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The Weekender is a publication by The Jakarta Post that covers stories about how we live, think, and make sense of the world around us. While we share The Post’s commitment to accuracy, credibility, and thoughtful journalism, The Weekender approaches those values through long-form storytelling, personal essays, culture, travel, ideas, and the everyday experiences that shape our lives and identities.
Many publications optimize for novelty: breaking news, surprising facts, or bold opinions. The Weekender distinguishes itself by pursuing a different reward. We want readers to finish a story thinking, "I've never thought of it that way," or "That's exactly how it feels — I just never had the words for it." The best pieces don't simply teach readers something new; they help them recognize something that was already quietly true in their own lives.
We publish stories that reward curiosity over certainty, complexity over simplicity, and observation over opinion. Whether you’re writing about travel, culture, food, work, identity, history, science, or everyday life, we’re less interested in the object itself than in what it reveals about being human.
This guide explains the principles behind the stories we publish:
The best Weekender stories don't begin by trying to prove a point. They begin with genuine curiosity. Instead of asking, "How do I convince readers that this is true?" – ask, "What is happening here? Why does this matter? What surprised me?"
Readers enjoy joining a writer on a journey of discovery. They rarely enjoy being lectured.
Not necessarily a fact, though this is also welcome. Rather: a way of seeing things, a connection, or a contradiction. Sometimes the most memorable stories don’t introduce new information, they simply rearrange familiar information into a perspective readers hadn’t considered before.
Every piece should ultimately be about people. Even if you’re writing about architecture, economics, tech, food, wildlife, or history, ask:
Good stories aren’t only about subjects. They’re about people encountering those subjects.
Whenever possible, let readers experience something before interpreting it. Instead of opening with an abstract idea, begin with:
Concrete experiences invite readers in. Interpretation can follow.
We are not looking for hot takes. We are interested in nuance. Many of the more interesting stories live somewhere between obvious answers; if there are competing perspectives, acknowledge them. If your own thinking changed while reporting or writing, let readers see that journey. Complexity is not confusion, or an overabundance of information. It is honesty.
A story should never feel like it exists merely to demonstrate how knowledgeable, well-traveled, intellectual, or morally enlightened the writer is. The writer is a guide, not the destination. The goal is to illuminate the issue, not ourselves.
Ironically, the more specific your observations are, the more universal they often become. Instead of writing: “People are lonely nowadays.” Show us:
Readers arrive at universal truths through particular moments
Insights should emerge from reporting, observation, experience, or careful thinking. Avoid making broad claims simply because they sound profound. Ask yourself: “What have I shown the reader that earns this conclusion?” If the evidence isn’t there, the insight probably isn’t ready.
Assume your reader knows better than you, and smarter than you. Avoid overexplaining, oversimplifying, or announcing what they should think or feel. Trust them to connect the dots.
A good ending doesn’t merely summarize. It expands. The final paragraphs should leave readers with a broader way of seeing the subject than when they first arrived. Not every question needs answering, but readers should feel that something has shifted.
We generally publish writing that is:
Among the kinds of stories we often publish are:
What surprised me while writing this?
What larger question is this story really about?
Have I shown readers enough before explaining?
Is every paragraph moving the story forward?
Does the ending leave readers with something to think about?
Would someone still enjoy reading this five years from now?
If the answer to most of these questions is yes, you’re probably close to a Weekender story.
