The Hell On My Own Home (Part Seven)




“How is it, Mom ?.”

“Do you meet Poniti ?,” I asked wondering.

“Yups,” my mother replied with red face like boiled crabs.

“I’ve met her husband, too,” she continued angrily.

“Then ?,” I asked, surprised and curious.

“It seems that her husband had been out and let it,” my mother replied.

I was surprised. I was very surprised with adult life. Included with my mother’s decision to maintain her marriage to my father. My family have been incredible strangely. I feel a headache. Dizzy.

In the fifth grade, my mother reminded me to start preparing for the final exam. But I was too lazy to learn. It felt life was no hope anymore. I was embarrassed to have this kind of family.




photograph by Iwan J Prasetyo

The Hell On My Own Home (Part Six)




Entering the fifth grade, we change the school’s uniform. Our uniform was now following national uniform on our country, Indonesia. From that moment we were wearing red and white uniforms for students in grade one to grade five. Blue and white uniforms for grade six to grade eight. Previously, we wore the uniform beige shirts, and dark green’s shorts or skirts for all students on grade one to graduation on grade eight.

That afternoon Mom dressed more neatly than usual. She was wearing a blouse and skirt suited with her blouse. In addition, she also powdered and wearing lipstick which was rarely worn her. Unless there were on PKK meeting or school’s family gathering occasions. PKK was the association of mothers and or wifes on every hutments in Indonesia.

“Where are you going, Mom ?,” I asked.

“Poniti’s house,” my mother replied bluntly. Poniti was the name of a neighbor on the next alley. Our hutment was having tantrum because her very open affair with my father.

“Why her husband keep calm seeing his wife have an affair with my husband,” my mother continued uneasy.

I raised my eyebrows and shaking shoulders. Poniti was a neighbor who became my father umpteenth affair since I was a very little child. This time they’ve been on very open affair that became the talk of the neighborhood. Strangely my father’s calm with this kind of situation. Damn.

He can play a lot of persona. As a respected teacher as well as authoritative Vice Principal on his school workplace. As a husband and father who liked to beat his wife and children when was not in the mood. And also as a man who was enrapturely warm to his affair. Really a true psychopath.

She returned after a couple of time afterwards. Her face was calm even looked little upset. I questioned my mom,




(pict by Astungkara Wiguna)

The Hell On My Own Home (Part Five)




Some of my friends were very prominent on Sports. Perhaps their kinesthetic intelligence were very high. I was mediocre in this lesson. Not at all obtrusive. In contrast to Heru or Sugeng for example. Or perhaps Ira and Jujuk.

After the sports lesson, we changed clothes in the locker room as well. Gaguk asked me to follow him. Turned out he was headed to the school’s backside. There was a small kitchen for Mr. Koso, the school janitor, usually made tea for the teachers. Mr. Koso immediately welcomed us and poured two glasses of tea. Oh, it seemed Gaguk’s intent to invite me ther. Enjoying Mr. Koso homemade tea when throat dried due to thirst after sports.

After drinking tea in Mr. Koso’s kitchen behind the school, we having talked while walked to the class. Gaguk expressed his complaint to me about his Mathematics’ examination had been corrected by my father. Dad, as well as Vice Headmaster of the school, also being Mathematics’ teacher.

“I have an ugly mark indeed, Mit.”

“According to your Dad, I might not be able to get good marks because I’m stupid as well.” He said, looking plaintively. I did not dare laugh at a funny look on his face though.

“If I can do the examination with good mark, he said I definitely cheating.”

I listened to Gaguk’s lament patiently.

“Indeed, usually I never learning,” he admitted frankly.

“But when do your Dad’s exam, I have really learned,” he continued with a pleading face.

“The reason is because I like that subject.”

I became impatient,

“Why did you not protest to Mr. Toha directly ?,” I gave him a way out.

“Indeed I’ve protested to Mr. Toha, your Dad.”

“Then ?,” I asked curiously.

“He didn’t trust me.”

I laughed at the end of Gaguk’s story. Actually, I also sympathized. But I couldn’t did anything to solve Gaguk’s problems with his Mathematics test score.




The Hell On My Own Home (Part Four)




“I can no longer attending dance training with you all.”

Dewi widened her eyes. Obviously she protested my decision. But, indeed she had not known that it was not my decision yet. I had no other way but speaking frankly to her, my beautiful and georgeous friend.

“My father forbid me to do so.”

Dewi silenced a thousand words. She wiould not been possible to protest again. My father was the Vice Headmaster at our school. When the Performing Arts having been performed, and our class were perform without my attending, I cried without words on the stands. No one notices me because all were busy with theirselves. Enjoy the spectacle and the next spectacle.

We were getting ready to attend the Sports lessons. I and all my classmates went to the place to change our uniform school with sports uniform as well. That place called the locker room. The locker room was on another side of our school. The room was equipped with lockers to store our school bags. Till now, I never know where the girl students changing their uniforms as well.

Our sports lessons was so ordinary. Nothing special. Our activities on the schools was tantamount to sporting events at other schools in this country. We played rounders, in that game, we used a tennis ball instead of usual baseball indeed. This was done so that the child got hit by ball on their body not too felt pain. A baseball was usually harder and heavier. Hit by pitch certainly much more pain indeed.

After doing simple gymnastics by Mr. Bambang Basuki guidance, we were soon playing rounders. Mr. Bambang Basuki was our sport’s teacher. The class was divided into two groups. Mr. Bambang having acted as referee. We bet and chased each other on the school yard. Points followed one after the two groups. Friends shouted if there was a friend who got hit the tennis ball we’re using to play.




(pict by Emile Seno Aji)

The Hell On My Own Home (Part Three)




We practiced dancing with excitement. Almost every day we practiced dancing with the guidance of Meta. I often left the house to attend the dance rehearsal. Usually the exercises were held in Dewi’s house on Simpang Bogor Street or Vita’s home at Adisucipto Street. Usually I went home after Maghrib praying time at the afternoon.

Because of the excitements practicing dancing, my job at home to draw well water to fulfill the tub and keg for cooking becomes dormant. Dad blocked my way when returned home from practice dancing with friends,

“Where have you been?.”

“Exercise dancing.” I replied with fear. My father often hit me with his own hands. It took many years before I realized that my father was actually crazy. He did not want to see his children got ahead in life.

Then it happened as I expected before, Dad hit me until staggered. He slapped and hit me on my cheek and head thoroughly. Sometimes forehand, either with his backhand too. Totally inappropriate conducted by an educator or teacher. Surprisingly, none of his fellow teachers could advise him not to did so. Because of that his madness became so worsen.

“From now on you should not join the dancing !.”

“I forbid you to do so, STUPID !,” he continued while did cast final blow. It was a forehand as well.

“Leave, draw water out there.”

“You are not filial to your Dad, you know STUPID !,” I heard his scream having got crazier.

With head still dizzy and spinning eyes I then walked towards the well. When I was drawing water from the well, again my father hit me from behind. I was used to my father’s beat up. That’s why I did not cry. My tears had dried indeed.

On the next day, I told Dewi that I could no longer following dance training. Dewi usually indeed became a leader for any event conducted by our class. I looked sadly to her and said,




The Hell On My Own Home (Part Two)




Mostly I filled the column of poetry and short stories. Anyway, I wrote for the Humor section as well. This column was always eagerly waited by friends. Tickling and ridiculous caricatures were often constrained by the illustrator. Editors and illustrator selected from the students ranging from grade six to grade eight.

One day, it happened that Utje protesting my short story’s work published by “Derap”. In her opinion, such work might not been made by kids on our age,

“You must copying this story from magazine out there, Mit.”

“Nope,” I protested.

“My mother said, it isn’t possible this story written by children on our age.”

“I just can not believe that you wrote this short story yourself,” said Utje stubborn.

I did not manage to convince Utje though I had tried to explain to her. I also did not know the differences between the work of the children on our age with the work of elder people. One day, Astrid, a friend of mine kept smiling at me. When I questioned why she kept smiling looking at me, she just snapped shortly,

“The Amateur Hunters.”

Astrid smiled again. I smiled back to her. It was my short story were published in the “Derap” student magazine on newest published edition.

We also charged annual Performing Arts Show event held by the school. Each class participated to fill the Performing Arts events were usually held at night. There were serving short fragments, singing on a choir, or dance. The most interesting thing were usually the students’ performances senior classes, such as the seventh and eighth grades. They had been able to create a fragment that contains songs and dances that portray a story.

At that time, our class was preparing for a show for the School Performing Arts. We would presented a contemporary dance. The dance would been performed by eight boys and girls on our class. Meta, Vita’s elder sister, would trained us to dance. We’re going to dance Meta’s own work contemporary dance as well.