The Soulmate Must Meet

Episode 3 - Rain from Tears

When going down this path, there are always ideals in my mind. How can I stand if I always see the scenery in this rat road, lined with zinc-roofed houses, walled used boards. At every door of the house, mothers are sucking their children, men are bare-chested, smoking and drinking alcohol. The outskirts of Jakarta are very ancient, even though next to this slum, stands office buildings, hotels and discotheques.

I feel more alone and isolated in this city. Is life too bitter for me to live? Those who live among the glitter of the city, as if never aware of the misery of others. Their consciences have died by selfish and sentimental attitudes. Yeah, maybe I'm too pessimistic about life.

But all of that is reasoned. Maybe everyone will never understand my difficult situation. I'm still a teenager, it's too hard for me to deal with all this. Why am I not like teenagers in general, enjoying the good times without the burden of life.

The atmosphere here is getting uncomfortable. A city that feels so crowded. Like my heart is getting squeezed and dark. If only my family had not fallen apart, if my father had been present in my days, if my mother had not been a drunk, if only Roman could have known my heart. Suppose that....

I want to get home quickly, mom must be getting lonely, spending cigarettes. A woman who can't take care of herself, even to cook water, she's lazy.

In front of me, a drunken young man. She staggered, her eyes were red and her gaze was like wanting to strip off her entire outfit. But I have to go down this road. This is the only way to my house, where my mother must have been drunk.

“Look, whore boy wearing a hijab!” chirped up a young man I was passing by.

I was still—nothing to respond to a drunken young man, some of his friends just grinned at me, as if they were looking at fresh meat. Actually, my heart was furious to hear my mother being insulted like that, let alone from the dirty mouth of a drunken young man, who could not possibly be clean and holy.

“Hai,” one of them pokes.

I tried to avoid them, disgusted to see them. Town boys, village thugs. Bare-chested, tattooed, and also seedy.

“Ayolah... don't be like a lioness,” she said.

I broke through their crowd, yet one of them held my hand. I muttered, struggling to let go of his hand.

“Ouuu...the binal.”

“You should appreciate women!”

“Haha... I really want to appreciate you, how much is the rate for one night?”

The more disgusted I was to hear it, the more I intended not to value myself with money, because the honor of women could never be paid for by anything.

“Let go of me!”

He clasped my hand, wanting to scream as loud as possible.

“Ayolah... accompany us last night!”

Here, no one came out of the house, or helped me by driving them away. My tears are flowing, the pain is deep in my heart. I've never been treated like this before, never at all. They just get wild when they see my tears falling on my cheeks.

With all my might, I pulled my hand, and pushed it. So the drunken young man lost his balance and fell. I ran as fast as I could, with great fear attacking me. I was disgusted, I was angry, I was scared and I hated everything that happened to me.

My crying is getting louder.