Marlon: (walking slowly again, nodding) "So, for you, Mo, legalization means formalizing destruction?"
Romo: "More precisely: it means formalizing wounds that should be healed, not framed."
Marlon: "But in Amsterdam's Red Light District, violence actually went down. The workers are protected by law. They even pay taxes. Some studies say legalization can reduce exploitation."(see: Weitzer, R. (2012). Legalizing Prostitution: From Illicit Vice to Lawful Business. NYU Press)
Romo: "But Islam isn't just about statistics. Islam talks about purity of the soul, not just numbers. The Prophet didn't only change the system, he also planted shame and responsibility in the individual. We can help those trapped, but not by changing God's law just to make the world more 'comfortable.'"
Riri: "So, we're just going to keep living with this gray area, huh?"
No one answered right away. The three of them fell silent, only watching the street grow busier. A pedicab passed by, behind it a woman carrying a plastic bag filled with groceries. Life went on, even though questions about right and wrong didn't necessarily have answers on this quiet morning.
Marlon: (swinging his hand casually) "I once thought like this... sex, or the climax, is a biological need. Like... peeing or pooping."
Riri immediately turned her head, raising one eyebrow. Romo almost choked on his own spit.
Riri: "Wait, Mar... seriously? You're comparing sex to pooping?"
Marlon: (still calm, even more enthusiastic) "Yeah, listen before you grin. Imagine we're on the highway, and you really need to pee. You hold it in, right? But if you can't hold it anymore, you just pee anywhere—bushes, bottles, whatever, emergency situation. Now if everyone does that, the road gets dirty, it spreads disease too."
Riri: (half laughing, half worried) "Please... don't let that analogy get into our research paper."
Marlon: "No, it's just for the three of us. Anyway, I think localization (regulated zones) is like a public restroom. A place prepared, clean, safe, and legal. So people with biological urges—if they really can't hold it anymore—won't just spread it around randomly. Makes sense, right?"
Romo stopped walking. He looked at Marlon like he was hearing someone use logic like that for the first time.
Romo: "It makes sense... in terms of biological emergency logic, yes. But Mar, do you realize you're equating something called a 'sinful act' in religion with... going to the bathroom?"
Marlon: (shrugging) "Yeah, why not? Both are natural body reactions. Different context, but basically the body sends a signal, then we have two choices: control it or release it. Isn't the key actually in how we release it?"
Riri: (rubbing her forehead) "I get what you mean, but this is... totally absurd, Mar. And at the same time brilliant. But mostly absurd."
Romo looked thoughtful. His eyes stared at the asphalt, then the sky, then back at Marlon with a doubtful look.
Romo: "If you use that logic, then all urges could be fulfilled as long as there's a 'clean container'? What about urges to steal, get angry, or even... kill?"
Marlon: "Not all urges, Mo. But unavoidable urges, ones that have existed since the first humans. Even prophets lived in times when such regulated zones existed."
Romo still frowned. "I worry, Mar. If one sin is legalized, eventually all sins could be legalized. It's like a slippery slope. A slide straight to hell."
Marlon nodded. "Slippery slope, huh?"
He paused, then leaned against a rusty street pole. He took out his phone and pretended to seriously open notes, then spoke like a philosophy professor in an afternoon lecture.
"Mo, slippery slope is a logical fallacy."
Riri immediately chuckled. "Oh no, here we go..."
Marlon continued, still in the tone of a late-afternoon philosophy class fueled by coffee. "Slippery slope is the logic that says: if we allow one thing, then other bad things will surely follow. But in reality, it's not always like that. For example... just because we legalize regulated zones, it doesn't mean stealing, anger, and murder will also be legalized, right?"
Romo rolled his eyes upward, trying to stay calm. "But in reality, humans love justifications. Once you open the door, people will find loopholes to open others."
Marlon grinned, "Exactly, so it's not about removing the door, but guarding it. Put a fence around it. Supervise it. Not just let it run wild, then close our eyes and pretend it's not there."
Riri stepped in. "But slippery slope is tricky. Sometimes it happens. But... we have to distinguish between potential and certainty."
Romo looked at her. "Repeat that, Ri."
"We have to distinguish between potential and certainty. Potential means it could happen, but not necessarily will. If we treat all potential as certainty... then we'll be too scared to take any steps at all."
Marlon added, "If slippery slope logic is applied to everything, it'd go like this: 'If we let kids ride a bike, they'll speed. If they speed, they might fall. If they fall, they get hurt. If hurt, they get infections. So... don't let kids ride bikes.' That's absurd."
Romo sighed. "But this is about morality, Mar. Not riding bikes."
"Exactly because it's about morality, we need deep discussions. Not all religious solutions fit social situations without context."
Riri: (softly) "And... even in old stories, there was a woman who walked at night and was looked down upon, but she entered heaven because of her love for animals. But does that mean her work was legalized?"
They fell silent. Sunlight began to pierce the tin roof and dance on the sidewalk. A dog passed by, barking at a slowly passing motorcycle.
Romo: (looking ahead) "It's complicated. And your analogy just now... I'll think about it, but I don't promise I'll agree."
Marlon: (with a slight smile) "That's okay. I don't always agree with myself either. Sometimes I just want to know why I think that way."
Riri: "That's the annoying thing about you. You think like you're sitting on the toilet, then invite people to discuss before you've even finished wiping."
They finally laughed. Not because they agreed, but because they knew: sometimes the most honest conversations come from the most absurd questions.
The sky over Jogja was starting to dim, at a simple Angkringan with a long wooden bench that leaned slightly because the ground was uneven. A dim light hung low, casting soft shadows on faces that were growing tired but not quite ready to leave. A steaming pot of ginger tea sat on the table. Riri bit into some tempe mendoan, Romo was busy writing something in his small notebook, and Marlon gazed up at the quiet Jogja night sky.
"I was thinking about something when we were talking about Sarkem this afternoon," Marlon said suddenly, his voice as calm as the steam rising from his glass of tea.
Riri turned her head, chewing slowly. "What is it?"
"People often argue, get loud, and blame each other. But it's often not just because of different values—it's because their way of thinking is already flawed from the start. I've been reading about logical fallacies… or in our language: sesat pikir."
Romo raised an eyebrow. "Sesat pikir?"
"Yeah. Arguments that seem reasonable but are actually illogical. There are so many types. But there are seven that happen most often, even here in Indonesia."
Riri leaned her back against the wooden wall. "Okay. This is getting interesting. Go on, Mar."
Marlon raised one finger. "First: Ad Hominem. That's when someone doesn't counter the argument, but attacks the person instead. For example: 'You didn't graduate, so your opinion about the economy is invalid.' But hey… that person might have a strong argument even without a degree."
Romo nodded slowly. "Yeah, that happens a lot. Especially in political debates, they go straight for personal attacks."
"Exactly. Second: Strawman. This one creates a fake argument that's easier to attack. Like: 'You say brothels need regulation? So you support adultery!' But that's not what was meant. It simplifies the opponent's argument so it can be knocked down."
Riri grinned. "Ah yes, I see that all the time on social media. They turn arguments into caricatures, then smash them."
"Third: False Dilemma. It makes it seem like there are only two choices. Classic example: 'If you don't support this policy, you're anti-country.' But someone can be critical precisely because they love their country."
Romo squinted. "This one's dangerous. It can also be used as propaganda."
"Now, the fourth: Slippery Slope," Marlon continued, glancing at Romo with a smile, "We actually talked about this earlier today, Mo. Like: 'If we legalize brothels, then theft and murder will be legalized too!' That's not how logic works. It's an irrelevant leap."
Romo chuckled. "Yeah, I almost slipped on that earlier. Okay, fair enough."
"Fifth: Circular Reasoning. Arguments that go around in circles. For example: 'Why is this forbidden? Because it's prohibited. Why prohibited? Because it's forbidden.' No data or logic outside the argument itself."
Riri nodded. "It's like someone debating on a treadmill. Exhausting, but going nowhere."
"Perfect analogy," Marlon laughed. "Sixth: Bandwagon Fallacy. Joining in just because many others do. Like: 'Why do you believe that hoax? Everyone else is sharing it.' But the number of people doesn't automatically make something true."
Romo added, "It's like a wrong majority argument. In religion, we're often reminded that truth isn't measured by the number of followers."
"Exactly. And last: Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc. Meaning: after this, therefore because of this. For example: 'After he was inaugurated, prices went up. So he's the cause.' But the price increase could be due to global factors. This is a faulty reasoning media sometimes loves."
Riri played with a small wooden spoon in her glass. "I feel like we've all fallen into at least one of these seven."
"Definitely. Even smart people can fall for them. That's why it's important to understand them. So debates don't turn into ego battles or competitions, but real searches for understanding."
Romo looked at Marlon, then at his glass. "You read a lot, Mar. But more importantly… you learn to present it in a way that feels comfortable. That's why I want to listen."
Marlon grinned. "I learn from you too, Mo. From you I learn to listen patiently. From Riri, how to poke gently but elegantly."
Riri laughed. "Me, poking elegantly? Never heard that phrase before."
The little food stall became a cozy place for reflection that night. The ginger tea was finished. But the conversation still carried a warm scent.
Night in Jogja arrived with a gentle smile. The sky wasn't completely dark yet, and the air still held traces of coolness. Along the street near their hotel in Malioboro, stalls were open, becaks were still passing by, and street vendors tidied their goods.
Marlon, Riri, and Romo walked slowly, enjoying the city's rhythm that seemed unhurried.
"If you think about it," said Marlon, watching a group of foreign tourists laughing with a becak driver, "in this city, sins and virtues walk side by side. Like… an old couple who've made peace with their differences."
Riri turned her head. "Who are you talking about? The becak driver? Or the tourists?"
Marlon smiled. "Neither. I mean, we can see the seven deadly sins and seven heavenly virtues not just in theology books or movies, but… right here. On the streets."
Romo nodded. "Name one."
"Ambition, or greed, for example," Marlon pointed toward the bustling Beringharjo Market. "Look at the vendors there. Some slash prices, some deliberately mark up high to negotiate longer. That can be seen as greed. But… on the other hand, diligence is also clear. They wake up early, work from dawn, consistent every day."
Riri added, "And kindness too. I saw some women vendors helping each other carry goods. They could be rivals, but still help one another. That's beautiful."
"Charity as well," said Romo, pointing at an old man feeding a child with wrapped rice. "He's not a beggar. But a young woman just gave him two packs of rice. No big fuss. Then she left. That's charity without applause."
They walked a bit toward the Zero Kilometer point. Some street artists were getting ready. Some were drawing portraits, some playing instruments.
"Pride is obvious too," Marlon said. "Look at that musician. There's pride when he plays the mini gamelan for tourists. But… is all pride bad?"
"Not really," Riri replied quickly. "If pride becomes a form of gratitude or respect for culture, that can be temperance—self-control so you're not too humble or arrogant. The line is thin."
Romo stepped closer to a street painter, observing the sketch. "But I also see envy sometimes. When one painter is popular, others frown. That's human nature. But that's also a test of humility—can they stay grateful even if fortune hasn't come to them yet?"
"I also saw a t-shirt seller get angry at another," said Riri, serious but light in tone. "Like… resentment because someone stole his buyer. That's wrath, right? But the other just smiled. Maybe that's patience."
"Lust exists too," Marlon said softly. "Earlier, we saw some motorcycle taxi drivers catcalling female students, whistling and making comments. That's a form of objectification. But just across the street, there's a community of young women selling their own handicrafts, supporting each other, not bowing to that kind of gaze. That's chastity—in the sense of preserving dignity, not just about the physical."
Romo was silent for a moment. "It's funny, isn't it? We talk about sins and virtues like watching an opera on the street. But maybe that's exactly how God works. Not always through sermons or lectures. Sometimes... through everyday life."
Riri added, "Virtue isn't just about places of worship, and sin isn't only in places of vice. In the market, on the street, in cafes, on the sidewalks... they can all be stages."
The three of them sat for a moment on a bench near the Main Post Office. In front of them, a small family was playing around. A little child ran laughing freely, chased by his father pretending to be a monster.
Marlon took a deep breath. "We often think of sin and reward like numbers at a cashier. Add, subtract, then total it up. But maybe... we live in both, continuously. What matters is not the total, but the direction."
Riri gently pinched Marlon's arm. "It's only evening and you're already so philosophical. It's not even dawn."
Marlon chuckled. "It's okay. Jogja teaches us—even walking can become a reflection."
They continued sitting on the bench near the Post Office, watching the flow of people crossing paths without colliding.
Riri leaned back for a moment and said softly, "Don't you realize, what we see here is just the surface?"
Marlon looked over. "A pretty surface, honestly, and quite comfortable."
Romo chuckled quietly but didn't interrupt.
Riri continued, "I mean... we see smiles, helping each other, calmness, harmony. But we don't know the competition behind it. In the market, for example, there must be sellers undercutting each other's prices, maybe internal community politics, or conflicts between neighborhoods. But oddly… it still feels peaceful. Not like in our city."
Marlon nodded, his eyes fixed on a group of students sitting cross-legged discussing something. "I get what you mean. In Bandung, the tension is higher. Many seem friendly but are actually defensive. Here... it's cooler, more relaxed."
Riri took a deep breath. "Do you think it's because the leader here is a Sultan?"
Romo was silent for a moment, then answered cautiously, "Maybe. But perhaps it's not because he's a Sultan, but because he's respected."
Marlon replied, "But why is he respected? There are many good regional leaders elsewhere."
"Because he's not just an administrative leader," Riri said quietly. "He's a symbol. People here obey not only the law but also culture and history."
Romo nodded. "The Sultan isn't just a title. Here, he's like an axis. And maybe because there's a strong attachment to tradition and values, the community behaves more... responsibly."
Marlon glanced at a pedicab driver helping a tourist fix her bag. "So culture can be stronger than rules, right?"
"Sometimes," Romo answered. "If rules are imposed from outside, people obey out of fear. But if culture grows from within, people follow because it's part of who they are."
Riri looked toward the street. "No wonder. Here, people cross the street without fear of being hit. In Bandung, sometimes even when we're on a crosswalk, people still honk at us."
Marlon chuckled. "Even red lights in our city sometimes feel like just suggestions."
Romo laughed softly, then said, "But this is interesting to note in our research—the relationship between leadership, culture, and social behavior."
"And how sin and virtue can coexist peacefully," Riri added.
Marlon stood and stretched his arms as if embracing the moonlight. "Jogja, you're gentle... but full of secrets. I like it."
"Stop being so dramatic," Riri said, standing and patting Marlon's shoulder.
"But honestly," Marlon said, glancing at Romo, "a system led by a symbolic figure like this is fascinating. Not purely democratic, but not authoritarian either. It's a kind of trust repaid with responsibility."
Romo nodded slowly. "Virtue grows from example. Maybe we need more leaders like the Sultan."
"If we can't have leaders like the Sultan," Riri said with a smile, "at least we can start with ourselves."
The dusk in Jogja never rushes. It falls slowly like a lullaby for a city tired from serving the footsteps of nostalgic pilgrims and seekers of meaning. The golden-orange sky hung over Malioboro Street as Marlon, Riri, and Romo walked slowly toward their hotel.
Lights began to glow, forming faint patterns on the sidewalks, accompanied by the scraping wheels of pedicabs and the jingling of gamelan from souvenir shops still open.
"That's enough," Riri said, yawning softly. "My feet are protesting. We've been walking all day—from the Monument, to the Art Market, and everywhere else. I want a warm shower and to watch local TV."
"Local TV?" Marlon turned with a small laugh. "You're so romantic about old-fashioned things."
"Hey, that's the fastest way to learn local culture—soap commercials and nighttime dangdut shows," Riri replied with a grin.
Romo walked behind them, rubbing his neck. "I agree with the shower part. The rest, I'm going to bed early tonight."
When they reached the hotel lobby, they took off their shoes and breathed a sigh of relief. The friendly receptionist's voice greeted them like a cassette tape that never gets old.
In their room, the cold air from the AC welcomed them like a gentle hug after a sweaty day.
Marlon lay down first on the bed. "It's crazy how we can walk all day in someone else's city and not get bored. We just walk, eat, talk, watch people."
"That's because we're not in a hurry," Riri replied, opening a bottle of mineral water. "And maybe... because this city knows how to slow everything down without making us feel left behind."
Romo sat on a chair by the window, staring at the city lights twinkling. "Tomorrow we go to the Keraton, right?"
"Yes," Marlon answered. "I'm really curious about life inside there. Not just the building, but the people. I heard there are still Abdi Dalem, art communities, culture, and values held tightly."