Notes

Mahesa, often called Esa, loved exploring the small yet enchanting village of Samjinae. Nestled between rolling hills and lush green fields, Samjinae was a place where time seemed to slow down. Every Saturday morning, Esa would set out with his trusty phone, eager to capture the beauty and simplicity of village life.

One bright and breezy morning, Esa left his home with the first light of dawn. The village was bathed in the soft, golden glow of sunrise, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Esa’s first stop was the ancient banyan tree at the village center. This tree, with its sprawling branches and roots like thick ropes, was the heart of Samjinae. He snapped a picture, capturing the intricate patterns of the roots and the delicate play of light and shadow.

From there, Esa meandered down the narrow, winding streets. He loved the cobblestone paths, which were worn smooth by countless footsteps over the years. As he walked, he greeted the villagers who were starting their day. The blacksmith, Mr. Ardi, was already hard at work, the rhythmic clang of his hammer filling the air. Esa captured this moment, appreciating the blend of strength and precision in Mr. Ardi's movements.

Esa continued his stroll, heading towards the village market. Saturdays were market days, and the square was alive with vibrant colors and bustling activity. Stalls overflowed with fresh fruits, vegetables, and flowers, while vendors called out to attract customers. Esa’s favorite stall was run by Mrs. Hana, an elderly woman with a warm smile who sold the sweetest mangoes. He took a candid shot of her arranging her produce, her hands moving with practiced grace.

Beyond the market, Esa wandered to the rice fields at the edge of the village. The fields stretched out like a green ocean, with farmers bent over, tending to their crops. Esa’s friend, Jaka, was among them. Jaka waved enthusiastically when he saw Esa, who quickly took a picture of his friend standing tall amidst the waving stalks of rice, the mountains looming majestically in the background.

Esa’s final destination was the river that ran through Samjinae. The water was crystal clear, reflecting the sky and the surrounding greenery. Children played along the banks, their laughter mingling with the babble of the river. Esa caught a perfect shot of his little sister, Sari, skipping stones across the water, her face lit up with joy and concentration.

As the day drew to a close, Esa sat by the river, scrolling through the photos he had taken. Each image was a piece of Samjinae, a fragment of the life and beauty that made the village so special. Esa knew that these photos would not just be memories for him but would also share the magic of Samjinae with others.

With a contented sigh, Esa got up and started walking home, the sun setting behind him and casting a golden hue over the village. He felt a deep sense of gratitude for the simple yet profound beauty of Samjinae and for the people who made it a home. As he crossed the cobblestone paths, the ancient banyan tree came into view once more, standing tall and steadfast, a silent witness to the village’s stories and to the boy who loved to capture them.

In that moment, Esa knew that no matter where life took him, Samjinae would always be a part of him. His photos were not just images but a testament to the enduring spirit of his beloved village. With this thought warming his heart, Esa tucked his phone into his pocket and walked the familiar path back to his house, ready to share his day’s adventures with his family.

The next Saturday dawned with a sky painted in soft pinks and oranges, promising another beautiful day in Samjinae. Esa set out once again, his phone charged and ready. Today, he decided to explore some of the lesser-known corners of the village, places where everyday magic often went unnoticed.

He started his journey by heading towards the old water mill at the eastern edge of Samjinae. The mill, with its creaking wooden blades and moss-covered stones, was a relic from the past, a reminder of simpler times. As he approached, he could hear the gentle hum of the water flowing, powering the mill as it had for generations. Esa framed his shot carefully, capturing the interplay of movement and stillness, the water a blur while the mill stood solid and timeless.

From the mill, Esa followed a narrow path that wound through a dense grove of bamboo. The tall, slender stalks swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling like whispers. This part of the village was serene, almost otherworldly, and as Esa walked, he felt a sense of peace envelop him. He took several photos, each one a study in green and gold, the sunlight filtering through the canopy above.

Emerging from the grove, Esa found himself near a small pond that few in the village visited regularly. The pond was home to a family of ducks, and as Esa approached, they quacked in greeting before continuing their lazy swim across the water. The surface of the pond was dotted with lily pads, their pink and white flowers in full bloom. Esa crouched by the water’s edge, capturing the ducks’ reflections and the delicate beauty of the lilies.

His next stop was the village school, a modest building with whitewashed walls and a red tiled roof. The schoolyard was empty now, the children having finished their morning lessons and gone home for lunch. Esa had fond memories of his own school days here, and he couldn’t resist taking a photo of the old swing set where he and his friends had spent countless hours. The swings, though a little rusty, still swayed gently in the breeze, as if waiting for the laughter of children.

Walking on, Esa headed towards the outskirts of the village, where a small, forgotten shrine lay hidden among overgrown shrubs and wildflowers. The shrine was dedicated to a local deity, a guardian of the village, and though it was rarely visited, it held a special place in the hearts of the older villagers. Esa carefully cleared some of the overgrowth, revealing the intricate carvings on the stone altar. He took a moment to offer a silent prayer before taking a picture, hoping to capture the reverence and history that permeated the place.

As noon approached, Esa made his way to a hillside overlooking the village. This was his favorite spot, a place where he could see all of Samjinae spread out below him, the houses like toy blocks, the fields a patchwork quilt of green and gold. He sat under a large oak tree, enjoying the cool shade and the gentle rustle of leaves. From here, he could see the villagers going about their day, the children playing, the farmers working, the shopkeepers tending to their stores. It was a scene of everyday life, simple yet profoundly beautiful.

Esa took several panoramic shots, wanting to capture the entirety of the village in one frame. He felt a deep sense of connection to this place, a bond that was strengthened with each photo he took. Samjinae was not just a village; it was a living, breathing community, a tapestry of lives woven together by shared experiences and memories.

As the afternoon sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the landscape, Esa decided to visit his grandmother’s house. His grandmother, or Nenek as he called her, lived in a quaint cottage at the far end of the village. She was known for her wisdom and her stories, which she often shared with the children of Samjinae.

When Esa arrived, he found Nenek sitting on her porch, weaving a basket from strips of bamboo. She looked up and smiled warmly as he approached. “Ah, Esa, my dear boy,” she greeted him. “Come, sit with me. Tell me about your adventures today.”

Esa sat down beside her, showing her the photos he had taken. Nenek’s eyes twinkled with delight as she looked at each one. “You have a gift, Esa,” she said softly. “These photos, they capture the soul of our village. You must continue to share them with the world.”

Encouraged by her words, Esa spent the rest of the afternoon with Nenek, listening to her stories of the village’s past. She told him about the time when the river had flooded and how the villagers had come together to build stronger banks, about the old festival that was no longer celebrated but had once been the highlight of the year, and about the people who had come and gone, leaving their mark on Samjinae.

Esa took a few more photos of Nenek as she spoke, wanting to preserve these moments of wisdom and connection. As the sun set, casting a warm, golden light over the village, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment. He had not only captured the beauty of Samjinae but also its spirit, the stories and experiences that made it unique.

With the day drawing to a close, Esa hugged his grandmother goodbye and started the walk back home. The village was quiet now, the hustle and bustle of the day giving way to the calm of evening. The banyan tree stood tall in the twilight, its branches reaching out like comforting arms.

Esa paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his village under the evening sky. He felt a deep sense of gratitude for the place he called home and for the people who filled his life with love and meaning. With his phone tucked safely in his pocket, Esa walked the familiar path back to his house, ready to share his day’s adventures with his family and to dream of new explorations tomorrow.