Tidying Up Asa, Inviting Hidayah

43. Turning Point

🍁In the course of every human life, must have experienced an event that made him change the view of life. Either get better, or just fall into a slump. It could be the event that is referred to as the turning point.🍁

Immanuel Kagendra Hara's.

The shadow as Ghufron spoke in the IGD space always flashed in his mind. Though there was nothing important he talked about at that time, just leave a message to Mr. Fares that he could not keep Jenar anymore. Ghufron may not have survived the illness, so he said it was a final message.

But what he said was not important. Without saying anything about the last message, Mr. Fares must have understood and forgiven Ghufron. Forgiving the dead is common, right? After all, Jenar is still the responsibility of her parents, right?

But why do these words always come up at all times? Guarding Jenar? Is he a child to be looked after? Why should Ghufron leave a message for Mr. Fares? aren't all of Fares' children trained to live independently? Including Jenar who before getting engaged to Ghufron had lived far from his parents.

I don't know! Actually what Ghufron wants to say if he is given the opportunity to meet directly with Mr. Fares. Unfortunately, he died very quickly. It keeps a sense of regret in my heart, because I feel like I failed to get treatment quickly.

“Hara!”

I was aghast, until the hose in my hand fell. Immediately I took it, so as not to let the water flowing from the hose wasted.

“True work, Le! Don't while daydreaming.”

Continue to pour water on the surface of the car that is full of foam while rubbing with sponge. Intends to spread the foam in all directions and then disappear with running water. Last I cleaned the rest of the water by sweeping a wet kanebo papa the surface of the car.

“Iseh enom ojo kokean!” Pak Wawan approached me while patting me on the shoulder. (Still young don't dream mostly.)

Almost a week since Ghufron died, I helped Pak Wawan work at kyai Ali's boarding school. The day after I got home from Ghufron's funeral, I got a call from Nabila's mother. He said that Kyai Ali was in need of a private driver, because the old driver stopped working.

Without a second thought I accepted Nabila's offer. That morning I left Reyfan in a hotel room after shopping for goods to be taken to the house of Ghufron, as well as giving gifts to Mr. Dito who will move duties to Ternate. No matter Reyfan gets angry or not, I'm still on leave anyway, right?

I don't know why I feel comfortable working as Kyai Ali's personal driver. If it was because of salary, it was obviously impossible. The salary given by Reyfan is more than enough to meet basic needs until the need for hedon. Even I had intended not to receive a salary from Kyai Ali. It feels like there is a special satisfaction every time you finish taking kyai Ali to fill the study, or visit another boarding school. Like feeling like I just won a tender I've been aiming for a long time.

“If you have finished washing the car, you go to ndalem. It's been waiting for kyai Ali there.”

I squeezed the kanebo that was already very wet before I applied it again to the windshield of the car, “what did kyai Ali call me, sir?”

“Bapak does not know, just kang khodam who said,” replied Pak Wawan while shrugging his shoulders.

Without wanting to linger, I immediately clean the remaining water on the surface of the car until it looks clean. Clean all the equipment and then clean your hands and tidy up clothes, before going to ndalem to meet Pak kyai.

“Sit here, Hara!” kyai Ali patted the empty sofa beside her. I certainly hesitate to sit next to that honorable person.

I choose to sit in front of him while politely refusing, “I am here, Mr. kyai.”

“The car is ready for road?” ask Kyai Ali as soon as I sit down.

“Already pack kyai, already clean and kinclong.”

“Good. Today I have no agenda to go outside the cottage, because later in the afternoon there will be distant guests who come.”

“So today I have no job, dong, mr kyai?” I am a little sorry for having prepared myself since morning.

“That's why I call you here, Hara.” kyai Ali chuckled, patted her own thighs slowly then continued the sentence, “several days I notice you often daydream. Is it because of the work I give you? Is it because driving me is a burden to you or is there some other problem?

I was surprised by the question asked by Kyai Ali. I never had the burden of working as a driver. I can't believe my often daydreaming attitude was read by Kyai Ali and he misunderstood.

“I know, you are not a random person. From the way you talk, I can tell that you are a person who is used to gathering with important and civilized people. From the clothes you wear, I can also read that you are not a person who needs a job as a driver. Maybe you even have more than one driver to take you everywhere in Jakarta. Yes, no?”

“Sorry, mr. Kyai.” I lowered my head, avoiding the glare of the raining Mr. Kyai, “I have never felt burdened by this job. I am happy to take mr. Kyai anywhere.”

“Then what if not a job problem? Are there any of my words or actions that offend you?”

“Sorry mr. Kyai, it is not because of work. I'm actually the kind of person who doesn't talk much. Lately if mr. Kyai see me a lot of daydreaming, it .. because there is something that is disturbing my mind.”

“oya? Aboutwhat? Does it have anything to do with you living in this pesantren? Or something to do with me? You can tell Hara, but if you don't want to tell me about the problem that's bothering you, I'm not forcing.”

I raised a little face, glancing at Kyai Ali. Then back down. I am not good at telling stories, let alone expressing my heart to people who have just known. But seeing the shady eyes of Kyai Ali and her nurturing attitude, I was compelled to say what I was feeling in my heart.

“A few days ago I was assigned by the employer to work on the best and fastest treatment.”

“Oh, yes yes. Wawan said that you were a few days ago driving people to the hospital. Who is sick?”

“My employer-in-law's sick candidate, mr. kyai.”

“What pain? Why did you drive her, did she not have family?”

“Leukemia. My employer wants his prospective brother-in-law to seek treatment without burdening his family. As we know, treatment for leukaemia it requires a cost that is not small.”

Kyai Ali is a manggut-mangut, understand my story. He played his long beard while asking, “now how? Already healed?”

“A week ago ... he died.”

“Innalillahi wa innailaihiroji’un .. Alloh wants him cured for eternity.”

“He died because of me, mr. kyai." I paused a few jokes, then continued, “if at that time I did not comply with his desire to go home, maybe he had not died. On Wednesday, he underwent a follow-up examination. That day he was supposed to have a transfusion of 4 bag platelets. However, only two bags were carried out and Ghufron had asked to go home, not to be adopted. Thursday leukocytes increased significantly and can not be overcome.”

“So your daydream some of this because of that guilt?”

We were silent for a few jokes, until silence was created. Drowning in my own mind, regret came back. A new annoying feeling this time, because for a lifetime I have never failed to do a job.

I looked up, when Mr. Kyai cleared his throat. He was opening a large book with a thick cover. He flipped through page after page asking, “what have you got during your stay at this boarding school, Hara? Have you gained a sense of peace in your heart?”

I shook my head, “not completely, mr. Kyai. Only now I am used to waking up early and it feels like my body is lighter.”

“Still often feel short of breath when hearing people teach?”

I nodded, “sometimes if I was listening to it seriously. If only while then do not.”

“Already know what is the cause of your shortness of breath?”

“Can I tell you, Hara?”

I nodded to let Kyai Ali tell me. He closed the book with a thick cover of dark green, then placed it on the table. Take a deep breath before starting the story.

“There was once a young man, son of Kyai. One day the young man went to take his mother to complete her studies. On the way home they had an accident, the young man was seriously injured while his mother died. You know what happened after that?”

I shook my head while frowning waiting for Pak Kyai to continue the story.

“The young man felt very guilty, to the point of wondering. If this were possible his mother would not have died, had it been possible that they would not have had an accident. However, there is no point in wondering, because everything has happened. It will only cause an unbounded regret that adds pain in the heart.”

I saw Kyai Ali slap her back on the back of the chair while taking off her glasses. He looked straight ahead, but didn't look at me, like he was staring.

“Old the young man drowned in deep guilt, until he forgot that there were many other things he should have done besides regret. Because he was an only child, he should have carried out his mother's trust, continuing to take care of the boarding school rather than continuing to fall into regret without doing anything. You see for yourself, right, how does a pesantren need kyai complete with its nyai bu? No one will be lame, so there should be one that complements.”

“Did the young man finally no longer feel guilty? What makes the young man free from remorse?”

“Only because of a dream, the young man is aware, guilt will not return his mother to the world, it will only incriminate the step of the mother to achieve happiness in the afterlife.”

“What dream, mr kyai?”

"The young man dreams of meeting his mother, in a dream his mother looks beautiful in very beautiful clothes. he told the young man that he was happy and asked the young man to continue the struggle to accompany his father boarding school."

“Know Hara .. that sustenance, soul mate and death is the business of Allaah SWT. A soul mate and death are destinies that cannot be changed and come just in time. When, where, and in what way man died is written in the book of Lauhmahfudz. There is no point in regretting what God has set. Our job is to make unlimited efforts and receive sincerely.”

Silent with all the rage in my heart, I contemplated the words of Kyai Ali. Is that what we call destiny? Can't really be changed or delayed?

“Have you seen the movie Final Destination? That's a movie I was young in, maybe you don't know that movie. Let me just tell you the outline, yes.”

I nodded, listening to what Kyai Ali told me, “the film tells the story of a group of teenagers who survived a plane crash because one of their friends was late. Initially they were disappointed not to be able to leave, but when they saw the plane itself exploded when just took off they felt relieved to survive death.”

“Did they really survive death? Apparently not. Because on the next slide one by one of those who survived were picked up by death in different ways and times. You know what I learned from that movie, Hara?”

“Maut won't stop chasing us?” aska I want to know.

Kyai Ali shook his head, “more precisely, death comes according to the time and the way God has set. So you do not need to regret and feel guilty because it is a decree of Allah.”

“Like that, mr kyai? If Ghufron was hospitalized and got a platelet donor early, would he still die?”

“If it is like that outlined by Alloh, then no one human can dodge.” kyai Ali took the book from the table while getting up, he said, “our duty as the abandoned is to continue life and convey trust, if the deceased entrust trust to us.”

I was still sitting and quiet until kyai Ali left to put the book back on the shelf. He looked at the row of books, then picked up one that was also thick and large.

“Because today I am not leaving, you are free to do anything, Hara. Want to stay in the boarding house or go back to Wawan's house. Just do not go home to Jakarta, because you have to find answers about your shortness of breath.”

Without waiting for an answer, Kyai Ali walked away leaving me who was still sitting still. He paused just to say, “what you did in Jakarta was wrong, Hara. Even though you have a good goal, the way you do it is wrong. Stopit! Before Nabila and Wawan know, because they will definitely be very disappointed in you.”

“What does mr kyai mean?”

“Do not think I do not know who you are, Hara. I accept you here, because I believe you're a good person. But I do not accept what you have done and become a habit.”

“Pak kyai?”

“Don't forget, Hara. There is a message you must convey.”

Kyai Ali continued. I stood up because there was still something stuck in my mind. A little exclaiming to stop the steps of kyai Ali, “If I may know, the young man whom Pak kyai told me about earlier ... did he manage to carry out his trust and continue living well?”

Kyai Ali replied without stopping the step, “you can see for yourself how this pesantren still has a lot of students, Hara. Because that young man just spoke in front of you.”

Kyai Ali's answer made me frown. So he was telling me about himself? Mean what? What a strange kyai sir. How does he know what I am doing in Jakarta? Didn't I ever tell anyone here about it? I hope Mr. Kyai has a spy or some kind of informant who can find out about the ins and outs of someone.

Because there was no work in the boarding school, I went home to Wawan. Accompanying Naufal watching the puppet show on the tube app can make me forget a little about the guilt and regret of failing to save Ghufron. Although I know his entire family has been sincere, but there is nothing that can not make a relief in the heart.

Mbak Nabila approached when me and Naufal were busy sleeping while holding a cellphone. He gave me a small folded envelope and said, “mbak found this letter in your shirt pocket, fortunately not yet mbak soak it to the laundry.”

I received the envelope, unfolded it and took out the paper inside. The name of the hospital where Ghufron was treated last became the head of the first letter I read. Urung opened it, because I remember it was a letter that Ghufron had left me.

“Yes, God! How can I forget.” my grumbling.

“What is that letter, Hara? Like a letter from the hospital, huh?” ask Mbak Nabila who has not left beside me.

“Iya, Ma'am. I should have given it to Jenar, but I forgot.”

“True? Who?”

“Naufal has seen it, yes! Om had to go.” I picked up the phone that Naufal was holding, no matter the boy was singing lips about to protest. Glancing at the timer on the phone's main screen I thought it wasn't too late to go.

“Mbak, borrow motor, yes?”

Without waiting for Nabila's answer, I took my jacket and helmet. Half-running me out of the house, nodding as mbak Nabila shouted, “be careful, Hara! Why are you always in a hurry, anyway?”

Cell phone inside jacket pocket vibrates sign there's a message coming in. I opened the screen while turning on the motor, reading an incoming message from a girl whose contact name I just saved a few days ago.

[Sir Hara where are you? Can we meet at kyai Ali's boarding school now?]

I put the phone in my jacket pocket without replying to the message. Choosing to immediately drive the motor matic out of the yard of the house Pak Wawan. Remember the words of Kyai Ali this morning about conveying trust, wait! Trust is the same as a message, right? I don't know, maybe the same.

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Seriate....