As soon as they entered the Semarang-Bawen toll road, the landscape changed quickly. Green hills began to fill the window frame. In the distance, Mount Telomoyo appeared faintly behind a thin mist.
Riri: (taking a photo through the window) "This view reminds me of Romo's advice: calm, tall, but often covered by fog."
Marlon: "Yeah, but if it rains a little, it immediately causes landslides."
Romo: (laughing softly) "That's extreme. But... it could also be a symbol of Semarang."
They passed a long toll bridge. Below, rows of small houses seemed to hide stories untold to the younger generations.
Riri: "What kind of city do you think Semarang is?"
A moment of silence. Only the sound of tires rolling on asphalt.
Romo: "For me, it's a city learning to compromise. Religion, culture, and money are forced to coexist. Not always harmonious, but also not exploding."
Marlon: "I agree. Like parents suddenly asked to use TikTok. Awkward, but trying really hard."
Riri: (nodding with a smile) "And sometimes it's funny because it doesn't quite fit, but that's the point."
The car slowed down as they passed through the Ambarawa area. Outside the window, rice fields began to replace tall buildings. In the distance, an old tourist train slowly passed by.
Marlon: "This is what makes Indonesia beautiful. There's a past still moving slowly among a fast-moving future."
Romo: "And here we are, chasing the future while talking about the past."
Riri: "Or maybe we're lost in the past because Marlon set the GPS wrong."
Marlon: (half jokingly) "Hey, it's not my fault. This road likes to trick you."
They stopped briefly at a rest area. Riri was disappointed because the restroom didn't meet expectations.
Riri: "The restroom is like an ex's heart. Looks promising on the outside, but inside... it's broken."
Romo: (holding back laughter) "The Prophet once said cleanliness is part of faith…"
Marlon: "But faith alone can't save this restroom, Mo."
After resting, the car moved on again. The playlist became a new topic.
Romo: "Can we play Maher Zain first? Just five songs."
Marlon: "Five songs? That's enough to make me convert again."
Riri: (setting a soft classic jazz song) "Relax, we compromise. This one's... neutral and smart."
Romo: "Jazz is like philosophy, isn't it? Its tone is ambiguous but makes you think."
Marlon: "And sometimes it makes you sleepy in the middle of the journey to enlightenment."
— Approaching Jogja —Near the Sleman border, the atmosphere started to change. The signboards switched to Javanese script. Angkringan stalls began to appear. A horse-drawn carriage crossed the road, making their car slow down.
Riri: "The vibe here is different. Like we're tuning into a new life frequency."
Marlon: "If Semarang is a cold gray, Jogja is... warm gray."
Romo: "More flexible, but also more forgiving."
Riri: "A city of new compromises."
Marlon: (looking at the road) "Semarang teaches us about wounds from history. Maybe Jogja will teach us how to make peace."
Romo: "Or maybe how to survive in flexible truth."
The Yogyakarta sky greeted them with soft orange hues. Their car entered the city through the northern route, moving slowly amid heavy traffic and unhurried honking.
Riri: (half whispering) "I feel like our story is going to get more complicated in this city."
Marlon: "And even more gray."
Romo: "But at least... we're ready."
Their hotel wasn't luxurious but comfortable enough. Located in a small alley not far from the main street Malioboro, the place stood like an old boarding house polished to look clean and friendly. Low ceilings, the slow-spinning ceiling fan, and the scent of jasmine from the room freshener made the atmosphere feel very… Jogja.
Marlon: "This hotel is like student life. Cheap, functional, and there's a chance you'll meet cockroaches at midnight."
Riri: (throwing a pillow at him) "If your life's that low, don't drag other students into it, please."
Romo: (smiling in front of the mirror, rolling up a small prayer mat) "The important thing is we can still prostrate. Facilities are just a bonus."
After freshening up and resting a bit, night began to fall like a thin curtain lowering the city's volume. The streetlights started to turn on. Footsteps became noticeable on the asphalt. And Malioboro... opened itself.
— Malioboro at Night —They left the hotel and walked toward the crowd. Along Malioboro's sidewalks, classic-shaped street lamps cast yellowish light. Street vendors began to arrange their stalls. Some sold batik paintings, keychains, T-shirts printed with "Jogja Istimewa," and quick-sketch portrait paintings.
Riri: (watching a street artist drawing a Japanese tourist's face) "This guy just needs a pencil and a plastic chair to make people smile. So simple."
Marlon: "Love is like that too, but sometimes we make it complicated."
Romo: (softly adding) "Or maybe our expectations are too realistic for something abstract."
They laughed. Then fell silent. The silence wasn't awkward, but warm. As if the street itself was speaking through small details: the sound of a delman bell, children chasing balloons with laughter, and a street musician's gentle song from an angkringan nearby.
A delman passed slowly beside them. Its horse was shiny black, with a saddle decorated with golden lace. On top, a young couple looked shyly smiling.
Riri: "That horse looks happier than their relationship."
Marlon: (nodding) "Because a horse only walks when pulled. Humans sometimes walk because of pride."
Romo: "And many don't know their direction, but still speed up."
At the corner, a middle-aged woman sold bakpia from a rattan basket. In front of her, a group of students were bargaining with loud laughter.
Riri: "Interactions like this make Jogja different. There's a transactional side, but it's still personal."
Marlon: "Bargaining is an art. But in other cities, that art turns into price debates and prejudice."
Romo: "Maybe because in Jogja, people still believe that fortune is God's business. So they're not too stubborn."
They kept walking. Passing street musicians playing angklung accompanied by guitar, then an old book seller whose stall held only five titles, all seeming like his father's legacy.
Marlon: "Look, those books don't seem for sale. More like they're displayed to be remembered."
Riri: "Jogja is like that. Not rushing to make profit. Caring more about feeling."
Romo: "But that's what makes Jogja survive. Wealth through slowness."
— Sitting on the Sidewalk Bench —They finally sat on one of the iron benches facing the street. Across, two old men joked with foreign tourists who seemed to mispronounce a food name.
Riri: "What's funny isn't the mispronunciation. But that man's smile. Genuine."
Marlon: "I like Jogja not because it's cheap. But because everyone seems to know how to live. Not rushing, but still moving."
Romo: (staring at the streetlight) "Semarang teaches us about limits. Jogja teaches us about flow."
Riri: "One is firm, the other gentle. But both are gray."
Marlon: "And us? We're just explorers."
The night grew late. Malioboro wasn't truly quiet, just whispering more softly. They returned to the hotel, retracing the same path but feeling different. Maybe because now they carried more stories in their steps.
In front of the hotel, before entering the room, Marlon glanced up at the sky.
Marlon: "Tonight, Jogja feels like a poem. Not every word needs to be understood, yet we still get the meaning."
Riri: "And the best poems are the ones that make us want to stay silent."
Romo: (closing the door) "Rest well, traveler. Tomorrow, reality calls us again."
Morning in Jogja arrived slowly. Like an alarm that doesn't force you awake, like hot tea that never boils, like a city that knows how to wake people up without making them angry.
The sky was still hazy when the three of them left the hotel. The Malioboro sidewalk was only half alive. Some shops were just opening their folding doors, street vendors were busy arranging their goods, and the sound of broomsticks sweeping was clearer than the noise of motor vehicles.
Riri: (sniffing the air) "Morning in Jogja smells like chicken porridge and calmness."
Marlon: (rubbing his eyes while walking) "For me, it's more like the scent of new sandals mixed with the remnants of last night's cigarettes."
Romo: (smiling softly) "Morning never makes mistakes. It's humans who often wake up wrong."
They walked along the sidewalk, still a little wet from the early dawn drizzle. Every step brought them closer to Tugu Station. From afar, the classic shape of the building was visible, standing quietly like a wise grandfather who never leaves his home.
— Tugu Station —In front of the station, several pedicab drivers were already on standby. Some leaned lazily, some chatted about chili prices, and others turned on small radios in their pockets. The morning train hadn't arrived yet, but its pulse was already felt.
Riri: "It's strange, isn't it? This place is for goodbyes, but also for coming home."
Marlon: (leaning against a lamppost) "Just like life. People always come and go, but the place stays the same."
Romo: "And some come just to pass through. Yet sometimes those are the ones who leave the deepest marks."
The faint whistle from inside the station broke the silence, signaling that the day had officially begun.
Marlon: (looking toward the tracks) "Railroad tracks are like principles. They keep us straight, but they're not flexible."
Riri: "But if there were no tracks, the train could go anywhere and crash."
Romo: "So, we need tracks, but also know when to get off."
— Heading to Sarkem —From Tugu, they walked westward. The atmosphere began to change. The streets felt narrower, noisier, more... honest. The advertising signs were less tidy than in Malioboro. Small coffee stalls stood between alleys, with red and gray plastic chairs.
Sarkem, short for Pasar Kembang, wasn't far from the city center but had its own world. Old buildings stood fragile, decorated with colorful lights that had been off since dawn. In some corners, women sat leaning against walls, some wearing makeup too heavy for early morning.
Riri: (whispering) "We're going to a place people usually pretend not to see, right?"
Marlon: "Yeah. A place only mentioned in whispers, but secretly sought after."
Romo: (looking down slightly, his eyes calm) "This is the part of the city that doesn't make it into tourist brochures."
They paused briefly in front of a coffee stall that seemed to be a resting place for night drivers. Some men sat chatting quietly, while the owner—a middle-aged woman wearing a blue apron—smiled warmly and handed out cups of black coffee.
Riri: (sitting on the sidewalk edge) "Are all dark places necessarily wrong?"
Marlon: "If dark means unseen, then most of this world is wrong."
Romo: "Sometimes places are dark not because of sin, but because people don't want to turn on the lights."
Riri: (thoughtfully) "Or maybe the light is too small for a place this big."
Someone laughed loudly from inside an alley. A woman came out slowly, cigarette in hand, eyes looking tired. She glanced at them briefly, then walked westward.
Marlon: "She saw us but wasn't afraid. It's like she's more used to seeing us than we are to seeing her."
Romo: "Maybe because she knows… we're just passing through. But she lives here."
They kept walking, saying nothing for a few steps. Only the sound of footsteps and an old motorbike passing occasionally accompanied them. Sarkem wasn't a comfortable place, but that's what made it real.
And among the realities not covered by a red carpet, their conversation slowly grew like a seed uncertain whether it would become a flower or just wild grass.
The three of them sat on a long bench not far from a small junction, where the entrance road to Sarkem began to narrow and fork. Across the street, a woman swept the yard of an old rental house, while in the distance, the voice of a soto vendor called out to customers with a rhythm almost like a call to prayer.
Marlon leaned back, his gaze sweeping over mossy walls and faded signboards. He started the conversation without preamble, like someone who had long kept a question inside.
"In Jogja, there's Sarkem; in our city Bandung, there's Saritem; in Surabaya, there's Gang Dolly. It seems places like these have existed since the prophet's time—locales like this."
Riri turned slowly, no surprise in her eyes, only full awareness.
"You should know, sex workers might be the very first human profession. The oldest job that will never truly be erased from life. It existed before banking, before official trade, even before nations."
He bowed his head for a moment, then continued in a calm tone, almost as if reading from a history book.
"In some ancient cultures, they were even considered sacred. There was something called temple prostitutes. Imagine that—a profession now seen as disgraceful, but back then it was part of spiritual rituals."
Romo listened intently, holding the bottle of mineral water he had just bought from the stall. He adjusted his tone before responding.
"In religious law, it's clearly stated that extramarital relations are forbidden. But if we look at it from a historical perspective, this profession has existed for a long time. It's even mentioned in holy scriptures."
He gazed ahead, toward the narrow street that was growing busier with morning activity.
"Sometimes we focus too much on the law without seeing the social and economic context behind it. Are they doing it by choice… or because circumstances force them?"
Marlon slipped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and chewed slowly.
"And the funny thing is, many who come here are religious too. Maybe they just came from a study group, or those at the office who hang verses on the wall but come here at night looking for entertainment. This world isn't just gray—it's often patchy, like a patchwork."
Riri chuckled softly, but her face remained serious.
"Because we're more comfortable living in illusions. It's easier to blame than to try to understand. Besides, for some people, hypocrisy is like a winter jacket: uncomfortable, but still worn."
Romo took a breath, his eyes slightly squinting to shield from the morning light sneaking between the buildings.
"But that doesn't mean we have to agree with everything, right? Religion also teaches us to preserve dignity, to uphold honor. But... it's how we express and handle it that often causes problems. We're too quick to throw stones before knowing why someone fell."
Marlon nodded, then looked at his two friends alternately.
"We're doing research about sins and virtues, right? Maybe places like this can teach us the most honest lessons about humans. About weakness, but also about survival."
Riri rested her head briefly on Marlon's shoulder, then spoke softly.
"And maybe also about hopes that are forced to sleep every night... at a cheap price."
Suddenly, silence fell. Not an awkward silence, but as if something was creeping quietly among their thoughts: a reality that can't be summarized by laws or morals alone, but must be seen with empathetic eyes and a calm mind.
The sound of a bicycle bell rang from the end of the alley; a laundry man pushed his bike while humming softly.
No one spoke anymore. But they knew the conversation was just beginning. And this place—dark as it may be—would become an important part of their journey.
The morning breeze gently blew through the narrow corridor of Sarkem. The aroma of black coffee from a nearby stall mingled with the smell of the street and exhaust from the growing traffic. Marlon, Riri, and Romo walked slowly, tracing the side of the alley that was not fully awake yet. Their faces reflected the contemplation from the previous discussion—about reality, history, and the dark sides of city life.
Marlon paused, leaning against a rusty electric pole. He looked around with a sharp but relaxed gaze before finally voicing a question he seemed to have kept for a long time.
Marlon: "I've been thinking. If places like this red-light area still exist and are hard to eliminate, why not just legalize them? Like in the Netherlands—the Red Light District. Regulated, supervised, protected by law. What do you guys think? It would be good for control, health, taxes… and maybe also security."
Riri, who had been quietly observing a faded mural on the nearby wall, turned slowly. Her eyes showed doubt—not because she had never thought about it before, but because the question opened a much more complicated door.
Riri: "Are you serious, Mar?"
Marlon: (shrugging) "Why not? In the Netherlands, sex workers have legal protection, regular health check-ups, taxes are collected, and there's clear social control. It's more humane than hiding them and letting them run wild like here, right?"
Riri: "I get the economic logic. The state can regulate, monitor health, even reduce violence because everything's transparent. But... I don't know. It still feels like something's wrong. Like we're just giving up, saying, 'Well, okay, just make it neat.'"
Marlon: (nodding slowly) "But isn't reality sometimes about compromise? I mean, ideal morals are good, but sometimes we need a system to keep things humane, right?"
Romo looked at Marlon for a long moment. He didn't answer immediately. His hand gripped the small bag he always carried, and his breath sounded heavier before he finally spoke.
Romo: "I understand what you mean, Mar. But in Islam, zina (fornication) is considered a major sin, and legalizing it means acknowledging and facilitating something clearly forbidden by Sharia. It's not just a moral violation but a transgression against the rights of Allah. The Qur'an explicitly states:"
'And do not approach unlawful sexual intercourse. Indeed, it is ever an immorality and is evil as a way.'
— Qur'an, Al-Isra (17): 32
He paused briefly, letting the verse settle in the atmosphere.
Romo: "And Prophet Muhammad also said in an authentic hadith:"
'No fornicator commits fornication at the time of committing it except that the faith is taken away from him at that moment.'
— (Hadith by Bukhari and Muslim)
Legalization, in my view, is like putting a basket under a leaking roof and saying 'at least it's clean,' while the main problem is still the broken roof."
Riri: (softly, almost whispering) "But what if it's not about justifying zina, Mo? But about minimizing greater harm? Like HIV, human trafficking, violence?"
Romo nodded. His expression was not angry, just reconsidering his heart's stance.
Romo: "That is what's called saddu dzari'ah—blocking the path to evil. But not by opening new doors. If the state legalizes it, it's not just tolerance—it's structural permissiveness. We can educate, prevent, protect victims, but not by legitimizing the act as lawful."
Romo: "So the approach isn't legalization, but prevention and system improvement. Provide jobs. Moral education. Build strong families. That's what the Prophet taught. There's even a hadith about this:"
A young man came to the Prophet and asked permission to commit zina. The companions wanted to drive him away, but the Prophet told him to come closer and asked: 'Would you be willing if your mother, sister, or daughter were treated like that?'
— (Hadith by Ahmad, Thabrani)