ACEH, MY MOTHERLAND: My Land, My Blood

 

I was born on the edge of the world.

Where the sun kisses the westernmost shores of Indonesia, and the ocean hums with ancient songs.
This is Aceh—land of warriors, of sorrow, of deep unshakable faith.

They say the land remembers. And if it does, mine remembers fire and water.
Gunfire echoing through green valleys.
The silence after waves swallowed thousands of names.
And still—still—we rise.

Aceh is not a place I merely come from. It is the blood that runs in my veins.
It is the sound of the azan piercing the dawn mist, the clinking of coffee cups in quiet warungs,
the prayers whispered by mothers over their sons’ fading photographs.
It is the smile of a fisherman who has lost everything but still goes to sea.
It is the thrum of drums in a wedding parade, the voice of an old man reciting tales of sultans and storms.

This land is pain. This land is pride.
But most of all, this land is mine—not in the way of ownership, but in the way a soul belongs to its Creator.
I carry Aceh in my walk, in my scars, in my stubborn heart that refuses to forget.

To the world, she may be a forgotten corner,
but to me, Aceh is the center of everything I am.
This is not just a story.
This is a tribute. A remembrance. A love letter drenched in tears and hope.

Let me take you through her history, her wounds, her healing.
Let me show you the motherland as I see her—with reverence, with rage, with endless love.

Because before I was anything else,
I was…
Acehnese.