The Journalist

Part 38: Scribbles on Farewell

There is one thing that cannot be delayed in this world, time. Yes, time keeps rolling, going without waiting and waiting for anyone. Month by month, the calendar dates have been passed.

I'm still here. In a country that gets the deadliest nickname for journalists. Over the past few months, dozens of journalists have been killed while on the battlefield, while dozens more are missing.

It's not felt like I've been here for more than a year, surviving for all the information we've been working on every day. My activities are still as usual, covering the various events that are happening in this country. Every day I struggle to suppress the pain of a lonely heart. Busying myself with work is my way of practicing recovering feelings.

Yuna is no longer a part of my life. All I know is that she has returned to Japan and may have married Yoshizawa. This is also what makes me hesitate to take a leave of absence back to Japan even though next month is my turn after So, Eiji, and Aoba have gone first.

What about Zaheera? Our relationship did not continue after the exploitation of women in this country was revealed and was discussed in various media for weeks. All this time I used fake identities and photos of Yuna to get along with her. It doesn't seem appropriate to have this friendship. I didn't want to let her down when I found out I was lying about my real identity.

Ariston, Zaheera ....

My job to help you uncover cases of female oppression in this country is done. After this, I guess we can no longer forge this virtual friendship. There is no need to ask why, because there is nothing wrong with our friendship. Nothing is as eternal as you say, right? So does this friendship.

Thank you for the valuable time, information, motivation and advice you have given me. You never held my shoulder to strengthen, but the words you gave were able to connect my broken heart. If given a chance at another time, I'd like to re-establish this friendship. But it feels impossible, right?

Thank you for reading this last book. My prayer will continue to be with you and the women of this land. Please take good care of yourself.

From me,

Which you may forget ....

This is the last letter and farewell message I sent him. Not until an hour after the email was sent, Zaheera immediately replied to my message.

Greetings, yes Nissa ....

Not to disrespect your decision, but ... won't you extend our fraternity? You're the bloodless form of love I have right now. I'm happy to have exchanged ideas with you all this time. So, please don't make this an end for us.

Reading the reply to the message, I was just stunned. Of course I remember our busy times of exchanging information and collecting data for news that the whole world should know.

Zaheera, maybe you wouldn't say this if you knew I was a man.

After that day, I stopped communicating with him. I never send emails again. I'm doing this to get everything back in position. I'm a man and he's a woman, from the beginning he's limited friendships with the opposite sex.

I chose to focus on working with actively writing freelance articles. Since my article went viral and brought good luck to Kamal Malek's career, he helped me get into Reuters. It is one of the largest news agencies in the world, employing around 2,500 journalists worldwide. Through the media that, a number of freelance articles that I wrote successfully published. Through this I was also able to hone my skills in writing sharp criticism. Since I am still attached as a Japanese journalist, I can only use my pen name for the articles I have published in the media. Again I chose "Khai" as my pen name.

Kamal Malek also introduced me to a language teacher for foreigners in this country. Thanks to the teacher, in the past month I have been able to speak Arabic in everyday communication. Although it can not be said to be fluent, but I no longer need a language translator or handheld dictionary.

For seven months, I have lived side by side with the void. This heart has been empty for a long time, no love has settled except memories that I dare not even remember. I also use my free time to keep the Arabic language flowing.

Kamal Malek advised me to try to find a girlfriend so that my life does not look monotonous.

"You should get acquainted with the women of this country. They are famous for being beautiful with their deep love for their partners. Even in ancient times until someone said: whoever has not married a Sham woman, it is as if he does not have a wife alias celibate. That's why many men in other countries are flocking to marry Syrian women."

I just silently listened to Kamal Malek's excited speech. As for the outer man who married the woman in this country, I've heard of Zaheera. In reality, it is also only part of the exploitation. Men from Jordan, Qatar, Kuwait and other parts of the Middle East, many practice contract marriage with Syrian women just to satisfy their desires within a certain time limit. This was also revealed in an article published in Reuters.

With a little force, Kamal Malek then took me to a place I had never explored before. It turned out that he was taking me to a bar in the old city area of Damascus which was only about a kilo meter away from a place full of conflict.

"Hows it? You stay close to one of the women who are dancing there, then they will accompany you all night" said Kamal Malek while sitting at the bartender's desk.

I circled my gaze as I brought my face closer to the man's ears. "I guess .. you'll introduce me to a Syrian woman who wears a headscarf like a hijab." When I said that, the shadow of Ameena's face suddenly filled my memory.

"Don't joke! Where there's a hijab woman in a place like this!" kamal Malek said with a loud intonation, "there is no such woman who wants to be in a relationship with you!"

"What's wrong with me? I'm not a criminal!"

Kamal Malek sighed. "Can't you see your differences with them? You come from another country with a different culture and religion."

"Sorry, but I have no religion."

"It's worse than just different! As handsome as you are, they prefer to find a partner with a man of the same faith."

I snorted my breath. "Then, what did you bring me here for? You know, in Tokyo a place like this is ten times better."

"To help you get a date. Didn't you say you're going back to your country in a month. At the very least, you should have a one-night experience with a woman in this country to be able to tell with your friends when you get home. Aren't the Japanese good at making love like in the sex movies your country produces?"

"It looks like you're mistaken for our country. Our country legalizes the porrno industry is precisely one of them because it wants to arouse the passion of the sexs of its inhabitants. Most of us have no interest in sex because we're too busy working."

I put a cigarette on my lips. Just about to reach into the lighter in my pants pocket, someone had lit the tip of my cigarette. I glanced to the side, a tall beautiful woman smiled at me while pulling the lighters that had just been used to light my cigarette. Kamal Malek then immediately left me hoping I could get along with the girl.

"May I sit here?" she asked, pointing to the empty seat beside me. (May I sit here?)

"Sure, have a seat." (Sure, sit!)

After letting the girl sit down, I stood up and left her. Kamal Malek was surprised when I caught up with him quickly.

"Why don't you talk to him?"

"I'm not interested."

I have to admit, Syrian women are beautiful. They look more like Europeans than Middle Easterners in general. I do not deny ever being drugged by the beauty of Ameena's eyes and gobsmacked with the tenderness of her face. The women in this place, many were more beautiful than her. Even good at preening and looking fashionable. However, I somehow could not feel the sense of the meaning of the gasps that I had once felt when dealing with Ameena.

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author note:

FYI about Reuters media, it turns out there are also our old journalists who work under the auspices of this media. And in the new order era, some of our journalists who use pseudonyms to be able to work in two media, Indonesian media with foreign media.

Oh, yeah, I have a Swiss bule friend in the sosmed. He likes to buy photos2 of Indonesian history from Reuters media this is taken by photojournalists. so his Instagram collection is full of historical witness photos from the era of the transition of the old order to the new order to the era of reform where the photos will never be seen in museums or books the history of photojournalists at Reuters is great according to the cave.