Teens Love Romantism (Part Four)




“You should be happy if your son is still a baby, mBak Ida.”

Mbak Ida smiled. then my mom’s went back to her conversation.

“Just look if he’s crying.”

“Oooo, he’s hungry, just breastfeed him, done.”

“If he’s crying again, just checked again.”

“Oooo, pee, wet diapers.”

“Just change the diapers, settled, silence is the child.”

“The hard thing is if the child has started to be teenager mBak Ida.”

“Why so Mrs. Toha?”

“Should he not bother anymore, should he?.”

“Who says it?,” my mother interrupted.

“It’s a lot more troublesome indeed, mBak Ida.”

“Especially if he’ve got a calf-love.”

“Make a parent’s headache.”

“Ooooo, isn’t it, Mrs Toha?,” mBak Ida answered.

They burst into laugher. I feel satirical. To me, that’s not funny at all. Mbak Ida turned to our house, she watched me watching the three of them through the window. She laughed even harder. My mother followed mBak Ida’s gaze toward the window. She saw me grinning there.

“Yups, that’s my son who is in love, just a calf-love,” my mom explained to mBak Ida which was grinned as well.

I disappeared through the window. I picked up the book I was borrowing from the school library from inside my school bag. I started reading it. A book written by Prof. Dr. Zakiyah Darajat about bright children and its development as an adult. In the book was written the fact that many children were brilliant when in their childhood, but faded brilliance as adults for various reasons. I drowned in my reading and forgot their conversation.

I have forgotten my childhood interest on Dewi. The girl was also a class with me stepping on this period of Junior High School. Clever, with stable academic achievement on school, that was Dewi I always knew when I was with her. Three years I was with her in a class at this junior high school as a classmate.




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.




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




I walked towards Psychiatry Polyclinic. Wipe sweat from my forehead with the my right palm hand. I did not bring a handkerchief. After finding Psychiatry Polyclinic, I immediately handed the files received from the registration booth and expressed what I mean. To meet with a psychiatrist.

The clerk at the Saiful Anwar General Hospital Psychiatry Policlinic was not asking a lot. She just told me to sit and wait. So, I sat down, and waited there.

Other patient started to arrive. There was an old man who came escorted by his daughter. His daughter was very beautiful. She was wearing a blazzer an skirt with matching color and model. The old man had appeared exhausted. Then comes a mother who brings her child to check. Her son was a depressed university student.

All patients who came was delivered by one or several members of his family, except me. Only I who came myself in Saiful Anwar General Hospital Psychiatric Policlinic to see the psychiatrist. A boy, twelve years old. PPSP Malang Teachers’ Training College Junior High School student which registered using his student card.

Some of the patient’s family began to greet and converse with one another. They were expressing sympathy. Indeed, it would been beteer if our load was shared with others concerned. The patient’s family members were also ill in fact, in their own way. Accompanying the sick person obviously tiring.

I did not intend to follow chatting with them. Some patients’ families asked me about the purpose of my coming over there. I answered with the necessary and short. I did not want to sell out my grief to other person, except a professional who deliberately trained for it.

Some coas came in one big group. Coas were a medical student who has completed the theory lectures. Now they learned to practice the knowledge they got from the Faculty of Medicine. Usually they do it in a teaching hospital as well.They entered a room. Not long afterwards a female coas call my name,




photograph by Astungkara Wiguna