The Diary Rere
Tiga
When I was in Elementary I never entered into the category of beautiful girls, let alone the ranks of smart/cool/smart children. I was mediocre, not prominent, and probably inclined to be ignored. I have no talent in sports, music or academia. But when I was in 5th grade, my friends and I took an extra painting class every Friday’at with our cultural arts teacher whom I forgot her name. Our teacher is a middle-aged man with a high posture, thin body and his hair is gray. His patience, patience, and generosity gave us free extra classes in my memory.
Every Friday’at after school, we who take additional classes of painting will cover the back of the school, precisely behind the library. Speaking of libraries, the library in my school is really not worth calling “library”, even if it is called a book warehouse is not worth it, because the number of books is very small, dirty and messy. Maybe at that time the habit of reading has not become a government program that is promoted, but as perauku Indonesia does have a low reading rate.
Because of my father's habit of buying me and Anne children's magazines when we started reading, I've now grown up to be someone who enjoys reading books. I grew up with books that I read from the library, ranging from Junior High School, College, Campus, Ministry library which is located close to my campus and where cozy to do the task and alone, and of course the City library. I am a regular visitor to the City library. I devoured many novels and self-development books or books on science and human history. I don't want to limit myself to 1 type of book.
Back in the extra class of Painting Art, I really enjoyed those moments. The moment when we learned to scratch brushes that had been stained by watercolors or oil onto our ivory-white canvas. The breeze blowing leaves on the coconut tree in front of the room we painted, the alienation from the hustle and bustle of the cries of the SD children, and the results of my paintings. Once upon a time in a Cultural Arts lesson we had to color the work that we had made, at that time our teacher implemented a system of sitting randomly & rotating, and then our teacher, it means that we cannot choose my fellow man but are determined by the teacher. The goal is that we are less joking and focused on learning. At that moment I was caught sitting with one of the smartest students in the class, his name was Dimas. Dimas is a handsome, white, tall, bespectacled, and academically smart guy. Dimas does not stand out in the field of sports, but it does not detract from its charm at all. His clumsiness at the time of sports lessons seemed to turn into anxiety for us girls who saw it. The power of good looking.
At that time we were both drawing on a drawing book with a 2B pencil. As a child who took additional classes in painting, I did feel that my image was much more neat and good than the image of Dimas who was fickle. When it was time for us to color our work, Dimas suddenly turned to me and said,
“Warnain cave pictures dong. Cave can not..” Dimas half begged while staring at my painting which was already half stained with crayon.
Several times Malik and I were in class, but I guess I could count my fingers when I could chat with him. “Beautiful and cool girls” easily joked with Malik whose name is tweety, because it is a cute and adorable face. Once upon a time when I was being bullied by my gang (later to tell the cause), I could only stand outside the classroom, not daring to go inside. I stood leaning against the wall and stared at the field filled with boys playing ball or chasing, not far from where I was standing there was a tweet near me. He did the same with me, looking at the noisy crowd of boys. But the gaze of Malik does not imply that he is dumbfounded/looking at certain objects, his gaze sad.
At that time I did not want to be reconciled, I chose to go into class and sit in my chair. Before long, Malik also came in and sat down in his chair. Somehow my mind was ignorant and wanted to dabble in my theory: ‘does Malik follow me?’ Of course you can laugh and underestimate me, because I was so sweet with the feelings I had at that time. Surprisingly, when I left the classroom again and looked back at the field, Malik came out and did the same. I forgot if I decided to enter the classroom for the second time and then came out to test once again my theory. But what I wanted to believe was that Malik wanted to keep me company.
Why am I being shunned by my gang? Oh yes, before I wanted to tell you that my gang has a name, which is the hijab gang. This nickname is not really us who make, but classmates. This is because when Class 4 Elementary School, Jani invited me to wear a veil. I never thought about hijab, especially mother also not hijab. But somehow I agreed at that time and Alhamdulillah until now I still Istiqomah wearing my hijab, although not perfectly. After Jani and I put on the veil, Aira and Vanka followed. Be we dubbed the hijab gang by classmates.
The incident when I started being shunned probably happened when I was in 5th and 6th grade. I lied to them. Lying about my family. As I said in the beginning, Elementary School Rose 1 is an elite school. Schools where the average child comes from a wealthy family. Their mothers can hang out in the park or school mosque while gossiping and shopping, while Mommy goes to work in the capital from morning to night. They were driven by their father in a car, while I was driven by my father on a motorbike full of merchandise that my father would sell in his office. Actually the father's job is not a merchant, he is a post-man in a private bank, his job is to deliver letters and documents from one place to another. Dad said that just relying on salary alone was not enough for our living expenses, so Dad decided to trade food and drinks in his office.
