Tidying Up Asa, Inviting Hidayah

19. Traumatic or Defensive?

🌸On every visible smile, sometimes there are tightly stored wounds.🌸

String.

A few hours ago this house was very crowded, many people and banquets. Full of boisterous voices people were conversing while enjoying the food. Now deserted, leaving the rest of the crowd in the form of an untidy carpet, ashtrays filled with ash and cigarette butts, jars containing messy snacks were not arranged. Some garbage, lots of dirty dishes and glasses, also leftovers on the dining table.

Various kinds of goods decorated in such a beautiful way filled the table, some were placed on wooden chairs because they did not fit. There are wajik, jadah, risoles, fruits, various tiger cakes, as well as some snacks wrapped in plastic laced with colorful ribbons. Well-favoured.

Credit photo by. Instagram Tara - tara kitchen.

Credit photo by. Instagram Tara - tara kitchen.

Photo credit by instagramTara-tara kitchen.

Photo credit by instagram Tara-tara kitchen.

Photo credit by instagram endra bolena.

I'm helping mom Sayumi clean up the living room. Collecting waste tissue and banana leaves wraps awug-awug. Inadvertently my feet nudged an ashtray full of cigarette butts and ashes. Spill all the contents inside the ashtray, litter the carpet. I took the broom with my left hand, because my right hand was carrying a plastic bag filled with garbage.

My eyes caught an unusual object embedded in the ring finger, as I was about to sweep the carpet. The glittering thing caught my attention, making me lift both corners of my lips upwards.

I just put a plastic bag and a broomstick on the carpet, sitting and looking at the stuff. I opened the five fingers, pointing them out into the sunlight. Just for a minute and then I put my hand down again, and then I rubbed the sparkling thing. One word I want to say in my heart, beautiful.

Photo credit by the asian parent.

Ever since Ghufron and I got home from an old shop the other day, we talked about today's proposal to both of our parents. We both prepared everything. Ghufron only asked about the size of my ring finger, he himself said he wanted to choose a ring model for me.

I never thought it would be this good as Ghufron's choice and fit on my ring finger. Not greatness is not too tight, fitting and I like it. Why does he always know my taste without asking me? Ghufron has always made me fall in love.

Shaking my head, I threw out a nearly conical wishful thinking, awakening myself. I shouldn't think too much about Ghufron. We're engaged, but we're not halal. It is not good for a girl to imagine excessively a man who is not halal.

I took a broomstick, I swept a carpet soiled by ashes and cigarette butts. I collected the other trash, I put it in a plastic bag. Then I repeat again sweeping the carpet to make it cleaner.

Jars containing snacks I laid out neatly, I put it aside so as not to disturb my footsteps. The empty dishes I stacked into one, which I still had on the dining table. Alone I tried to tidy up the house that had just finished being used for the event.

Everyone including Dito and his family is going to Sowan to Pak Kyai's house as well as a pilgrimage to the tombs of scholars around the area here. It has become an official agenda every time the father and mother return to Magelang. Usually only with Teguh pakdhe and Faiz mas, but this time all came along. Said mother wants to ask barokah do’a to Pak kyai and bu nyai so that the pregnancy of Aneesha kak smoothly until delivery.

I wanted to come, but my father said I should accompany Mbah uti at home. Yeah, already. I'm cleaning up the mess. There's no way I'm holding hands, while Sayumi's mom is very busy.

“Nduk Jenar?” Mbah uti called me from the back of the house.

Hurriedly I approached, do not let long waiting mbah uti, “nggih, Mbah.” (Yes, Mbah) I answered.

Mbah uti was standing in the backyard, with both hands folded behind his back. Looking at Irkham mas who was on the roof of the pendopo. Clean the tile filled with dried bamboo leaves. While Mr. Hara below, near the mushola, helps clean the scattered bamboo twigs.

“Gawekno wedang karo cepaki kanggo cah loro kae.” (Make a drink and prepare food for the two children.)

“Nggih, Mbah.” (Yes, Mbah.) I went back into the house, and I immediately carried out the edict of Mbah uti.

Since everyone left earlier, Mbah uti asked Irkham to clean the tile and trim the bamboo stems that waded around the pendopo to the main house. Worried if it rains bamboo leaves that enter the sidelines of the tile cause rain water to enter and leak into the house.

Bamboo sticks that shade the top of the house must be trimmed, fearing that at any time it can break and hit the roof of the house. Damage cannot be avoided if it is. I was surprised by Aneesha, who could let bamboo groves grow around her house.

He said, anyway, so that it can be used by people around. Usually in this area, if there are people who died rather than buying wooden boards, it is better to use bamboo to cover the burrows.

So Aneesha deliberately let the bamboo grove still grow so that people around do not have trouble finding bamboo if there are people dead. Very helpful because they can take it for free.

I was just about to pour sugar into a glass that already contains coffee powder, when Irkham was shocked to run into the kitchen. Sloppily open the kitchen set shelves like they are looking for something.

“Ono red medicine ro bandage ora, Mbak?” (There's red medicine and no bandages, Ma'am?) Ask Irkham mas on the mbak Sayumi who is arranging the dishes after washing.

“Ora duwe, arep gawe opo?” (No, what do you do?)

“Who's hurt, Mas?” Askaqua.

“Mas Hara hande keno carang.” (Mas Hara had her hand hit by a bamboo twig.) Answer the Irkham. Though soft but clearly heard by my ears.

“Kok isoh?” (Can't you?) Sayumi stopped washing dishes, she rubbed her wet hands on an apron.

I saw Mbah uti walking in through the back door shouting, “nduk! Nduk! Deloken lengene Hara kebak getih kae!” (See Hara's arm full of blood!).

I left the glass with the ground coffee just like that, half running me out of the kitchen into the backyard. I saw Mr. Hara sitting on the edge of the pendopo, looking down at his left arm. I approached him, clearly scratches along his gaping left arm were red.

“Should be quickly treated.” I said staring worriedly at the wound that was bleeding until it dripped onto the ground.

“Not too deep, really, later also heal by yourself.” Pak Hara replied casually, as if not feeling any pain. Though the wound incision was along the arm, from the elbow almost to the wrist.

I forced Mr. Hara to stand up, I pulled his uninjured arm. I walked to the padasan located near the mosque, at this time all I thought was that the wound had to be washed clean under running water. So that no bamboo splinters are left behind, it can cause infection later.

Mr. Hara complied as I slowly withdrew his hand, putting it under the padasan. The wound was covered with water, when the flow of water turned red over time slightly blackened because of the blood that flowed.

The wound must have hurt a lot, but I see Mr. Hara is normal. He did not even complain or just frowned to endure the pain. Oya, I forgot, a blackboard like her could feel pain. His face was always expressionless.

As long as I clean the wound, Pak Hara Mbah uti and Irkham watched closely. Ma'am Sayumi after seeing Pak Hara's wound immediately ran to buy medicine and bandages.

At first I was used to cleaning Mr. Hara's wounds. Until the water that had been deep red turned faint, I just felt something. I can confirm after this my body will react. Defensive reactions that I sometimes don't want but can't prevent because they're out of my control.

I closed the faucet, after I made sure the wound on Mr. Hara's hand was clean. I gripped the side of the solid made of printed stone, trying to

redam the tremor that began to come to my hand.

‘No! Not now! I should be able to prevent it, no one should see me weak like this.’

I tried hard to quell the tremor by holding my breath, but the shadow flashed in my mind. Loading, encompassing feelings and thoughts. As if forcing me to throw in the past. ‘No! Yes, Alloh please not now!’

I can't think of anything else now, because my brain is filled with black shadows that frighten me. But when I saw the wound on Mr. Hara's hand that began to emit reddish-colored streaks again, I realized that the wound had to be closed immediately to prevent more blood from coming out.

Before my tremor got worse, I was looking for something that could cover the wound. I really can't think clearly if it's this way, I'll start panicking soon. I clenched my ten fingers together, trying to dampen the tremors.

My eyes caught the cloth waving in the wind, draped in the clothesline. Walking quickly I took the peach-colored cloth, folded it to be the right size. I tied the cloth to Mr. Hara's wound even though he prevented me.

“Wait!” I didn't hear what Mr. Hara said afterwards, because I was concentrating on dampening the turmoil in my body that I couldn't control. My ears faintly heard Mr. Hara ask, “you're okay?”

Whether right or wrong I heard, I shook my head violently. As long as I tie the cloth to Mr. Hara's arm, I hold my breath. I thought it could hold back what my body was feeling, but it turned out that my actions were wrong.

I turned my face when I finished tying the cloth and sure Pak Hara's wound did not bleed much. I tried to neutralize my breathing, but my body was completely out of control. My hands were shaking more and more, the whirring of the blowing wind was adding to the discomfort.

As haphazard as I looked for a grip, when I felt my body start to drift. I felt a huge palm holding onto both of my shoulders, then my head touched someone's chest. I heard voices calling my name, before my vision darkened and I could remember nothing more.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a room surrounded by Mbah Uti, mbak Sayumi and mas Irkham. I felt my forehead rubbed, my hands and feet massaged with a soothing soft massage. The smell of eucalyptus oil makes me want to open my eyes wider.

“Alhamdulillah you are aware, Nduk?” mbah Uti. It turned out that her hand was rubbing my forehead gently. The wrinkled palms were rough, but I was glad to wipe my forehead.

“Mbak Jenar want to drink?” mbak Sayumi moved after I nodded, not long after she had returned with a glass of warm tea half hot. Which I immediately drank to the toilet, because it felt like my throat was very dry.

“Kowe ki ngopo, Nduk? How about isoh semaput? What about po mumet? Wind in?” (Why are you, Nduk? How can you faint? Hungry or dizzy? Wind up?)

I just smiled as I shook my head, answering a worried Mbah uti question. I put an empty glass on the nightstand, pulling my body so it can lean on the headboard.

I took a deep breath, recalling the events before I fainted. Staring around the room, trying to restore my consciousness to full. Saysumi and Mbah uti are still looking at me worried, while Irkham as usual, only a thousand languages silent. He does, talk if necessary and his voice is always soft.

Near the door I saw Mr. Hara standing, leaning his back against the wall. His face was always flat, I don't know why this time I saw it a little differently. Like there's a worry, or just my feelings, I don't know.

I remember before I fainted, I was about to treat the wound on his arm. I saw the wound was covered with bandages, did he treat the wound himself? Or helped by Irkham and Sayumi?

“You all right?” Mr. Hara asked me without moving from where he stood.

I answered with a nod of my head twice. After that Mr. Hara went out of the room, making me remember something. Hurriedly I called him before he disappeared behind the door, “pak Hara!”

I continue the sentence after he turned around, “please do not tell your father, also brother Neesha.”

But Mr. Hara actually gave me the answer I did not want while showing the phone in his hand, “I have called Reyfan. They're on their way home, soon to.”

I sigh in disbelief. Half-dead I hid my situation from anyone, but today what I feared happened. Mr. Hara, you probably know how I am right now. Mas Irkham and Mbah uti, although they were silent, I think they also knew my situation. Soon, maybe everyone will know. Yes Alloh I should how?

Saysumi's mother is still on my foot, Mbah uti has not rubbed my forehead but switched to give a slow massage to my palm. I'm looking for answers if they ask what happened to me when I hear a noise. Like the sound of some people walking in a hurry.

“True, you why, Nak?” The first mother went into the room, immediately went up to the bed to hug me.

Followed by Neesha's brother, Reyfan's father and sister. The three of them got closer to the bed, making Sayumi's mother rise up, giving her access to reach me.

“I'm not pa-pa, really. Just forgot not to eat from lunch, so fainted.” I grimaced, showing my front teeth, “sorry, yes. Make you worry, disrupt your pilgrimage.”

“You're so sick of being proposed, huh? Until I forget to eat?” Aneesha's legs are now sitting on the edge of the bed, close to my feet. I replied with a smile, because everyone was looking at me with worry.

Dad didn't say anything, just rubbed the top of my head that was covered in hijab and kissed her. Dad doesn't talk much often, but his treatment can always make me feel loved. Maybe because of that, I don't easily fall for the gombal seduction of the men out there.

This room, which was not too spacious, became even narrower as everyone gathered around me. Even though I said I was fine, but the radiance of worry could still be seen from the look in their eyes. Makes me feel loved and loved. Uh! I feel bad for making the whole family worry about me.

Actually I don't know what happened to me. Traumatic or defensive overuse? All I know is that whenever something reminds me of what happened years ago, my body reacts. It was as if my mind was forced to remember the incident and I felt very frightened.

Then I need to inhale the aroma of coffee that can calm my fears. Or sleep for a long time, until my brain can think normally again, free from disturbing black shadows. Maybe it's true Ghufron said I need to go to a psychiatrist so I know what's really going on with me.

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note :

Solid \= kind of barrel for wudlu/washing hands. Originally made of clay, but now many are made of printed stone.

The curious want to know where Jenar washes his wound Pak Hara. You can visit my ig story today.😁

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