The Second Flight of Garuda

Date: October 1993

Location: SMA Negeri 1 Padang → Jakarta (National Debate Competition)

The Monday after the forum, SMA 1 Padang buzzed like a stirred beehive.

Photocopies of Padang Ekspres fluttered through the school like contraband. Page 3 carried a grainy photo: Rakha at the podium, face steady, eyes sharp, barely visible above the lectern. The headline hit harder than the photo:

"Anak Desa Bicara Seperti Menteri"(Village Boy Speaks Like a Minister)

By second period, even teachers were murmuring between lessons.

"He's eleven?""I thought it was just a nickname.""City reps were nodding. And not out of pity."

The principal himself peeked into Class X-A mid-morning and simply gave Rakha a small, almost involuntary nod.

In the hallway, things changed.

Seniors, once dismissive, gave subtle nods or cleared space for him to pass. Juniors hovered near his locker under the excuse of asking for homework help.

"Eh, bro, you know how to answer this civics essay?""Explain fiscal decentralization again? I didn't catch it..."

Some were half-joking. But they stayed — just in case he really did explain it.

In the classroom, Rakha kept his usual rhythm: notes in the left margin, formulas on the right, a quiet eye on the teacher. But beneath that calm, he could feel it — the shift.

He wasn't just the youngest anymore.

He was becoming a reference.

Then, at break time, Alvino approached. The crowd subtly parted. The school's top senior — popular, composed, and usually untouchable — stopped beside Rakha's desk.

He tapped the newspaper copy with a knuckle.

"Good speech," Alvino said coolly. "Little firebrand. I liked that."

Rakha didn't flinch. He looked up, measured, calm.

"Thanks," he replied. "I liked your closing rebuttal. You used constitutional nuance like a knife."

Alvino tilted his head slightly — like a fencer acknowledging a parry. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Next time, don't expect me to hold back."

Rakha returned the look evenly.

"Next time, I won't need you to."

Their eyes locked.

Mutual respect. Quiet rivalry.Two different storms — one rising, one used to the sky.

And all around them, their classmates pretended not to watch — but no one looked away.

By late October, a brown envelope arrived from the Ministry of Youth and Sports.

"You are selected to represent West Sumatra at the National Youth Debate Invitational – Jakarta, November 1993."

The school erupted. Teachers clapped in the staff room. The student council made a giant hand-painted banner in the courtyard. Even Pak Ramlan teared up a little behind his glasses.

Rakha?

He simply nodded and opened a notebook to a clean page.

"Topic: Federalism. Time to study the roots, not just the tree."

🧠 The Prep Begins

The core team: Rakha, Tari, and Alvino.Coach: Bu Yuni, their fire-eyed civic teacher.

Their classroom became a war room.

They pushed desks into a triangle. Stacks of printouts lined the floor — constitutions, political maps, old speeches. A blackboard in the back listed arguments in chalk:

"Power Diffusion," "Revenue Sharing," "Local Identity," "Corruption Risks," "National Unity."

Tari sat cross-legged with her folders color-coded and bullet points ready.Alvino stood by the board, chalk in hand, playing devil's advocate with surgical precision.

Rakha?

He listened, first. Then spoke only when he could reframe the entire conversation.

"We're asking the wrong question," he said one afternoon. "It's not just 'should we pursue federalism?' It's why hasn't centralism worked for the periphery?"

Alvino raised an eyebrow. "So frame it as structural injustice?"

Rakha nodded. "Exactly. Don't defend federalism. Expose why it exists."

Tari tapped her pen against her knee. "And then? Offer a hybrid vision? Partial federal autonomy?"

"With oversight mechanisms. Co-ops in governance. Data-led decentralization," Rakha added, flipping a page.

The room fell into thoughtful silence.

This wasn't a cram session.It was a political lab.

Evenings bled into nights. They stayed late after class, sometimes locking the room behind them. Pak Ramlan brought them martabak. Seniors dropped by just to watch them spar.

"He's scary good," one whispered outside."Which one?""All of them," came the answer. "But Rakha? He doesn't argue — he builds civilizations."

🧠 [SYSTEM NOTICE – INTELLECTUAL DOMAIN: DEBATE PATHWAY]

"Collaborative Logic" +6"Ideological Mapping" (New Passive Unlocked)Team Compatibility Tier: +12%Mentor Compatibility: Alvino → Tactical ChallengerMentor Compatibility: Tari → Emotional Counterbalance

But the unspoken truth among the team was this:

Rakha wasn't the most aggressive.Or the flashiest.But he was the gravity everything orbited around.

Bu Yuni said it best, after one practice.

"Alvino, you're sharp. Tari, you carry.But Rakha? You're the anchor."

[SYSTEM NOTICE]

Debate Domain Skill Progressed: "Socratic Exchange" Tier II

Passive Unlock: Emotional Framing – 12%

Public Exposure: Expanding…

Media Alert: National Youth Watchlist – Rakha Y. Halim

✈️ Jakarta – The First Flight

The day before departure, Rakha packed with precision. Two pressed uniforms. One batik shirt. A pair of clean shoes. Notes and books arranged in order of priority. A folded surah from his mother slipped between the pages.

At dawn, the team gathered at Minangkabau International Airport. The others were buzzing — Tari snapped photos with her father's camera; Alvino made dry comments about flight turbulence.

Rakha?He just stood near the window, watching the aircraft idle on the tarmac.

A steel bird, he thought. We spent a thousand years praying for wings — and now we fly like it's normal.

He closed his eyes as the boarding call echoed.

🛫 Inside the Plane

It was Rakha's first time on a plane in this life. But he remembered it well from the first.

The hum of the engines.The scent of processed air and metal.The pressure in the ears.The subtle clink of cutlery when the carts rolled by.

But this time, it felt different. Sacred, almost.

He sat by the window, eyes fixed outside as the aircraft accelerated.

Soekarno once said, "Give me ten youths and I will shake the world."I wonder what he'd say if one of them flew above it first.

As the plane took off, West Sumatra shrank beneath them — patchworks of fields, rivers like silver veins, the mountains reduced to shadows. For a moment, he whispered:

"I'll be back… better."

Beside him, Tari fumbled with her seatbelt. Alvino read a newspaper. But Rakha?He just watched the clouds — already thinking about the ground he'd soon walk on in Jakarta.

[SYSTEM NOTICE – ENVIRONMENTAL TRANSITION]

Location Reached: National Capital RegionNew Influences Detected: Urban Socio-Political SpherePassive Observation Active: Elite Youth Network | Media Nodes | Ministerial EyesEmotional Milestone: "Return to the Center" logged

The plane descended into Soekarno-Hatta International Airport under gray skies. As the tires kissed the runway, Rakha blinked.

Last time I was in Jakarta… I died for my beliefs.

This time?

I'll live for them.

Jakarta – Hotel Permata Cikini

The van pulled up in front of a modest government-appointed hotel in Central Jakarta. A worn red carpet stretched across the lobby floor, and a slightly dusty chandelier hung above the reception desk. The air smelled of old furniture, lemon polish, and nervous ambition.

Rakha stepped out, duffel bag in hand. The city noise — horns, engines, distant shouting — felt like another country compared to Lawang's quiet sugarcane winds.

"This is it," Tari whispered beside him, her eyes wide as they took in the lobby."Jakarta," Alvino muttered, adjusting his watch. "City of sharks."

Inside, their rooms were plain but clean. Twin beds. A small desk. A creaky fan. A copy of Kompas lay folded on the table.

Rakha sat by the window, staring at the rows of lights in the buildings across the street.

🌙 Night Before the Storm

Later that evening, the team gathered in Rakha and Alvino's room. Tari brought roti bakar from the canteen; Alvino had smuggled in bottled tea.

They didn't train. Not tonight.

Instead, they talked — quietly.

"You nervous?" Tari asked, her feet tucked under her."No," Rakha said. "I'm alright."

Alvino smirked. "That's worse. Means your brain's three debates ahead."

Rakha smiled faintly. "If we win… it proves a point. That smart doesn't belong to one city. That ideas can come from dirt roads, not just marble halls."

Alvino looked at him. The cocky edge softened. "You're serious about this, huh?"

"It's not about winning," Rakha replied. "It's about being heard."

They fell into silence. The city buzzed outside like a living thing.

"If you freeze up tomorrow," Tari said softly, "I'll kick you under the podium."

Rakha laughed — genuinely. "Noted."

 [SYSTEM NOTICE – TEAM UNITY UPDATE]

Emotional Bond: Tari +1 → "Kindred Grit"Emotional Bond: Alvino +1 → "Rivalry Tempered by Respect"Passive Unlocked: Camaraderie Resilience – Debate Focus +3 in Team Scenarios

As the others drifted off to sleep, Rakha stayed up a little longer.

He looked out over Jakarta — the lights, the towers, the parliament dome barely visible beyond the haze.

National Youth Debate Invitational – Jakarta, November 1993

The assembly hall inside the Ministry of Youth and Sports building was a different world.

Carpeted floors muffled footsteps. Air conditioning made the batik shirts ripple slightly. Chandeliers sparkled above, casting reflections on the polished mahogany panels along the walls. Rows of sleek conference desks stretched across the hall, nameplates already set in neat lines.

Delegations came in waves — Java, Kalimantan, Sulawesi, Papua. The youngest were 15. Most were high school seniors, some already prepping for university.

And they were confident. Loud. Urbane. Laughing in English.

Then the West Sumatra team walked in.

Tari first — batik skirt ironed sharp, notebook tight in her hand.Alvino — cool, tall, sunglasses still on, jaw set like a knife.And then Rakha Yudhistira Halim, 11 years old, walking between them like he belonged to every room he entered.

The murmurs began instantly.

"That's him.""From Padang?""The reform speech kid?""No way he's actually competing…""He looks like a junior high mascot."

Rakha didn't flinch.

He adjusted his nametag — Delegate: Rakha Y. Halim — found their table, and calmly sat down. His fingers moved with precision, flipping open his binder, checking citations, organizing by category: history, law, social cohesion, counterpoint scenarios.

From across the room, one of the Java delegates — a tall, eloquent girl with perfect posture — whispered to her teammate:

"That kid's either a fluke… or a problem."

The reply came quick:

"Let's not find out."

The Host's Voice Echoed

"Welcome to the 1993 National Youth Invitational. This year's motion: 'Should Indonesia pursue a federal model of governance?'"

"Each province will argue for or against, based on draw. Round one begins shortly. May the sharpest minds prevail."

As teams stood to prep, Bu Yuni squeezed Rakha's shoulder gently.

"Stay calm," she said. "Let them talk. You build."

Rakha looked up at her and nodded.

Round One – Opening Argument

The auditorium was hushed.

Rakha stood behind the polished lectern — barely tall enough to reach the mic without a stool. His school badge caught the overhead light. His voice? Clear. Not a trace of nerves.

He opened his notes, then closed them again. No need.

"Centralism is efficient. But efficiency without equity becomes extraction."

The crowd blinked.

"What is the purpose of government if not to understand the people it serves? A Jakarta decision might solve a Jakarta problem. But in Papua, in Kalimantan, in Agam — it may become a poison dressed as policy."

He let the silence stretch — just long enough.

"Federalism, if structured well, is not chaos. It is trust. It lets identity breathe. It lets development localize. And it lets power serve, not hoard."

"Decentralization isn't abandonment. It's belief. Belief that the villager, the fisherman, the teacher in the hills… can govern themselves with dignity."

A few pens stopped scratching.A judge tilted her glasses back onto her head.

"In 1957, President Soekarno tried to balance unity with diversity — but we inherited only the first. Today, we offer both."

Rakha didn't raise his voice.He didn't gesture wildly.He wasn't performing.

He was building.

Each word landed like a brick in a foundation.

He closed his statement with a final note — no dramatics, just truth:

"The strength of Indonesia is not in its center. It is in its corners — in the hands we rarely shake. That's where policy must begin."

Then silence.

Not stunned, theatrical silence.The real kind. Where even ambition forgets to clap.

The judges' hands were still. Their pens, down.One of them — a former speechwriter — leaned forward, eyes narrowed, like watching something new.

🗣 Round Two – Open Debate

The delegate from Surabaya stepped forward — tall, sharp-jawed, with the confidence of someone used to being the loudest in the room. His team had come in well-prepared, and he clearly didn't enjoy being upstaged by a kid.

"With respect," he said, voice dripping with civility but loaded with bite, "you're eleven."

The audience tensed.

"You've never voted. Never paid taxes. You've never drafted policy, chaired a board, or even filled out a census form. What do you know of government?"

A few polite chuckles rippled through the crowd. Even one of the moderators raised a curious eyebrow. All eyes turned to Rakha.

He didn't flinch.He didn't retaliate.He just smiled — slow, knowing, gentle.

"You're right," Rakha began, voice calm and centered. "I've never voted. But I've waited in lines with those who have — only to see promises disappear after every election."

He took one step forward.

"I've never paid taxes. But I've watched neighbors suffer despite paying them. Watched as budgets vanished before they reached the puskesmas or the school roof."

A hush spread. Even the Surabaya delegate's smirk began to fade.

"And yes — I'm eleven. But I know what it means when roads crack, when irrigation dries, when a child drops out not for laziness… but because the school was too far, and the shoes too torn."

He paused — then met his challenger's eyes directly.

"Wisdom is not owned by age. Just as mistakes aren't exclusive to youth."

Gasps broke out. Then applause — scattered at first, then rising.

One of the moderators cracked a grin and scribbled something in his notes. Another leaned to whisper to a fellow judge, nodding.

Tari looked stunned. Alvino nodded once, jaw tight with approval.

The Surabaya delegate said nothing more.

 [SYSTEM NOTICE – PUBLIC INTELLECTUAL MOMENT]

Trait Gained: Dignified Retort – +10% effectiveness when handling challenges under pressureReputation Increased: +7 (Jakarta Debate Scene)Passive Reaction from Rivals: "Don't underestimate the boy."

📍 Final Round – Sudden Topic Draw

The host reached into a sealed box, pulled a folded card, and read aloud:

"Can cooperatives replace capitalism in rural development?"

A soft ripple of tension moved through the audience. The topic was complex — economic, ideological, and far outside the comfort zone of most high schoolers.

But Rakha's eyes sharpened.

This wasn't unfamiliar.

This was home.

He stood, took one breath, and began — voice steady, hands at ease by his sides.

"Mohammad Hatta, our proclaimer of independence, once said: 'The soul of the nation is found in the cooperative.'"

He let that quote hang.

"In rural Indonesia, capitalism arrives with a price tag. Loans with interest. Machines with middlemen. It asks the farmer to risk everything — alone — and then punishes him when the weather changes."

The Kalimantan team looked over, scribbling furiously.

"But a cooperative does something radical," Rakha continued. "It refuses to let people fall alone. It turns tools into shared assets. Debt into dividends. Labor into ownership."

"Does it reject profit? No."

"It rejects isolation."

He walked to the edge of the stage.

"I've seen it firsthand — in the sugarcane cycles of my hometown. When one farmer bought a press machine and shared it, five families survived a dry season. When women pooled herbs and made red sugar, they didn't just feed their homes — they built a market."

One of the judges — an economics professor from Universitas Gadjah Mada — tapped his pen against the desk, slowly nodding.

Another, from Universitas Indonesia, leaned forward, murmuring to her colleague:

"This… this is a field report in the form of a speech."

Rakha smiled, just slightly.

"Cooperatives are not a replacement for capitalism. They are its correction. A tool that makes profit moral, and progress mutual."

"And if we want rural development that lasts — it must be rooted in shared strength, not just individual."

He stepped back. The timer beeped.

Silence. Then…

The applause began slowly — from the judges' table.

Then from the back row. Then across the hall.

Tari wiped the corner of her eye. Alvino clapped, arms crossed, a smirk betraying his admiration.

Even the Surabaya delegate gave a single, respectful nod.

[SYSTEM NOTICE – DEBATE TRIUMPH MOMENT]

Passive Evolved: "Orator's Core" → "Applied Philosopher"Trait Gained: Economic Empathy – Stronger impact when tying data to human livesMentor Template Unlocked: Mohammad Hatta – "The Cooperativist"Blueprint Reward: Local Microbanking Cooperative 

National Youth Debate Invitational — Winners' Announcement

The grand hall dimmed.

Stage lights focused on the center podium where a ministry official stood in a sharp gray suit, golden emblem pinned to his chest. The tension in the room felt like a drumbeat.

"Third Place: Delegation from East Java."

Polite applause.

"Second Place: Delegation from Yogyakarta."

Scattered cheers.

The official paused. Smiled.

"And First Place… representing the Province of West Sumatra — SMA Negeri 1 Padang!"

The room exploded.

Tari squealed and hugged Rakha tightly. Alvino gave a half-smile and extended his hand. Rakha shook it — firm, respectful.

A trophy was brought forward — gold-plated, shaped like the wings of Garuda — and a ceremonial check: Rp 15.000.000 in education funding for their school.

Cameras flashed. Reporters murmured:

"The eleven-year-old genius…""Child from the hills…""Spoke like Hatta reborn."

🎙️ Backstage – A Knock at the Door

The team had just left the stage when an assistant approached.

"Rakha Yudhistira Halim? There's someone who'd like a word."

In the private room behind the curtain stood an older man in batik — calm, composed, wearing the pin of a Presidential Advisory Council.

"Son," he said, "I saw your rebuttal and final round. Have you… considered law school? Public service?"

Rakha bowed politely.

"Someday, Sir. But first I want to serve those who never enter rooms like this one."

The man chuckled.

"Good answer. Very good answer."

He passed Rakha his card.

"When you're ready — this number will still work."

📞 That Night — Village Chief's House, Lawang

The village chief, Pak Darman, had a dusty telephone in the corner of his warung-turned-home office. A rotary model with a long black cord. Rakha sat in front of it, holding the receiver with both hands.

A faint ring.

Click.

"H-hello?"

His mother's voice.

"Mak…" he said softly.

There was a pause — then a gasp.

"Rakha!? Anakku — is it really you? We heard… the radio said… you won?"

"First place, Mak," he said, voice shaking just slightly. "West Sumatra won. We won."

His father's voice cut in next.

"Did you speak clearly?""Yes, Ayah.""Did you speak for the people who can't?""I tried."

The line went quiet again.

Then:

"We're proud of you, Nak.""We all are," Mak whispered. "Even the chickens are clucking different today."

Laughter through tears.

In the background, Rakha could hear village kids cheering, someone banging a pot, and Pak Ahmad yelling, "That boy's brain was forged by sugarcane!"

Rakha closed his eyes.

He wasn't home. But somehow… he'd brought home with him.

[SYSTEM NOTICE – MILESTONE ACHIEVED]

National Recognition UnlockedTrait Gained: Emerging Public PersonaOpportunity Available: Invite to 1994 Young Leaders

Later That Night – Hotel 

The Jakarta skyline glittered below.

Rakha sat on the balcony, untouched glass of juice beside him. Inside, Tari and Alvino celebrated with the team — laughter, music, pride.

Rakha looked out over the city — not in awe, but in assessment.

"If words can travel this far… what else can I carry with me?"