Letters of Independence

"Letters of Independence"

An exchange of love letters during the Indonesian National Revolution (1945–1949)

Letter 1 – August 17, 1945

To my dearest Sulastri,

Today, the air in Jakarta trembles with a newfound hope. This morning, Sukarno and Hatta proclaimed our independence. I was among the thousands who gathered, watching as the red and white flag soared into the sky. It felt as if our nation had awakened from a long and cruel slumber. But even in this moment of joy, my heart aches for you.

I can still see your eyes, dark as the Javanese night, filled with worry the last time we parted. You asked me if I truly believed we could be free, if all this struggle would be worth the cost. I did not answer you then, but now I will: Yes, my love. If our children can grow up in a land that belongs to them, where they do not bow to colonial masters, then every sacrifice is justified.

Tomorrow, I will leave for Yogyakarta to join the fighters gathering there. I do not know when I will see you again, but I swear, when this war is won, I will return. Until then, I shall write to you whenever I can. Please write back, even if the roads are unsafe. Your words will be my light in this darkness.

With all my love,

Aditya

Letter 2 – October 3, 1945

To my beloved Aditya,

Your letter reached me yesterday, hidden inside a bundle of rice sacks brought from the villages. I read it by the dim light of an oil lamp, and with every word, I felt you near me. Oh, how I miss you!

Jakarta is no longer the city we knew. Dutch soldiers have returned, and there are whispers that they mean to reclaim what they lost. At night, I hear gunshots in the distance. People vanish from their homes without a trace. Every day, I wonder if I will wake up to find that war has reached my doorstep.

But I refuse to live in fear. I have joined a group of women who weave bandages and smuggle medicines to the fighters. It is not much, but it is something. We do what we can, just as you do.

Aditya, my love, do not be reckless. I know the fire in your heart, but remember that you are not fighting only for Indonesia—you are fighting for me, for the life we will build once this war is over. Come back to me. Promise me.

Yours forever,

Sulastri

Letter 3 – March 1, 1946

My dearest Sulastri,

I am writing this from a hideout in the jungles near Magelang. The Dutch have launched their offensives, and we are constantly on the move. The days are long, filled with ambushes and gunfire, but it is the nights that are the hardest. In the silence, I think of you. I wonder if you are safe, if you are still in Jakarta, if you still wear that silver bracelet I gave you on your birthday.

Last week, we attacked a Dutch convoy carrying weapons. It was dangerous, but we succeeded. The thrill of victory lasted only until I saw one of our men fall, his blood soaking the earth beneath him. He was only seventeen, Sulastri. Seventeen, and already a soldier. War does not wait for childhood to end.

Despite everything, I believe in what we are fighting for. But I must confess something to you—I am afraid. Not of death, but of losing you before I can hold you again.

Sulastri, if something happens to me, know that I love you. I have loved you since the moment I saw you that rainy afternoon in the market, when you scolded a Dutch officer for pushing an old woman aside. You were fearless then, and I know you are fearless now.

If I do not return, live, my love. Live for the both of us.

Yours always,

Aditya

Letter 4 – August 17, 1947

To my beloved Aditya,

Today marks two years since we declared our independence, yet the war still rages on. Jakarta is a prison now, filled with soldiers who do not belong here. They patrol the streets as if they own them, but they do not see what we do in the shadows. We are stronger than they think.

Aditya, I have news. I have left Jakarta. It became too dangerous, and I could not stand to wait in silence any longer. I am in Yogyakarta now, helping the underground movement. I write and distribute pamphlets, urging our people to resist, to hold on just a little longer. Sometimes, I see men in uniforms passing by, and I wonder—are you among them?

I dream of you often. In my dreams, you return to me, the war is over, and we walk together by the rice fields of our childhood, where the sky is wide and endless. Do you still dream of me?

Stay safe, my love. Write to me soon.

Forever yours,

Sulastri

Letter 5 – December 19, 1948

To my dearest Sulastri,

By the time you receive this, the Dutch may have already invaded Yogyakarta. There are rumors that they plan to strike soon. If they do, we will fight. We will not let them take our land again.

My love, I cannot express how proud I am of you. You were never meant to wait in the shadows. You are the light itself. To know that you are fighting in your own way fills me with strength.

But I beg you—if the city falls, do whatever you must to survive. Escape if you can. I cannot bear the thought of you in their hands.

I do not know what the future holds, but I know this: We are close. We will win this war, Sulastri. And when we do, I will find you. I will hold you again, and we will build the life we always dreamed of.

Until then, be strong.

With all my love,

Aditya

Letter 6 – December 30, 1949

To my beloved Aditya,

The war is over. We have won.

This morning, the radio announced that the Dutch have recognized our independence. I fell to my knees and wept. The streets of Yogyakarta are filled with people singing, waving our flag. For the first time in my life, I feel free.

But where are you?

I have searched for you everywhere. I have asked soldiers, comrades, anyone who might have seen you. Some say they remember you from the guerrilla units, but they do not know where you are now. Others tell me to be patient, that our men are returning, that you will find me. But my heart is restless.

Aditya, my love, if you are alive, come back to me. If you have fallen, tell me how to go on without you.

I will wait for you, here in the land we fought for, for as long as it takes.

Yours, forever and always,

Sulastri

Epilogue – August 17, 1950

A young woman in a white kebaya stands beneath a Merdeka banner in Yogyakarta, her dark eyes scanning the crowd. A year has passed, and yet she waits. Every day, she listens for his name, watches for a familiar silhouette in the sea of returning soldiers.

Behind her, in a small wooden box, lie six letters—worn, tear-stained, yet cherished. Proof that love, like freedom, is worth every battle.

And so she waits, as Indonesia takes its first steps as a free nation.