By Ali Syarief
Every time I meet friends from different cultures, ethnicities, and nations, I feel as though I’m opening a window to a wider world. In those moments of sharing—sometimes just an hour—I gain so much more than I ever expected: new insights, fresh perspectives, and stories that stay with me long after the conversation ends.
One unforgettable encounter was with Yuki Yajima, a nurse from a prestigious institution in Tokyo and a dedicated volunteer of the Japanese Red Cross Society (JRCS). During her three-month humanitarian assignment in Indonesia, she spent a week in Jember, East Java, participating in the School and Community Resilience (SCR) Project, a collaborative effort between the Indonesian Red Cross (PMI) and JRCS.
Yuki was not merely present as a medical professional; she came with an open heart, eager to learn, to engage, and to belong. I was struck by how easily she blended into the daily life of the local villagers—walking through rice fields, laughing with farmers, and listening with genuine curiosity to their stories. Her admiration for the beauty of rural landscapes and the diversity of local crops was infectious. She often paused to capture moments not just with her camera, but with her heart.
What touched me the most was Yuki’s warmth—quiet yet radiant. She had a natural ability to connect with people regardless of background, and it was this humility that made her presence so memorable. She was not a visitor; she was one of us. Her kindness was not performative—it was deeply felt.
Mamang Pratidina, Head of Disaster Management at PMI Jember, accompanied Yuki throughout her time in Jember and shared heartwarming stories about her involvement in the spot mapping of Panggul Melati hamlet alongside Teuku Awaluddin (Head of JRCS Indonesia Mission) and Yana Maulana (Project Manager).
But Yuki’s compassion did not stop there. Before arriving in Jember, she had also visited Cianjur—a region still healing from the devastating earthquake. Her time there, among the survivors, left a profound impact on her. She listened to their pain, shared in their sorrow, and lent her strength in ways that transcended language. She did not offer mere sympathy—she offered solidarity.
I admire her not just for her professionalism, but for her humanity. There’s a quiet grace in the way she moves, works, and smiles—one that reflects a soul full of purpose and love. Yuki Yajima reminded me that kindness needs no translation, and that the most powerful acts of service are done not with grand gestures, but with simple, sincere presence.
Meeting her was a gift. I carry deep admiration and a warm affection for her—not only for what she did, but for who she is. From Tokyo to Cianjur, and then to Jember, Yuki brought with her a light that softened the wounds of disaster and lit up the spirit of those around her.
From encounters like this, I have come to believe: true learning often begins when we dare to connect, to listen, and to love beyond borders. And perhaps, in these brief yet meaningful exchanges, we are reminded that we all belong to the same human story.
