Teens Love Romantism (Part Three)




The class became quiet. And there was Henny’s loud voice roaring.

“Poem without any title,” I became alarmed.

Then she continued,

Langkah kakiku semakin perlahan.


Tikas cahaya yang kupandang pun meredup.

Fakta mengatakannya.

God, is not that my poem for Ita, my class junior?. It felt like my ears were hot and red. There was no way she could memorize the poem. Especially reading it for the reclamation contest at school. I watched her more closely.

Ramai orang mengatakan.

Tumor yang bersemayam di tubuhku.

Sedih nian tak terkatakan.

Tengadah tangan memohon ampun padaNya.

God, Henny really memorized my poem for Ita without text. I have translated this poem in English at the previous chapter. I became annoyed, I immediately got out of the class with red face and hot ears. On the way to the house I thought, thought about what should I do with that my grating younger sister whether she came home later. It must be something very evil.

That afternoon, my mother was talking to mBak Ida. Mbak is a common call for older women or used as a form of homage. Together with her husband, mBak Ida was a new resident in our hutment. They occupied a house belonging to Mr. Nasikin across the street. At that time, mBak Ida was walking around holding her three-month-old baby.

“Get your son on the street seeing, mBak Ida?.”

“Yes Ma’am,” answered mBak Ida, smiling.

“What’s your son’s name?.”

“Giovani.”

“Boy or girl?,” asked my mother again.

“He’s a boy?,” mBak Ida answered. Smiling again.

“You must be happy!.”

Once again mBak Ida smiled at my mother. Then my mother continued her conversation with mBak Ida. My mother approached the baby Giovani which was in her mother’s arms. She stroked the stubborn baby’s head when tried to talk to him. The presence of baby Giovani in our environment makes me happy. Imagine, I got a friend, Javanese with an Italian name.




Bisera (Part Two)




I rarely speak with Mr. Henky anyway. I mostly dealt with Bambang and Bisera. Mr. Henky often going out of the country. Usually to Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. Sometimes accompanied by Mrs. Rini, his wife from Sampang. Mr. Henky’s wife was very georgeous, grace and pretty. She had her own business on Matraman region. As a civil engineer from Bandung Institute of Technology, she had a construction business with several of her companions. I happen to know that the construction business was named PT Inti Perkasa Delta.

Sometimes Mrs. Rini come to our company’s building. She brought dishes from the restaurant for all the employees here. Sometimes I had got it, but sometimes I missed as well. There are thirty-six employees in PT Delta Central Perkasa.

Mrs. Rini had about the same age with me. Whether she graduated from Department of Civil Engineering at the Bandung Institute of Technology, then I graduated from the Department of Mechanical Engineering, University of Gadjah Mada. My university located on Yogyakarta. But I was not so close with Mrs. Rini. I deliberately kept our distance as well. I did not want to fall in love with her. How ridiculous if you fell in love with your boss’s wife, didn’t you?.

“Let’s go,” Bisera commanded me. She brought her beloved laptop.

“All right,” I replied, “But I’ll say goodbye to Mr. Bambang first.”

“Bambang went to Singapore.”

“Oh, for what matters?” I asked.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s none of your business anyway”

I followed behind her. Bisera walked with grace and confidence. Her chin slightly raised upwards. Having simple makeup but interesting. Her lips was so natural with a thin sweep of lip-gloss. Actually, this girl was pretty enough, I thought. But her grumpy was like a kind of devil.

We went down the stairs to get to the court office. When we got there, Mr. Sonny, one of the company’s driver who managed to fetch the staff already heat up the car. A diesel-powered Suzuki Panther. The car seemed well maintained. For a company engaged in our field, the impression on the customer was extremely important. For that reason, our performance should be kept outstanding on front of them. Including the performance of the car that drove us.




(pict by Astungkara Wiguna)

A Wife For Me (Part Two)




I smiled when recalling the incident. At least twice I heard the testimony of girls about the scarcity of me for them.

“If you think I’m a rarely man, why didn’t you klon?,” I said then, “You’re a medical people, why don’t you take my fingernails or hair and then you klon so that people like me become many and not rare anymore.” Klon is a loan word in Indonesian for clone in English.

“Yeah Mas, .. dikeloni,” snapped a friend of Wilma. Just a few days later I knew that her name was Wuri. Dikeloni is Indonesian for bedded, and Mas is a common greeting to the man with the objective of respect. The Dentistry’s students who were around the place looked over and stop their chatts for a moment. Then they laughed surprisingly. Including Wilma and Wuri. I was so naive that time until didn’t dare to smile.

I heard later Wilma married to a police officer. And I did not know how about her lately. I know, Wuri had a relationship with Wawan, a friend of Chemical Engineering. Perhaps they were now married and have several children. Who knows?.

“You’re dreaming,” said the leggings girl to me.

I stammered for a moment, “Yes,” I replied innocently at her. I told her I remembered the events of ten years ago. At that time, I was a student at a large university in Yogyakarta. And even its reputation in this country have no doubt. I told her that when I was a student, I also heard the obviously similar comments about me.

“You’re also a student, right?.”

“And you make efforts covering your college cost yourself?.”

“Yes,” she replied dryly.

I stared at her face deeply. Really pretty. Apparently the girl was uncomfortable with the way I looked. She brushed her hair backside shortly. I smell the scent of expensive perfume that was commonly used by high class family university students. I rustled my heart for a moment.




Photograph by Ragil Suryo Raharjo at Omah Sedulur.

A Wife For Me (Part One)

A Wife For Me

A Short Story by Fermy Nurhidayat




The girl got up from the chair that has been occupied for a couple of time. Her tight pants was so clearly visible on both my eyes. The eyes of a man who had a normally lust. I was tempted to do something to her. Silhouette was extremely tempting. However, I had to pay for this overnight.

“So, what do you want from me?”, she asked.

“We just talk”, I replied.

The woman laughed. “You’re funny,” she said later. Rows of white teeth implies that the tooth was treated well. “What’s so funny?,” I asked then after the laughter subsided. Expand my friendly smile. “You’re not like any other man I know,” she said afterwards. Again my smile slowly expanded.

I happened to remember the events about ten years ago. A girl was also said to me like that. Ah, … It had been very long time ago. A girl from the Faculty of Dentistry. We’re good friends and she had been patching some of my teeth on Dental Conservative Laboratory. She asked me to do that after complaining about my perforated teeth to her.

Stories become a short romantic story afterwards. I used to visit her so often to her boarding house to discuss various things. It’s start from personal life to the story of the political conditions in our country, Indonesia. That short love story then did not continue after I knew that Wilma, the dentistry’s girl, also had been being visited by other students. Most of them were people of the Graduate Program on University of Gadjah Mada, our university. I become reluctant to prolonge the relationship.

“You’re obviously a rare man,” said Wilma when we rest in the courtyard of Dental Conservation Laboratory which was filled with Dentistry students. Most of them chatting on spare time before being commanded entered by the laboratory supervisor. Promptly at nine in the morning.

“What rare?” I asked her.

“You’re not like any other man I know,” said Wilma later. She laughed, showing a row of white teeth at me. Just like the girl in this hotel room. Ten years later.



“Sepur Tumbuk’s” Driver (Part Five)




“Hands on”, exclaimed Mrs. Yati as she raised her hands above his head. My friends soon mimicked what was done by the teacher. I raised my hand with hesitation.

“Hands to the side”, so then Mrs. Yati ordered to children while giving an example. Deftly then my friends doing what the teacher ordered. Oh, the school is only so simple like this.. so anyway, I thought, if only so easy anyway. I also can. do it with ease.

“Hands down the front”. Soon many little hands outstretched. Ah it is so easy, I thought.

“Sitting sweet”, thus Mrs. Yati command. Friends soon folded hands on a bench and watched Mrs. Yati who was standing in front of the class. I did not get any significant difficulties on this lesson.

Classrooms TK-1 had a light green wall. There are two black chalkboard in front of the class. One for Small Zero and another for the Great Zero class. Colorful benches arranged encircling the class. Red, blue, brown, yellow and green. The pictures on the wall were the work of the students previously installed adorn the walls. Some of them are now sitting in the Great Zero class now. There were pictures of some fish were swimming. One of them had cross-eyed. I felt sorry for the fish.

“Now we learn to sing”, said Mrs. Yati.

“Imitate me, children”.

And we immediately imitate the singing teacher.

“Tell me O carpenter,

How do you hit a hammer?”

See see, my son

Here’s how to hit the hammer “

We all the classmates sing the new song happily. Class Zero Big sing with us. My friends are very happy, as happy as me. I had almost forgotten in my goal to be a crushed.gauge driver.

Then Mrs. Tutik took over the leadership of the class. She taught us Small Zero class another song. Great Zero class seems to have memorized the song, but inevitably they also listened Mrs. Tutik words which was hypnotic.

“Look at a distant point on the high seas

Increasingly clear form apparently

That steamer sailing

White smoke is billowing in the air “

We were singing happily again. Did not feel it was already noon, the sound of bells pinged from another class. Mrs. Yanizar who served to rang the bell to get in, break and disperse the class.

That afternoon I went home with a good cheer feeling. That is my first day of school.




pict by Emile Seno Aji

“Sepur Tumbuk’s” Driver (Part Three)




I held out my hand to Mrs. Tutik as I reached out my hand to shake hands with Yati earlier. Again, I cone my mouth in front of my mother.

“Dear me, you are very handsome,” said Mrs. Tutik and pinched my cheek.

“Just like his father,” she continued.

“My son is more handsome ,” my mother protested.

They all laughed uproariously. I do not understand what they were laughing about.

“Who is the eminent primacy sires,” said Mrs. Yati glancing at my mother. Again the three of them chuckled. I still do not understand what they were talking about.

In conversations and boisterous voices of children playing at the schoolyard, suddenly heard the bell was rung by a teacher dressed in black with a foliage pattern of dark blue and green. A few days later I learned that her name was Mrs. Yanizar.

Mrs. Yati and Mrs. Tutik said goodbye to my mother. They quickly gathered their young students to enter TK-1 classrooms. TK stands for Taman Kanak-Kanak in Bahasa which means Kindegarten in English. Bustling noise of children eagered to enter the classroom. Mom came over and looked down.

“When the time to go home come, Mom will waiting at Pak Slamet’s home “, she message me. She showed a cottage at the other end of a walkway leading to the school. There are two houses there. The house were for carers and the school janitor.

My mother immediately walked towards the house that had been designated herself. My number two’s sister followed her. My number three’s brother was still sleeping soundly in my mother’s arms.

School grounds immediately deserted. I did not move from where I stood. From a distance I saw her chatting with Mrs. Upik, she was Pak Slamet’s wife. Then they rushed into the house. Mother immediately vanished from my sight. And I was alone in the yard.

I looked at the school yard with curiousity, there are two great rounds to play turn-round. To complete it, there are three swings and two slides and a climbing frame of iron. At that time, probably my kindergarten was kindergarten with the best facilities on Malang City. To enter first grade of PPSP IKIP Malang, we should able to read. This condition were not found on other schools.

Most of schools gave lessons of reading at the first grade. English Lessons were given in the fourth grade of primary school. At that time English teaching was typically given for the students on first grade of Junior High. Science lessons were divided into Biology and Physics Lessons on the fourth grade also. And we have Trade Administration Lesson in the fourth grade again.

I’ve already told my mom that I did not go to school. I did not want my chance to be a sepur tumbuk driver will be disappeared. Therefore, I was unwilling to enter the class followed Mrs. Yati and Mrs. Tutik. I did not know what to do now in my loneliness, so I moved closer to a tree and climbed it.

From the top of the tree, I watched Pak Slamet’s home again from a distance. Breeze gently rubbed my little body. Noise of leaves and branches rustled the sound of breeze. Sunlight shadow on the leaves and stems of the trees I’d climbed forming sweet shadow-shaped circles. I did enjoyed it.

Suddenly I heard the sound of a hand-clap loudly patted.

(to be continued)




pict by Astungkara Wiguna

“Sepur Tumbuk’s” Driver (Part Two)




Row of shade trees in front and behind us chasing slowly. The trees were moving closer and away, we were riding in a rickshaw along the way yo my first school. Trees that shading the passers-by were mostly tamarind. There are also some accacia trees. After a while we’ve entered Jalan Jakarta. That is, we’ve almost reached our destination. Laboratory Kindergarten IKIP Malang.

The most interesting thing about my city’s pedicab is the bell mounted on the steering handlebars. The bell is made of an iron ring for three quarters of an adult fist. Attached to the steering handlebars using the rickshaw tire pieces cut out to form a ribbon. If pedicab driver want to ring the bell, he would pinch the metal ring that emits a vibration “therrr, … therrr” which was very typical. It was an incredible horn. Creativity of Indonesian, no other countries could imitate it.

After paying the cost, my mother took my sister and guided me to meet my first teachers. We walked slowly approached the classroom. There are two local places of learning in that school complex which belong to IKIP Malang. First local for kindergarten and another local for grade one elementary school students in PPSP IKIP Malang.

One local was for TK-1, TK-2 and TK-3, and another local which was located opposite to them was for the student of class 1A, 1B and 1C SD PPSP IKIP Malang. Higher class located on another complex in Jalan Magelang Number Four. Also owned by IKIP Malang.

I saw a lot of kids of my were playing in the school yard. I want to burst join to play with them. But I’m ashamed to my mother as already told her that I did not want to go to school. I want to be a sepur tumbuk driver. And being sepur tumbuk driver does not need school. I cone my mouth in front of my mother.

“Oooooh, … that’s Mimit come,” said a teacher. Her flawless sweet and petite. I wonder how come she knew my name.

“Come Mit, Give your hands to Mrs. Yati,” my mother commanded me sweetely. I cone my mouth in front of my mother again.

Ooooh,so her name was Mrs. Yati, I thought. Mrs. Yati approached us and chatted with my mother. Adult conversation. I had absolutely no interest.

I noticed my surroundings, my eyes glued to a little girl on my age. She has waist long hair. His eyes were narrow and had very white skin. The girl was really very charming. Finished playing swinging then she played a round with other friends. She laughed happily. I wanted to play with her, but I hesitated. I turned towards my mother who was talking with Mrs. Yati sadly and desperate. But my decision was obvious. I do not go to school because my goal was to be sepur tumbuk driver. And sepur tumbuk driver does not need school.

In the hubbub of children playing on the school yard, suddenly appeared another teacher from a classroom. The teacher was tall and beautiful, but her face looked a bit stiff. She was soon joined to my mother and Mrs. Yati.

“Mrs. Toha, how are you?,” she said to my mother.

“I’m fine, Mrs Tutik, I should get my child to go to school,” my mother replied.

“Here Mit, shake hands with Mrs. Tutik,” called my mother.

I immediately met the three of them. I already noticed in other place that many groups of mothers were hospitable. There are six teachers on Laboratory IKIP Malang. Two teachers handled a class. A teacher for the small zero class and another for big zero class. So the class room is shared for small and big zero. In TK-1, Mrs. Yati dutied for small zero class and her colleague, Mrs. Tutik teaching for big zero class. Thus the division of labor between them an the first year I’d entered school.




pict by Emile Seno Aji