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)