At Central Halmahera’s edge, Banemo— a pin on maps, a country in the heart. Its weathered pier holds out a wooden hand to boats the dusk is slow to let depart. Here sunset takes its time with every name, lays copper on the water, then lets go. And Lalayon keeps faith beneath our feet: the land remembers through the steps we know. I thought that home was somewhere I would reach. The old planks creaked. The sea said otherwise. I stood where I had left, and heard my name in voices I could find with shuttered eyes.