fake smiles and empty promises. They were busy selling visuals, not visions. Grand projects lay abandoned, giant statues stood proudly but uselessly, and populist programs were nothing more than mere garnish. Tragically, most of society accepted it without question. Decades of mass indoctrination had paralyzed critical thinking. Dissenting voices, no matter how small, were immediately silenced. Intimidation from authorities was inevitable, and muscular, ruling-party-affiliated organizations were ready to pounce on anyone who dared to speak out. Fear was the most valuable currency.
Like millions of others, I could only harbor resentment. Every day was a struggle to stay sane amidst the unstoppable current of madness. That day, a light rain drizzled on the asphalt as I crossed a busy street. Loud honking, ear-splitting tire screeches, and the blinding flash of approaching car headlights at an unnatural speed. A loud bang, a piercing pain that seemed to tear through my entire body, then darkness.
When my consciousness returned, the first thing I felt was the softness of a mattress beneath my back. The air felt warmer, the scent of this room... somehow so familiar. My eyes fluttered open, looking at a plain ceiling, window curtains with small floral patterns, and a wooden wardrobe in the corner. Everything felt intimate, as if I had seen it a thousand times. But my mind was blank. I knew this place, yet why couldn't I remember it? Memories of the chaos of 2027, of that collision, were still vague in my mind, like a persistent nightmare.
The morning sun crept in through the gap in the floral curtains, illuminating fine dust motes dancing in the air. I tried to get up, but my body felt light, strangely not as tall as I remembered. A small alarm rang in my head: something was wrong. With stiff movements, I reached out. My fingers, once long and strong, were now chubby and tiny. Panic began to creep in. I immediately jumped off the bed. My short legs barely touched the floor. I ran to the mirror on the wall.
The reflection I saw made my heart pound, almost leaping out of my chest. There, before my eyes, was not the face I knew. Not the tired face with fine wrinkles from 2027. It was the face of a small child, complete with chubby cheeks and big, bewildered eyes. It was truly me, but a much younger version.
This room, yes, I remember now. This was my room. My childhood room. All the details, from the race car poster on the wall to the stack of storybooks on the desk, were exactly as they were in my old memories. This was no longer chaotic Jakarta, but the outskirts of Bandung. A much calmer place, full of sweet and green memories.
My family... I knew we were well-off. My grandfather was an important figure. He was one of the shareholders of the largest media company in West Java. My family name might not be unfamiliar in certain circles. But my father, he wasn't as successful as my grandfather. My father only worked for my grandfather's company, not as a boss, but as an ordinary employee. A comfortable position, but one that didn't make his name widely known.
Feelings of shock and confusion mingled. This was really happening. I, who was an adult in 2027, had returned as a small child in the past. What year was this? And what would I do with this second chance?
The shock hadn't fully subsided when a gentle voice called from outside the room.
"Marlon, dear? Are you feeling better?" It was Mother's voice. Warm and caring. That voice, that name, and her question. They all sent a clearer wave of memories. I, Marlon Adirangga, the second of two siblings. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself from the storm of confusion that still raged.
"Yes, Mom!" I answered, my voice a small, childish squeak. I hurried out of the room.
In the doorway, I saw Mother. Karina, Mother's name. Her belly was already a bit rounded. Her smile bloomed, but there was a faint weariness in her eyes. Instantly, I realized, this meant Mother was pregnant with my younger sibling, who would later be my brother. That memory was like a puzzle suddenly finding its last piece. My younger brother, born a few months later.
"Thank goodness, then," Mother said, gently stroking my head. "Your sister is waiting at the dining table."
Ah, yes. Putri. My older sister. She must have already been in the dining room, eager for breakfast or perhaps reading comics.
The chaotic world of 2027, the fatal collision, and the piercing pain, all vanished, replaced by the simple scene in this house. A pregnant mother, and a waiting sister. Everything felt real, very real. This was 1997. I had truly returned.
After an awkward lunch—awkward because I was still trying to hide my confusion as little Marlon—I spent the afternoon exploring the house. It felt like walking through a museum of memories. Every corner, every piece of furniture, all felt incredibly real and, at the same time, incredibly alien.
My gaze fell on the wall calendar hanging in the kitchen. Right, in this era, almost every house had a printed calendar with pictures of landscapes or advertisements. I approached it, reading the date. July 1997. So, this was it. The starting point.
On the living room table lay several newspapers. I picked them up. The big headlines on the front page immediately caught my attention. News about the economic crisis sweeping Asia. Dollar exchange rates starting to surge, reports of companies struggling. I knew this was the beginning of a massive storm that would shake Indonesia. The monetary crisis, which would peak in 1998 and change everything.
Not only that, there was also news about reform movements. Rumors, or perhaps more than that, to overthrow the dictator Suharto. As adult Marlon from 2027, I knew exactly how all of this ended. I knew Suharto, with his 32 years of authoritarian leadership, had sacrificed Indonesia's future for his own power. He wasn't just a leader; he was a symbol of the rotten foundation that would plunge Indonesia into decline in the future.
Seeing all this through the eyes of a five-year-old child, and with intact memories of the future, felt like being given both a treasure map and a heavy burden. A map of how it all began, and the burden to change it. The question that kept lingering was: How? With such a small body, and in the midst of such a complex situation, how could I change a destiny I already knew would happen?
After all the puzzle pieces—the date on the calendar, the news in the newspaper—fell into place, I returned to my room. I closed the door tightly, as if to seal the outside world from the turmoil within me. Now I knew for sure: it was July 1997. Twenty-seven years before that chaos where his son-in-law became president. And thirty years before my death.
I looked at my small reflection in the mirror once more. This wasn't just a coincidence. This was a gift from God, an unexpected second chance. A calling to bring about positive change, not just for myself, but for many others. I couldn't waste this golden opportunity. I had to become a beneficial person.
My thoughts drifted to my past future. There, I was a project worker. The construction world was tough, full of challenges, and sometimes dangerous. That's why, as adult Marlon, I had delved into the unseen arts.
My country, Indonesia, was still very strong with mystical, supernatural, and spiritual matters. Since childhood, I had often heard strange stories, ancestral beliefs, and spiritual practices. As an adult, amidst the demands of risky work, I learned that the ability to protect oneself from the unseen was important. Occult sciences, which I used to disregard, turned out to be my shield.
Now, with this small body, I had an advantage. I knew what was going to happen. I knew how the crisis would hit, how politics would change, and how I could leverage my knowledge of the future. But, more importantly, I had another asset: my understanding of the spiritual world that I had mastered as adult Marlon.
This is where my plan would begin. How could I, a five-year-old child, use all of this? First, I had to learn again, this time from scratch. Recalling all the spiritual lessons I had learned in the future. Then, I would start moving. Preparing myself, and perhaps, preparing those around me.
It was only after I grew up in my first life that I truly realized an important fact: My father was a spiritual expert. How much I had missed in my previous life! I, who was a know-it-all and too modern, often ignored that side of my father. Perhaps because of our culture, which was still strongly feudal, where children tend to be hesitant or keep their distance from parents, I never truly delved into who my father really was.
In 2027, I knew that my father's generation was the baby boomer generation. They grew up in a different era, with different perspectives and ways of expressing affection. My father rarely had heart-to-heart conversations with me, let alone showed his affection directly. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he just didn't know how. That was their way, a more reserved generation that rarely expressed themselves verbally.
Ironically, it was only after I became an adult in my previous life that I realized Father was still protecting me. I remembered seeing a mystical black cat roaming near the project site where I worked. Back then, I thought it was just an ordinary stray, or perhaps just a hallucination due to exhaustion. But eventually, I learned that the cat was my Father's spiritual partner from his youth. The cat remained loyal to him, even in Father's old age. That black cat was the embodiment of Father's unseen protection. It protected me from supernatural attacks that might have targeted me because of my work in a project full of intrigues and risks.
Now, back as little Marlon, I have the chance to set things right. I won't squander Father's presence, the spiritual expert who, unbeknownst to me, had always watched over me. I must learn from him, understand the spiritual world he mastered so well, and utilize his knowledge for my grand plan.
In my previous life, I knew Father passed away in 2008. A loss that came too soon. I still clearly remember that moment. However, it was only in 2020, when I went to his grave alone to pay my respects and began to delve into the spiritual world, that something extraordinary happened. I saw him. The mystical black cat. He sat calmly, looking at me with a gaze I could never forget. His eyes seemed to hold a thousand secrets, and that look, full of understanding yet sadness, left a deep impression on my mind.
Even after that, the black cat often appeared in my dreams whenever I felt something was wrong, or when I was in danger at my job. He was always there, accompanying me, becoming an invisible guardian in the darkness. A protection I never realized the origin of, until I learned he was Father's spiritual partner.
I don't know if I can change God's will regarding death. Remembering that Father died in 2008 means I have about 11 years from July 1997. Not a lot of time, but not a little either. What's certain is that I will make the most of every moment. From 1997 to 2008, I will work with Father. I will learn everything he knows, utilize his spiritual expertise, and perhaps even guide him towards a greater purpose.
This is my chance not only to prepare a better future for myself and Indonesia but also to grow closer to Father, understand him, and perhaps—just perhaps—change his destiny. This is my main mission now.
My house on the outskirts of Bandung was quite large. Two stories, with a spacious interior, even for an adult. Back then, as a child, I rarely went upstairs alone. Not because I was forbidden, but every time I dared, my head would spin uncontrollably, as if it would burst. It wasn't until I was an adult that I understood: it was a sign that my body was coming into contact with supernatural beings. My energy seemed to be drained, which was why my head ached and spun every time I went up there. Now, with the knowledge I possessed, that upstairs area was no longer just a place I rarely visited, but a place full of potential for me to explore with Father.
Unbeknownst to me, evening arrived. I heard a familiar car sound. Soon, a brown Jimny entered the yard. It was Father. As usual, I immediately ran to greet him in front of the garage. As soon as the car stopped, without waiting for Father to get out, I jumped up and sat on the hood of his car. Father chuckled at my behavior, then slowly drove his car into the garage. This small ritual, a habit I always used to do, now felt different. There was a new purpose behind every interaction with him.
Once we were inside the house, Father lifted me off the car's hood. I walked beside him, but then, as if knowing something, Father stopped. He turned to me, looking at me with a questioning gaze. His eyes, usually serene, now held a kind of scrutiny. I knew it. It must be my Father's sixth sense, which I had never taken seriously before. He must have sensed that something was different about me, a burden or a secret that shouldn't belong to a five-year-old child. I tried to return his gaze with an innocent smile, hoping he wouldn't be too suspicious.
We then had dinner together at the dining table. My sister Putri and Mother Karina were busy talking about their day's activities, while Father responded occasionally. Me? I just sat quietly, occasionally spooning food, busy with my own thoughts, formulating a grand plan in my little head.
After dinner, my sister Putri and Mother Karina went to their respective rooms. Only Father and I remained in the TV room. The atmosphere was quiet, filled only by the soft sound of the television. This was my chance. This was the right time. I looked at Father, who was engrossed in reading the leftover newspaper from that afternoon. "Father," I called softly. Father lowered his newspaper, looking at me. "Yes, dear?" "Marlon wants to take Father upstairs," I said, trying to make my voice sound like a normal child's invitation, even though there was a big intention behind my request. "There's something Marlon wants to talk about."
My Father seemed a bit surprised by my unusual request. I knew he must have been wondering, "Why does this child suddenly want to go upstairs and talk seriously?" But I also knew he wouldn't refuse.
I led Father up the stairs. Every step felt heavy, not because of tiredness, but because of the weight of the secret I was about to share. This second floor, as I remembered, really had nothing. There was only a large empty room and another empty room. Large windows faced outwards, revealing a different view from the ground floor. There was an exit that wasn't an ordinary balcony, but a kind of direct access to a flat roof. From there, if one dared to climb the wall, I knew one could see a small forest or an untouched garden. In 1997, this was a luxury—the remnants of nature on the increasingly dense outskirts of the city.
We stopped in the middle of the empty room. Father looked at me, waiting. His face was serious, his gaze fixed. I knew he felt a strange aura from me. I took a deep breath, firming my resolve. This was the moment.
"Father," I began, my voice trying to sound convincing and serious, even from a child's mouth. "When Marlon was sick yesterday... Marlon felt something." I deliberately chose a reason related to the spiritual, something Father would surely understand. "Marlon felt... gained knowledge from several decades into the future."
I saw a furrow in Father's brow. He didn't interrupt, just listened intently, his eyes never leaving me. I continued, recounting the outline of my first life, a bitter life.
"In that future, Father was no longer there," my voice trembled slightly, recalling the pain of that loss. "Marlon was alone. Marlon tried to succeed on his own, but always failed. Every time I wanted to move forward, I was always hindered by Indonesia's complicated and unjust politics and system."
I explained how difficult it was to struggle in a situation that was not on my side. How convoluted bureaucracy, rampant corruption, and changing policies due to political interference paralyzed my efforts. Everything felt blocked, until finally, I became a victim of that great chaos. Father remained silent, listening to every word. His eyes conveyed sadness upon hearing my fate in the future, but also a deep interest in my confession about "knowledge from the future."
I continued to tell my story, not only about my personal difficulties but also about the bitter truth that I knew would happen to our family. "Mother... Mother also made some mistakes, Father," I said, my voice slightly choked. I recounted how some of Mother's decisions, which might seem trivial now, had a big impact in the future. I knew Father would understand this. He must have already sensed, or at least had a premonition, about his wife, Mother Karina, and some of her habits that would cause problems.
I also did not hesitate to discuss the conflicts that would occur within my Father's family and also my Mother's family. Arguments, misunderstandings, even small betrayals that would grow into deep wounds. I told him how all of it made us—Mother, Putri, and me—feel so much injustice when Father was no longer there. We were often cornered, exploited, or even forgotten by relatives. The burden of life felt exponentially heavier when Father's protection was gone.
Father remained silent, listening to every detail. His face was no longer just surprised, but also showed sadness and perhaps, hidden anger. I knew he must believe me. As a spiritual expert, his sixth sense was much more sensitive. He must have already felt the truth of my words. Perhaps he already had a picture of all this but hadn't been able to piece it together.
Finally, I recounted the most personal and undeniable evidence. "And Father, I met him," I said, my eyes welling up. "That black cat. When I visited and prayed alone at Father's grave in 2020. He came and looked at me." I explained how the cat always appeared in my dreams when I was in trouble. "I know he is Father's spiritual partner. He still protects me, even after Father is gone."