Today, I came home, my friend. This crossroads was still the same even though the building has been changed and trees have been rising. The nuance is never lost. Last year, as last year student I came up for you. You asked whether brings me visited you. "memories," I said. It heard so cliche because we often read it in the short story that published in every Sunday Newspaper. Right. The overstock of the newspaper that I can not sell in every morning before I go to school. But now, in the glory, I showed you that my article had published in the one of a national newspaper. You smile on your silence. It was like what I said to you five years ago when we were the last year student in senior high school. We talked in the post of railway gate after I sell the newspaper in the crossroad, as usual. I told you about my dream, "I will be the economics student at the University of Indonesia," I said. "And then, my article will be published, Indonesians will be a...