Tidying Up Asa, Inviting Hidayah

28. Missing Without Meeting.

🍁 God is one, just a different way of worshiping us.🍁

Hara

Had Reyfan not asked me to accompany him to find Aneesha to Magelang, maybe until now I would never have known where mama's grave is. If only her grandmother's house Aneesha was not located in a highland that was difficult to get a signal, maybe I would never have met with Mbak Nabila.

If all that hadn't happened, maybe until now I would never have felt a little child struggling with me. Maybe I'll never know what it's like to be cared for and loved by an older sister.

Mbak Nabila is chatty, with many rules typical of most women.

“Hara! Don't sleep too late!”

“Hara! If you are sleepy, do not toy hp! Later Naufal follow.”

“Hara! Don't go before eating.”

Akmal who doesn't talk much, but never forgets to offer me a cigarette when sitting together. Also the father who sometimes told me about many things without asking. I wouldn't have experienced that delight, if it wasn't for God's will.

I'm not the kind of person who gets along easily with other people. But with Wawan's family, it didn't take me long to become familiar. Maybe because of my blood relationship with Mbak Nabila, or because they have considered me family since I first met.

Wawan's family life is much different from the environment where I live in Jakarta. I have been accustomed to living a luxurious and easy life since childhood, while the Wawan family is full of simplicity. However, I feel more comfortable living in Wawan's house, than in my own house.

Whereas at the house of Wawan, there is no domestic assistant who serves me like in Jakarta. I had to wash my own clothes, make my own coffee until something as trivial as folding a blanket that I had never done before. Because all my needs have been provided by mbok Jum, from waking up to sleeping again.

Pak Wawan's house is also not comparable to my home in Jakarta. Small, so I have to be willing to share a bed with Pak Wawan. Sometimes even with Naufal too, if the little boy was not wanting to sleep in his parents' room.

Through the simplicity of this family, I slowly began to feel about the meaning of life. About what my life purpose is, also about why I have to live well. Because there are people who want to be happy.

That night, for the first time I showed my fragile side in front of Mbak Nabila. I finished crying on her little shoulder. I don't care Wawan and Akmal see my tears. And I know very well that a man is never friendly with tears.

In fact, the family of Pak Wawan is able to peck the hidden side in me. Although I have not been able to pour out all my deepest heart to them, but at least I can be frank about my feelings all this time to them. The feeling of a child missing both parents. Parents I will never see again, because we have separated the world.

I went through that night without closing my eyes for a single moment, feeling the length of the night change by morning. I can pay attention to this family activity that has been busy since early morning.

Pak Wawan who always woke up every three hours in the morning, then bathed in the cold air pierced the pores. I always feel calm when I hear the melodious voice mbak Nabila read the book. Then Akmal woke up the little Naufal, when he heard the voice of the azan. With sleepy in a sling, Naufal also went to the mosque with Pak Wawan and mas Akmal.

I left the bed so I no longer heard the sound of Mbak Nabila teaching and the screams from the mosque loudspeakers had stopped. I came out along with Mbak Nabila who also just came out of his room. The smile of the woman I had never seen without the veil welcomed me.

“Awake up? Or even not sleeping all night?” After closing the room door.

I just smiled, following Nabila's steps. I'm going to the bathroom next to the kitchen. Just wanted to wash my face that must have looked crumpled like a cloth that had never been ironed. As well as fulfilling nature's call, my routine is every morning.

“So we go to mama's grave later, Ma'am?” Ask me after I get out of the bathroom.

“Insyaalloh so,” answered mbak Nabila while taking an empty glass, “mau tea or coffee?”

“Coffee can, Ma'am?”

I sat in the only chair in the kitchen, watching Nabila's clumsy hands brewing instant coffee with the water that had just boiled. The smell of coffee was striking, tickling my sense of smell. Instantly my mind was calm just from inhaling the aroma of the coffee.

“Later after breakfast, we go to mother's grave. Ma'am already said the same mas Akmal and mr.” Say mbak Nabila after giving a cup containing coffee to me.

I lifted the cup that was reflecting hot steam, inhaling deeply the aroma of the coffee. Feel the soothing sensation of any scent that enters the nose.

I saw Nabila's back and all the activities he did. Wash the rice, then put it in a rice cooker, weed and wash vegetables, choose kitchen spices to cook vegetables and side dishes. Mbak Nabila does all that deftly, preparing food for everyone at home.

I can't stand idly by while all the residents of the house do their own work. I went to the garden after coming home from the mosque. While Akmal sweeps and cleans the floor.

I choose to take care of the plants in small pots in front of the house. Weeding the dry leaves and stems, then watering the plant to look fresh and beautiful.

We went to mama's grave after breakfast, without Wawan, because he was still in the garden. I helped mbak Nabila and mas Akmal clean mama's tomb. Pluck the weeds that grow on top of the navel, sweeping the leaves of the dried-up leaflets that fall off. Make sure your grave looks clean and beautiful.

Although in doubt, but I still berTO’a in my way for mama. Mas Akmal and mbak Nabila look very solemn in the bow. Naufal was busy playing with the frangipani flowers he picked around the tomb.

Mas Akmal raised both hands, muttering softly but was heard by me because the atmosphere was very quiet. Either do’a what mas Akmal said in Arabic. Mbak Nabila repeatedly said the word amin, during the Akmal berto’a mas.

We came out of the tomb, when the sun was shining. Walk along the village streets, bathed in warm sunlight.

I asked Mbak Nabila about a feeling that I had not known the answer.

“Mbak? May I ask you something?”

“About what?”

“Mbak knows, right, if my mom and I are different religions. If I pray mama with my prayers’a to God, what might come to the Lord mama?”

Mbak Nabila stopped the move. Smiling while breathing out, then staring right into my eyes.

“Hara, sorry. Ma'am can't answer your question.”

“Isn't God just one, Ma'am? Only the way we worship it is different.”

Mas Akmal who was already a few steps ahead of us, suddenly turned around. Letting go of Naufal's hand, then he approached us. I felt Akmal's hand grab me, rubbing my shoulder slowly.

“Bby mas tanya?” I'm nodding.

“You often go to papa's tomb you don't?” I nodded again.

“Then to church?” I nodded but this time it was slower because I was hesitant with my answer.

“When was the last time you went to your papa's grave?”

I tried to remember before answering questions mas Akmal, “ last week.”

I frowned, twisting my own memories. Then shook his head to answer Akmal's question. I haven't been to church in a long time, because I've been so busy working and taking care of this that I've forgotten the routine every week.

“It's been a long time, huh?” I'm nodding. Mas Akmal got closer and closer to me, taking me step by step together.

Mbak Nabila took Naufal's hand, following our steps from behind.

“In Al-qur’an there is a letter explaining the tolerance of religious people. The letter of Al-Kafirun,” I listened to the Akmal mas read a verse in Arabic, which I do not know the meaning. Naufal recited when Akmal paused reading the verse because he wanted to take a breath.

“For you your religion, for me my religion,” Akmal explained after Naufal finished reading the verse, “so the religion you profess, will not interfere with the religion we believe in. And vice versa.”

“What does that mean, I can't mendo’a mama my way, Mas?”

Mas Akmal slowed down, because we were almost home. He cleared his throat before speaking, “how can our Lord accept do’u, while you do not believe Him?”

I'm silent. Until we stopped in front of the house and mbak Nabila turned the key to open the door. Akmal's words rang in my mind, circling like a cassette tape in my brain.

‘This cross misses mom but can not meet even though only through do’a?’

I returned to Magelang with a taste that I could not reveal to anyone. The feeling of longing that scared me at the same time. I was afraid of losing having the same feeling I felt for my mom.

I am afraid of losing my sense of calm when with the family of Pak Wawan, also a sense of comfort when talking to mbak Nabila and mas Akmal. I'm afraid, if one day misses them but I can't justify them my way.

***

Since returning to Jakarta and pursuing all the sometimes tedious routines, I still could not get rid of thoughts about the family of Mr. Wawan. Many times the shadow of Naufal flashed in the mind, though I had missed it by making a video call.

My day felt empty because I did not hear the chatty Mbak Nabila. Time is slow because I have no child who is spoiled. My sleep is not good when my bed is big and soft.

Not long ago, but I miss them so much ….

I have tried many different ways to heal my heart. Avoiding the thumping every time remembering the sound of mbak Nabila and mas Akmal who was teaching. But it's not healing that I get, it's just that my heart feels emptier.

After a long absence, I went back to Sunday morning Mass at church. Listening to the pastor reciting the word of God, immersed in praise of Him.

God is my shepherd

There will be no shortage of me

He laid me down

In the green grassy field

(Psalm 23)

I put my fingers together, I lowered my head deeply. Trying to drown myself in the praise of God, but still the silence I felt. It was as if the words of God called by the priest only went into the ear but were unacceptable to my heart and mind.

I was still immersed in submission until the people came out of the church. My fingers are also still linked, I don't want to let go.

“I wait for brother outside, yes?” Cecilia whispered in my ear, but I didn't want to answer. I let him leave me alone in this big room.

I still want to be alone, to be alone, to find the calm that I find hard to find. It was just silent without any sound, quiet as the heart I felt right now. Until I finally decided to get out of place.

“There is a problem?” A voice approached the ear, along with the breath I just threw away.

I turned towards the source of the voice, I found a man in full suit standing behind me. He put both hands in his pants pocket, staring straight ahead, towards the altar.

“I just come to church, whenever I have a problem. But if I'm okay, I forgot to come here.” Without asking the man to tell me.

“I think you are the same as me, only come here when you have problems.”

“Sorry, but I'm not in trouble. My life is fine.”

The man took a breath but did not take his eyes off the altar, “My daughter is getting married next week.”

I frowned, without wanting to trim the man's story. I poured out the intention to pass, just wanting to know what the man was going to say.

“I should be happy, because my daughter is getting married. It's not that I disagree with my daughter's chosen man, he's a really good man. I'm sure that man can make my daughter happy. But I cannot accept that my daughter has to change religion in order to marry that man.”

The man's face looks sad, “prospective husband of my daughter is a devout Muslim. My daughter was willing to change her faith for her sake. I feel betrayed by my daughter.”

“They can marry different religions, right? Not having to unite faith?” I answered, but it sounded more like a question.

The man shook his head, “in Islam there are no marriages of different religions. My son-in-law would not marry for different religions, because it does not fit his religious guidelines.”

“I came to the house of God, because I don't know anymore what I should do.”

The man took a deep breath, then exhaled violently. I could feel how heavy the problem was, heavier than I was feeling. I was just missing my mom and family, Wawan, while this man was in a dilemma because he was going to release a daughter. Not taking off to go, just accepting will be contrary belief that must be very heavy. A child's betrayal of the parents who educated him from childhood.

Until I got home, I was still thinking about things. Event after incident I've been through lately, is it because I'm far from God? Or is God trying to embrace me? Which god am I referring to? Tuhamku or God who is worshiped by mama and family Pak Wawan?

I think I should get an answer to all this. I need to know what I feel. I don't want to regret being late in finding the answer to my search. I don't want my misses to end without meeting.

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Seriate....