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?.”


“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.

City’s Chess Champion (Part Three)

I giggled and want to mock her. I picked up the piece of paper containing my poem to Ita and gave it to her. I explained to her,

“If you want to know the girl’s name, her name is on this poem, Henny.”

My sister’s name was Henny indeed, she grabbed my poems and watched. She looked frowned. I was getting excited to tease her.

“Who ?.”

“There’s her name there,” I explained.

“There’s not,” said Henny.

I laughed and teased her even more excited.

“I hid that on the poem’s phrases.”

“Of course on certain systematic, Henny.”

“There’s not.”

“There is.”

I grew up with laughter. I was getting excited to mock Henny. My younger sister who still on second grade at our school. Suddenly her face lit up.

“Aha, I know.”

“La-ti-fa,” she said. Trying to solve the puzzle on my poem.

Then she burst out laughing. Turned me helpless embarrassment. I tried to grab the paper from her hand. But apparently Henny had already wary. She maintain that piece of paper. Henny ran toward the houseyard to avoid my grabbed of the piece of paper. She giggling continued to examine the white paper writing.

“Latifa who ya, brother ?”

“Aaaah, I know, it’s obvious anyway.”

“La-ti-fa Ra-mo-ni-ta.”


Henny laughed out loud. Harder than the previous one. I chased her to return the piece of paper. She ran faster and screaming all the way.

“I know, I know.”

“I know your girlfriend’s name, big brother.”

I pursued my sister who ran to the road. I wanted to grab a piece of paper containing my poem from her hands. My sister ran very fast. Firmer than usual, so I could not chased her.


When on the sixth grade, I entered as redactor of the “Derap” student magazine. “Derap” mean “Tramp” in English. As I recall, only me was selected as editor that came on this grade. Therefore, my name was the most distended on the order of the editorial board.