Tidying Up Asa, Inviting Hidayah

26. Hidden Feeling.

🍁A man never wants to be a coward, just not good at expressing feelings.🍁

Hara's.

I came out of the house holding onto a rumbling chest. Regulating the breath that is stingy is also a more rhythmic heartbeat. I took a deep breath, I leaned my back against the wall because my legs were limp, barely able to support my body.

The night breeze swept through the skin, the cold I felt all over the body. Not only was my body shivering but I felt my blood flow freeze as well.

What's the matter? What happened to my body?

I closed my eyes and raised my head. Trying to breathe one at a time though hard. The tightness did not gradually subside, my heartbeat did not return to normal.

From inside the house there was still a faint sound of Akmal guiding Naufal to read the series do’a before going to sleep. I don't know do’a anything, because all are pronounced mas Akmal in Arabic. Long and repetitive do’a network.

I felt suddenly my eyes watering, along with the presence of the great shadow of my mother. The wind that blew a little hard swept my face until the clear liquid that was getting more and more stagnant fell down to drip one by one. I felt my cheeks wet and I .. cried.

My chest is getting squeezed, my crying is getting sobbing, even though I have held it all my might. Now my feet are really not strong to support the body, wobbly, and then rumble to rest on the terrace floor.

I took both knees, I hugged my head tightly there, dispelling the clouded view from the growing puddle. My shoulders were shaken, as the sobbing sedu became more and more.

Mama's shadow approached, getting closer and closer until I felt her cold hand outstretched against my wet cheek. I wanted to touch my mom, but my hands were frozen stiff. I can't deliver an item, heavy.

Mama smiled, the wind was blowing louder. Carrying a whisper that sounded very melodious. I miss that voice, the voice calling my name with gentleness. But now I hear that voice is heartbreaking.

“Hara? Hara ...”

“Hara? Why sit outside? Cold, comein!”

I tried to make a sound with a vibrating tone even though choked, “Mama .. please, Hara! Please Hara, Ma!”

“Hara! You why?”

Mama's hands that were cold, now I feel slowly warm. It was very warm to touch the skin of the face, into the pores, until my whole face became warm. I slowly tried to move my hand, touching the palm that was cupping my face.

I managed to hold onto that warm-feeling palm. Quietly to get warm seeped into my frozen bloodstream. But the night breeze wouldn't allow any warmth to seep into my body.

Mama's shadow faded, probably because my vision was getting foggy, and soon it just disappeared. But your smile still emanates on a clean face framed with a black veil. I don't know since when Mbak Nabila sat down in front of me.

“Hara, you missed mom?” soft hand touch mbak Nabila rubbed tears on my cheek. Now I feel the warmth of the blood flow, flowing all over my body.

Madam Nabila pulled my head into a hug. I leaned my chin on her small shoulder but felt comfortable. I'm guilty of rubbing Nabila's hand on my back.

“Sorry-” is the only word I can say because my voice shakes in my throat. Stiffened by the feeling that rushes from the heart. A taste I don't recognize, because a lifetime is coming this time.

“It's okay. Tomorrow we go to mom's grave, yeah. We say’a for mom, maybe mom is also missing you.”

I'm more intrigued by Nabila's words. He can calm down because at any moment can send a longing for mama, while I? Is it possible that the do’a I promised will get to mama, while the way of berdo’a we different?

The dense night wrapped around the stars and the crescent moon, the cold air bursting together with the breeze blowing fiercely. The sound of the beast of the night earthy plays the melody of nature.

I spent a cry on Nabila's shoulder, no matter who saw me or not. I don't usually show my weakness, but tonight I don't care. I just want to untangle the tightness that's squeezing the chest, which I don't know what's causing it. I hope tomorrow is back to normal as usual.

Maybe all this happened just because I was missing my mom ….

***

Nabila Arifatul Husna

I'm just an ordinary housewife. Having a husband who is sincere and thank God has been given the gift of a cute 4-year-old son.

I studied at the boarding school since childhood, and only graduated from the aliyah madrasah (equivalent to High School). After that I chose nyantri at the boarding house near the house, rather than taking a higher formal education. Especially if it's not because I don't want to burden you.

My life story is not very interesting, tends to be sad even. Since childhood my twin brother and I were raised by a great father. You could say I have never felt the affection of a mother, even though from birth to adolescence my mother is still alive.

When I was a kid, I didn't really care about my mother's presence. Not too influential on me, because my daily life is more often in pesantren than at home. Initially only often join the father of cleaning the garden and arranging the garden pesantren, for a long time I and my twin brothers were interested in studying there.

I was a teenager, I realized. The mother I was supposed to meet when I got home because of the holiday boarding school. The mother who was supposed to cook my favorite meal, the mother who was supposed to teach me to wear a sanitary pad the first time I got a monthly guest. In fact, I almost never met him.

My twin brother and I grew up and were educated only with the affection of my father, without the gentle touch of a mother's hand. His absence was not due to death. Mother exists but she chooses not to live with us. Want to live a more prosperous life, unlike us who live in the village and are limited.

In the past, my twin brother and I didn't mind my mother wandering the capital. Because every mother and father visiting the boarding school they always bring a lot of gifts for us. But gradually, as we got older, we felt that all those gifts were useless. We need more of her presence than all the gifts she gives.

When I miss my mother's existence so much, even the bitter reality I get. At that time I was in elementary school, I asked my father, why do mothers come home less and less? He replied with a smile, that my father and mother were divorced.

I was too young to know the meaning of divorce, but I knew in general that divorce meant that my father and mother separated and did not live together anymore. I wasn't surprised, what difference did it make? After all, they did not live together since the mother decided to migrate on the grounds of meeting our living needs.

Whose life needs do you really want to fulfill? If time can be replayed, I want to tell my mother that what I and my twin brothers need is not just sufficiency in material form. But the presence of a real mother and father, that's actually what we need more in life.

But the rice has become porridge, I did not understand the way of the adult mind at that time. My twin brother and I can only accept whatever they have decided. And live life as outlined. After all we can still be a good human being, even without being educated by a mother once.

Despite being separated from my father, my mother still visited us regularly. Bring lots of gifts and make sure we, his kids don't lack money. I thought that it could replace the affection we never had.

I never hated my mother, and I was disappointed that her decision was not. For the father always instilled in us, whatever the mother did, if it was in our opinion wrong. Never hate the mother, for we are born from her womb. Mother has bet our lives for us to see the world. Mother's milk that we drink, becomes the first and most important nutrient intake when we have not been able to know anything in this world.

Therefore, when we got the news that my mother died, we along with some relatives left for Jakarta. The fact that the mother's husband's family wants to take care of the mother's funeral we reject. He insisted on bringing his body home so that it could be buried in a Muslim manner. Because I am sure, my mother still holds the same beliefs as us.

It was the first thing that kept me from thinking with my father's attitude. Mom left us, hurt us, but you still want to take care of the body. Even bother to bring it home from Jakarta which of course requires no small cost.

When the entire family from the mother's side has raised their hands, no longer want to take care of the body of the mother because it was too disappointed with the mother. But you still want to take care of the funeral of the Muslim mother. Even until now it is the father who routinely cleans the grave of the mother also sent do’a for her.

My father took me and my twin brother to visit the dorm, where my mother's son lives. Father whose life is simple, tends to lack economic problems, can still take the time to visit the child. The child that my mother introduced us to, as our sister, Hara.

Have I ever asked why you did all that? Isn't mother and Hara actually not the responsibility of the father anymore? Father with no grudge replied, “we do not know, today will be a good day or not. But we can definitely fill it with goodness.”

According to the father, there is no harm in doing good to anyone. He cleaned the mother's grave and visited the mother's son in the dormitory, because he just wanted to do good. Destiny cannot be changed as we wish, but we can fill our whole lives with goodness. For we know that the reward of good is nothing but good.

The sincerity of my father living my life gave me an example, of the true meaning of acceptance. Not disappointed if what we want has not been achieved, but keep trying until Alloh grants do’a at the right time.

I sincerely accepted Hara's arrival, but the boy left without saying goodbye to us, after graduating from boarding school. Even you asked him to stay with us, when he said he was working in Jogja. What kind of job I don't know, I've never asked him about it. All I know is she worked at mom's workplace first.

Seeing you so sincerely accept Hara, I don't mind her staying with us either. It is undeniable, in our bodies flow the same blood. Our source of life comes from the same place, the same womb and milk. There's no reason for me to hate Hara, because her life's destiny hurts more than mine.

I am still grateful to have a father and relatives, can every time exchange opinions with family. But Hara? He looks more bourgeois indeed, but lives a kara, without family and relatives.

When I was growing up, I could feel the presence of parents, even if imperfect. But Hara? Since ABG has been left by two parents who never returned, because they are in a different world.

My compassion led me to accept it. Think of Hara as a family, even though we have different beliefs. It never occurred to me at all, to ask Hara to change for us to have the same belief. I have no right to do that, even though it is far from my heart.

I would be guilty of Islam if I forced Hara to change her religion. My religion is rahmatalil’alamin, a mercy to the entire universe. Islam is the religion of rahman, compassion towards fellow human beings and the universe. Even Rosulullah SAW, in preaching without any coercion.

I loved Hara as a little sister, like a father who thought of her as his own son. As far as I could see and feel, Hara was good. My son Naufal was immediately close to Hara, from the moment he first met. Affirming that Hara sincerely wants to be a part of our family. As everyone knows, a child's feelings can never be lied to, know which ones are sincere, which ones are not.

Never once, Hara came without a hand. He spoiled Naufal by buying him many expensive toys. He also bought Akmal gaff and mas sarong. Sufficient basic food needs without me asking for it.

One day he came by car, waiting for us to finish our studies at the pesantren mosque. He took us around the city of Jogja, bought us a Muslim dress suit with a famous brand. The price makes my simple soul thrash.

I was suspicious when she asked me to choose a hijab. I was prejudiced that no-no to her, but Hara assured me that the hijab would be given to her boss' sister. Instead because she accidentally damaged the headscarf belonging to her boss' sister.

Kutepis all prejudice about Hara, even though I actually want to know her more. Because there's so much I don't know about my sister. Also the story about him escorting the car kyai Ali came home from filling studies in Magelang. Hara said, kyai Ali was invited to the four-monthly event of his superior wife in Magelang. I just found out that Hara's superior family knows Kyai Ali well. The owner of the boarding school where I studied.

That night I was washing dirty dishes in the kitchen, you were watching television with Hara. While Akmal as usual was accompanying Naufal in the room.

It has become our routine activity, teaching Naufal series do’a before going to bed. Read the verse of the chair, the last two verses of the letter of Al-baqarah, the three times of surah Al-mu’widzat (Al-Ikhlas, An-nas, Al-Falaq). After that just read do’a before going to bed and do’a surrender to Alloh.

I heard the door open, but it didn't close anymore. After I finished washing the dishes, I came out of the kitchen. Seeing you sitting sleepy with the television on whether it was broadcasting what broadcast. While the front door is wide open, until cold air feels inside.

I approached, intending to close the door. But I actually saw Hara sitting with her knees hugging on the terrace floor. I approached her, I called her name, asked her to come in because the night wind was blowing a little.

“Hara, why sit outside? Cold, comein!”

Hara did not answer, but her head was raised. I was surprised to see her face wet and her shoulders shaken. Hara was crying, tears were flowing, she sobbed without a sound. I sat down in front of him, staring at the bead full of clear puddles that hinted at grief.

As soon as my hand extended to touch her wet cheek, Hara said raucously, “Mama .. please, Hara! Please Hara, Ma!”

I cupped Hara's face that felt ice-cold with both palms of my hands. Trying to smile, even though my heart was actually sliced to see him cry. I wipe his tears that keep flowing, a flood that can not be dammed.

Take care of my voice so as not to vibrate while trying to calm her down, “Hara, you miss mom?”

Hara nodded. Immediately I pulled him into the arms, rubbing his sturdy back which is now fragile. Letting my sister rest her chin on my shoulder, even though it felt heavy because Hara's body was bigger than mine.

“Maaf-” says Hara Lirih.

“It's okay. Tomorrow we go to mom's grave, yeah. We are praying for mom, maybe mom is missing you too.”

I felt Hara's shoulders getting shaken, she was stunned. Just this time I met a man who was so fragile, not the Hara I knew. The Hara I knew was a tall, well-built man with sturdy shoulders and strong arms. It was not a man who cried with tears in the river and a raucous voice like this.

Is this the real Hara? He who looks strong from the outside, is his heart this broken in there? What has Hara been feeling all this time? What has Hara been hiding all this time? What exactly made Hara cry this much?

I dare not wish, for I have not known the inner Hara in its entirety. Seeing Hara like this, my mother's feelings deepened, my heart was broken and my tears spilled out.

Hara .. Hara ….

Let me heal your wounds with my love. Let me love you, change the affection of mom and dad that you can no longer get. Yes, Alloh .. Give us the most serious strength of sincerity and patience. Let us embrace him, even if he is not your servant …

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Seriate....