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.

Teens Love Romantism (Second Part)

Apparently the plan was really interesting to me. I will enjoy playing the game with my son and daughter later in the future. But, for that, of course I need an effort that is not easy. I have to find a future wife. If I do not have a wife, how can I get a child?. Do you think that I’m a kind of magic person?.

In the inter-class events were also held an art competition for smaller classes. Among them were singing contest and declamation contest. My fourth sister, Henny, also attended the singing and recital contest. Declamation is the reading of poetry without seeing the text. Surely more difficult than ordinary poetry readings. My sister, Henny also accelerated from the small zero class straight into the first grade of elementary school. Just like my other sister, Hany.

At that afternoon, I happened to witness the declamation contest that my sister followed. I did want to watch it declaim. If there’s something funny, there’s stuff to mock and laughed her at home. It must be great.

I went to 3A classroom where the contest was held. My own sister was a participant of second grade. Her body was small and still in school uniform. Like the other participants, she was dressed in a red and white uniform, as well as most of the audience in the room to watch.

There were only a handful of students in blue-white uniforms to see. They were junior high school student like me. Most were female students.

Henny’s name was called and I started grinning. Anything I could make laughing at home from her appearance, then I should certainly pay attention to. Henny came to the front of the room and got ready. He took the microphone from Mrs. Ratna’s hands, our teacher. The audience applauded. I also clapped for her, my sister. She did not realize that I was watching her attending the declamation contest.

Here’s The Circumcision’s Pain (Part Eight)

When I got home, I read books that I bought with my sister. My younger sister was also pleased to read story books. It was great to read a book of my own. Did not borrow at the library or friends at school. So engrossed we read. The world seemed to belong to me indeed.

The next day my father knew that I had bought the book from Gramedia Bookstore. He got very angry and asked my books just purchased. It was not my father’s money to buy them, but a love sign of the guests when I was circumcised. Indonesian society literacy level was still very low. Even recently. Supposedly he was glad that his children love to read. Moreover, my father was a teacher. A weird dad.

Once the books were collected, my father immediately took them to the kitchen and burns all my books in front of the stove. Leafed through them the books to ensure that no pieces can read from there. When burning my books, my father was still swearing,

“Gramedia Publisher.”

“This is christian publisher.”

I knew that my father was just about only reasoned. I knew that any reason out of his mouth was clearly not had quality. My father was not a good Muslim. He never prayed except ‘ied praying. That’s because everyone will be seen that he was praying as well. My father did not really believe and care about God.

For him God was himself, the truth came out from his mouth, and good deeds were his deeds. If my father having affairs, then it was right and good. If my father beat my mother and me, then it was good and right. Because my father was the source of all the truth. His attitude was expressed that sort of thing. As the Javanese philosophy was often he recalled, the parents was a seen god. And Gods can never go wrong, how rotten was him. And he was acting like God in his own house. He determined everything, and could not possibly be wrong. His word was law, and his behavior was the truth that must be obeyed by all.

photograph by Astungkara Wiguna