High School Autobiography (Hero Generation)
CHAPTER 10: NOT HURT.
“What is the importance of our history up to our underclassmen should know our story?” a question beyond my expectations, I knew that if he tested the extent of my intelligence, he was wise so he also knew the exact answer.
But, I'm undaunted, I accepted the Azopa exam!
“We have an important event, which in addition to changing the mindset of our underclassmen, we also have experiences that are able to strengthen their mentality!” I answered with confidence.
“Experiences and events? Mindset and mental ya?” re-question Azopa while lowering his gaze for the sake of contemplating.
“Hem.” I nod my head steadily, the sign of my speech was mandatory digugu.
“But ... the history of the nation's heroes, feels more important, why don't they just read those stories?” azopa asked not finished testing me.
And because of that question, I was excited, as if I could not think clearly, damn, I was confused to answer what, Azopa's question did have a point, even spelled out very precisely. But I hurriedly took a breath into my lungs, rearranging the rhythm of breathing that had been not calm.
“We cannot match those histories, but, what we are aiming for is the closeness of our time or time that is not far from our underclassmen, thus creating a strong relationship with their lives, he said, to make them feel like they have a comrade in arms, thus, a spirit of survival is formed, and in fact, the goal is not to equal past history, nor to rival it, I assert, he said, my goal is to encourage our underclassmen, in short, we write history to record how important a life is,” I clearly feel right.
Azopa looked pensive for a while, until she finally spoke again.
“Sorry chairman, your answer is not right, everything is true, but, not enough to make me willing to write my autobiography, for me, my life is not as important as the heroes.”
“Not as important as the heroes?” sindirku.
“Hem.” Azopa nodded in confirming.
“Then take note in history, that you are part of the story of the heroes! That's why you have to write your autobiography!” my door tried to stir up interest.
“Sorry, I prefer to read the stories of the heroes, rather than having to bother to be part of the heroes, and that is the same for me,” concluded Azopa, sitting back down.
I was only able to throw a sigh of resignation, it was difficult to defeat Azopa's argument, but it seemed, Azopa was indeed intending to provoke my intellectuals, I don't know what he looked like, after all I can still accept it, the atmosphere is now much more difficult than the initial atmosphere, Azopa's words have made my friends here incited by his arguments, the doubt to write an autobiography began to get stronger.
Vume, the calculating girl, the nerd, the bespectacled man with long black hair that was rolled down to his back, he bowed to the truth of Azopa's speech.
Wisty, the black-haired girl on her shoulder who framed her sweet round face, looked down anxiously, she did not know what to do, but I was sure, she was just following her friends, that is, she was, not to talk.
Perto, the melancholic man, the black man, had a stiff face but he was very melancholic, was instigated by Azopa's words, to the point that he was bowed.
All the students were pondering about what decision was best to make.
“Hei! C'mon guys! It's just a school project, why is it so hard to join, it's like writing a diary!” Urged Anka began to be inflamed upset, his gaze he directed all his friends hope all join.
“Iya! It's a school project, we all have to write, you just have to tell me the beginning of your life, if it's a disgrace, you can disguise yourself, or just tell me about your happy life. And this is actually Guru Sukada's order,” timpalku reinforces Anka's idea.
The silence was still spreading, spending seven seconds, for then Ovy raised his right hand, making all the attention now fell on Ovy.
“Sorry, if it is an order from the teacher, we should also call the teacher here,” Ovy's advice to impress giving the best enlightenment in the brain of every student.
Some of the disciples began to recite the word Ovy, which was indeed a genius.
And because some of my friends were urging to call Master Sukada, so forced, I left the classroom to the Master room, actually the Master room is not so far away, precisely, is next to the 12th grade, however, it is, a mango tree becomes the barrier between the Teacher's room and the class of students, also close to the school gate, a room that is shades of gray with 4 teacher desks littered by school files, this space is quite spacious, the cabinets here seem antique, how not, since the first school was built, the teak cabinet has been there to accompany the important files in it. Guru Sukada's desk is at the end of the room, facing the second entrance. I knocked on the open door for the sake of politeness, and Guru Sukada was reading a book on his desk, no matter what kind of book, he said, at least the cover of the red book was very contrasting when compared to the nuances in this room.
“Excuse me guru.” I tried to call Guru Sukada politely still standing in the doorway.
Teacher Sukada looked at me, he closed the book and put it on his desk.
“Oh .. come on please ..” said Guru Sukada.
I stepped into the Master's room, directing all the eyes that I could see to know who was in the Master's room, in fact, there was no one, except for Teacher Sukada, who was there, and I'm the bonus.
“What's Laisa?” teacher Sukada asked with a smile.
I was standing in front of Guru Sukada's desk, seeing Guru Sukada sitting relaxed in his wheelchair, his innocent face still implied that he was a smart person but his glasses gave the impression that he was a geeky man.
“Tadi, I've invited friends to write an autobiography, then .. they asked me to call the teacher .. their goal is they want to know directly if writing the autobiography is the teacher's order ...,” my speech as clear as possible, hoping that Teacher Sukada will join the 12th grade.
Teacher Sukada nodded his head to digest my words before he finally spoke.
“Yes, that means, they don't believe what you're saying? Or are they looking for the truth of what you say?”
How strange the question of Master Sukada, so that I must frown, pondering carefully what Master Sukada is looking for.
“They are looking for Teacher Sukada, he said want to know directly from the teacher,” answered me plainly.
After all, I was really confused as to why Master Sukada asked again, didn't he want this task?
“Begin only, tell your friends who want to join the school project to come here, or those who want to know the truth tell come here, let the teacher explain, and if they do not want, you only write,” continued Guru Sukada suggested.
But I was silent for a moment, before I finally nodded, then decided to leave.
I am quite happy with Teacher Sukada's decision, yes, even though the teacher did not want to come, but at least he has given his best advice.
And when I got to the classroom, who was again standing in front of the blackboard, facing my friends, putting on a serious face, complete with high self-confidence, the great thing is my friends are still sitting sweet on their respective benches, as well as Anka, has returned to sitting.
Without further ado I immediately explained what Teacher Sukada had asked all the students, finished me explaining, it seems that from the look of their faces implies asking, asking, even more than seven seconds they are still pensive to consider what the determination is like to be taken.
“Woy! It's just written doang, I think again like TTS aja anyway ..,” Anka quipped as loud as possible to hope his friends as soon as possible make a decision.
Although Anka had already voiced her unrest, her friends were still stingy.
“He ... just wrote doang!” added urgently.
Silence and waiting are actions that I can now do, it's okay if my friends decide not to take part in this project, however this is not a force, or rather an obligation. In the end, the twentieth second became the end of my friends' musings, but unfortunately this was not a good thing, because, Anterta had stood up wearing his carry-bag, and without manners, without saying goodbye, he walked away from class.
Insolent, he put on his flat face, pitching in front of me like I never was.
In fact, not long ago, Stovi the babylon girl also went without a goodbye, she did not even look at me at all.
“Sorry class president, I can't come, Azopa is right, and .. sorry I can't,” Elpan said then went home.
“I'm lazy to write.” Oteda said briefly and he left.
“I can't write autobiography.” Sentia chimed in.
“Sorry, I don't have time for that.” Kily is gone.
“Ma-sorry class president, I, I can't write.” Oqde.
“Sorry, I can't, because the effect is like that strange, autobiographical writing for the underclassmen? Bener-ener nyeleneh.” Nuita's gone too.
“I don't want to come, it's not my job,” ketus Tozka, who left too.
“Sorry yes, actually, Ovy would like to come along, but, Ovy would like to ask directly with his Sukada Master.” Reveal Ovy left but he seems to want to take the time to ask Teacher Sukada first.
“I can't come.” Loze left for no apparent reason.
“Sorry I can't.” and for no reason Cludy also came home.
“I'm not interested, see you again.” Azopa went home, she also refused, however, she seemed to insist that it took time to weigh up her decision, precisely waiting for the clarity of my words.
Vume and Verto also come home, they are not interested in the reason is also not clear.
“I don't know what to do, if autobiographical writing I'm afraid of being wrong, so sorry yes, I want to go home aja.” Wisty was the last person to close the assurance that none of my friends had joined.
So this assembly failed to get anyone to join the school project, and I was only able to accept all these facts with great heart, really no problem, again this is not an obligation.
The silir wind blew slowly, penetrating into the classroom, making the atmosphere as cool as possible.
Now that the 12th grade is empty, all the students except me and my best friend are still here.
“Haah .. pasahalkan this school project, rather than nulis doang what is difficult anyway,” lamented Anka sat down with a disappointed face.
I also grabbed my carry bag, no comments from me, again, I have received everything, and there is no pain in the slightest, but somehow Anka feels now, she is a bit disappointed, indeed, but that was all I knew, then with Anka I rushed to go home.
At 16:30 dusk into the night, the orange sky seems to stretch like a symbol of beauty today, the cool air flowed gently into the city of Artana, sturdy bike with a relaxed, relaxed, enjoying every gust of air that surrounds this twilight, walking the streets that start to be crowded with passing humans, and two-wheeled vehicles with four wheels becomes a bonus view of my return, the clear twilight sky, and the, it seemed to stir up my feelings of joy, to cast a shadow in my mind, that the perfection of life I had truly achieved, today, I give full thanks to my God, the destiny I had was so perfect, he said, I have the honor, have good friends, have the most understanding life partner, that's what makes me dare to conclude that my life is perfect and must be admitted, like that is perfect. That's how I thought.
Until my journey has reached its end. I have arrived at my house. The bike had been parked in the garage, and I had been sitting on the lip of the mattress, checking my smartphone, my carry bag had been placed on the ceramic floor next to the mattress.
There was not much interest in my room, only a portrait of my wife and husband attached to a white painted wall beside the mattress, it was the only interior that decorated the walls, wall lights were not included, it was the only interior that decorated the walls, my room was brown white, I had two wardrobes next to the bathroom door, one closet for play clothes, while the other for parties, which was all my clothes I rarely wear, she said, what else I have a dressing table and so I never use, dust is proof of how lazy I am to clean, while my husband's closet is right next to my dresser, she also rarely changes her clothes, the bonus is we have a drawer table next to the mattress.
This time, I resumed my autobiography, there is still much that has not been written, as I had a jotos with a father, because casually the father almost sexually assaulted me, plus, I once got a restaurant waitress into a big hospital I broke her right hand, it also happened because the man was talking impolite, which is clear, he said, many of my life experiences seem worth writing, although in fact I do not know how many words to write, so just guess, that I wrote enough.
Writing an autobiography until my husband comes home is what I have done, it's just that my autobiography has not been completed, of course because this time as a good wife, I have to cook in the kitchen, I have to cook in the kitchen, serving a dish that made my beloved husband always fall in love with me.
She loves chicken soup and that's what I'm going to cook this time.
