Retro: Guardian of the Terminal - Mornings at Jerejak

 Title: Guardian of the Terminal – Mornings at Jerejak

To get to Jerejak Island, one must take a short ferry ride—what used to be a catamaran, perhaps still in use today. My role was to ensure that every passenger had a valid ticket and boarded the ferry safely to and from the island. I also oversaw the daily operations of the terminal, ensuring that everything ran smoothly and that the facility remained pristine and inviting upon approach.

To many, it would have seemed like a mundane job—just sitting around, waiting for things to happen. But as always, I decided to make things happen.

I took ownership of the space. I took charge of the maintenance of the surrounding yard, personally tending to the garden. I would arrive at work one or two hours earlier than required, not out of obligation, but because I cherished the solitude of those early mornings. Each day began with a walk through an undeveloped landscape—bushes, barely visible footpaths, and the stillness of pre-dawn silence.

This was my ritual.

I would meditate and chant as I made my way toward the terminal, the darkness around me thick and whispering. Upon reaching the jetty, I would walk to its farthest end and perch atop one of the tall tie-up pillars, waiting for the sun to rise.

From that vantage point, I witnessed the sun shift its place on the horizon throughout the year, from one end to the other—a slow dance of celestial rhythm. Beneath me, I listened to the gentle splash of waves against the jetty’s pillars, a soothing soundtrack to my inner stillness.

The terminal was located in Batu Uban, a place locally regarded as spiritually potent, especially being directly opposite the storied island of Jerejak. These early morning walks, these silent sittings, were not merely peaceful meditations—they were conscious efforts to confront and dissolve fear. The fear of the dark. The fear of the unseen. The fear that creeps in when the mind is still and the world is asleep.

Through this practice, I became increasingly aware—not just of my own internal landscape, but of how to shape and influence my external environment positively. The terminal, once a mere transit point, became a sanctuary of sorts—well-kept, welcoming, and quietly infused with presence.

Hundreds of visitors passed through that terminal every day. I saw an opportunity not just to serve tickets, but to offer something more. I introduced travelers to the resort with pride, often sparking conversations that went beyond destinations—touching on awareness, nature, mindfulness.

Yes, I made good money. But more importantly, I made meaning.