My Mother is a Transvestite

Chat in Warung

That day clouds clouded the sky of the city. A strong wind blew, dancing among the lush foliage on the side of the road. As a nomad in this city, Ima always found comfort in a small stall on the corner of the road. The stall belongs to Granny Siti, where Ima often stopped by to buy rice.

When Ima stepped in, the doorbell rang, telling everyone about the arrival of new customers. Inside, a young man sat with a distant look. In his hand, a book of poetry with an old leather cover opened. The breeze from the window made the pages of his poetry book sway.

"Who did you read, son?" ask Ima while stepping closer, her curiosity peaked.

The young man turned his head, his dark brown eyes meeting Ima's eyes. "Ah, this is Rumi. I love how it describes love and nature." Answer with a thin smile.

Ima smiled back, "Rumi? Ah, I like it too. Especially how he connects love with spirituality."

For a moment, the two were immersed in the chatter about poetry and the beauty of words. However, the strong wind that entered through the stall window suddenly made several chairs and tables upside down. Siti's grandmother, with her unraveling white hair and wrinkles on her face, looked panicked.

"Oh, no! The wind today was really hard," Granny Siti lamented, trying to lift the table with great difficulty.

Without hesitation, Ima stood up and walked over to Grandma. "Let me help, Grandma," he said as he rearranged the chair and table.

Raka, the mysterious young man, also immediately got up. "I will help too" he said, showing a deep expression of concern. The expression on his face at that moment very clearly showed warmth; his brows were slightly furrowed, and the corner of his lips rose, showing a sincere smile.

When the table and chairs had returned neat, Grandma Siti smiled with relief. "Thank you very much, son," he said, patting Ima and Raka gently on the back.

"Ah, no problem, Grandma. It's my favorite stall, so I feel at home" Ima replied with a light laugh, her eyes shining with joy.

Raka nodded in agreement, "I've only been here a few times, but the atmosphere and warmth of this stall really make me come back again."

The three of them laughed, even though the wind was still blowing out loud and the leaves were swaying unsteadily. In the midst of a bustling and noisy city, the small shop of Granny Siti becomes a peaceful little oasis. A place where unexpected encounters can turn into the beginning of a friendship.

The wind was still blowing, but it was already softer than before. The leaves outside the stall moved slowly, following the rhythm of the wind. The gurgling sound of water from the small aquarium in the corner of the stall adds to the peaceful impression of the place.

Raka, gently, closed her poem book and put it on the table. "Thank you for helping out" he said, staring at Ima.

Ima twirled her jet-black hair, "Oh, equally. After all, Grandma Siti was already like family to me. I've been coming here a long time."

Raka smiled, "I just moved to this city. Actually, I feel a little lonely. But talking to you, makes me feel a little warmer."

Ima looked into Raka's eyes which exuded honesty. "Oh? Where are you from?"

"From a small village in Central Java," replied Raka while playing her fingers on the table. "A quiet place, with vast green rice fields and fresh air."

"It must be beautiful" said Ima while thinking about how lucky to live in a big city but still have memories of the beauty of the countryside.

"Yes, it's beautiful. But, I left one thing that I loved very much there," Raka said with a slightly quivering tone. The look on his face changed, his lips wrinkled slightly downwards showing a deep sadness.

Raka let out a long sigh, "My cat, Milo. I raised her since she was a baby. But, I had to leave it with my grandmother when I moved here."

Ima put her hand on Raka's hand playing with a straw, "I understand your feelings. I also have a cat in my parents' house. Name's Luna. I always miss him."

Raka looked at Ima's hand which calmed her down, "You really understand the feelings of others huh."

Ema smiled, "I'm just trying to understand. We all have stories, right? And sometimes, that story makes us feel closer to others."

Raka took a deep breath, "That's right. Thank you, Ima. Talking to you makes me feel better."

The leaves outside the stall began to calm down again, along with the wind. Among the hustle and bustle of the city, in a small stall, two originally foreign souls become closer as they share a story. A simple chat in a stall, yet containing depth of emotion and understanding between two individuals.

The night wind began to subside, but the sound of crickets and light drizzling gave the atmosphere a quiet and deep. The oil lamp that Grandma Siti had lit in the stall produced a dim light, creating a playful shadow on the wall. At the table, the two warm tea glasses still let out steam, a witness of the deep conversation between Ima and Raka.

"I know this may sound cliche," Raka began to speak, taking a breath for a moment, "but I moved to this city to start a new beginning."

Ima looked at Raka with eyes filled with questions, "New start of what?"

Raka looked at her tea glass, as if searching for the words inside. "From past mistakes, decisions I regret." His face looked tense, his brows furrowed, and his brown eyes looked dark with a shadow of memories.

For a moment, the stall was filled with silence. Only the gurgling sound of light rain broke the silence. Ima, feeling the need to break the mood, started talking about something else. "Know, Raka, a few months ago I was vacationing on the beach with Yusuf, my foster sister."

Raka raised her eyebrows, her curiosity was triggered. "Oh? How's story?"

I smiled, remembering those memories. "We both looked for shells by the beach. Yusuf was enthusiastic, running around chasing the waves while trying to catch the shell carried away by the water." Ima paused for a moment, smiling while remembering. "He fell down a few times, soaking wet, but our laughter echoed on the beach. It was one of the most beautiful moments I've ever had."

Raka smiled, her face looking a little lighter. "Sound fun. I also have similar memories as a child, though not on the beach."

Ima, curious, asked, "Where?"

"In the rice field behind my grandmother's house," Raka replied, sipping her tea. "My cousin and I used to play catch-and-go, catch fish, and sometimes fall into the mud. Simple, but fun."

They both laughed, enjoying childhood memories filled with simplicity but full of meaning. However, after the laughter subsided, Ima looked back at Raka with a serious look, "Raka, I know you have a past that you want to forget. But if one day you want to talk, I'm here."

Raka looked at Ima, her eyes looking teary. "Thank you, Ima." His voice vibrates. "Maybe someday, I'll tell you."

Their conversation continued until late at night, with the tea glasses having been cold as silent witnesses. Although there are many things that have not been disclosed, the closeness between them is increasingly felt. Amidst the rain and the sound of crickets, two souls share stories, memories, and hopes for the future.