Terus Berjalan, Satu Kata Demi Satu Kata

Terus Berjalan, Satu Kata Demi Satu Kata doesn’t try to fix a life or turn it into a clean narrative. It stays closer to what most days actually feel like: the quiet work of getting up again, carrying questions that don’t have neat answers, and learning how to remain present in a life that doesn’t always look like the one you planned.

These pages move through the small interiors of being human—fatigue that’s hard to explain, the sense of outgrowing an old version of yourself without knowing yet who comes next, the ache of losing something you can’t even name. The pieces don’t rush toward “closure.” They sit with what is unfinished: the doubts, the pauses, the moments when all you can say is, I’m still here, even if I don’t fully understand why.

Written in poetic prose and short fragments, the book follows the mind as it loops, returns, and slowly widens. It traces how people bend without completely breaking, how the heart keeps learning to trust after disappointment, how a person can feel both fragile and quietly resilient at the same time. The writing doesn’t simplify emotion or polish it into inspiration; it lets it stay slightly messy, honest, and alive.

At its core, Terus Berjalan is not about becoming someone entirely new, but about recognising the self who has survived every version of “not yet.” One word after another, it opens a small, steady space where vulnerability and strength can sit side by side. If you find yourself somewhere between what has ended and what hasn’t begun, these pages are meant to walk with you for a while—no promises, just company, and the reminder that moving slowly is still a way of moving.