Tidying Up Asa, Inviting Hidayah

9. The Asa 2

...🍁The most tragic miss is to miss someone who has passed away. No matter how deep the plant longs, it will not reap in the world.🍁...

Immanuel Kagendra Hara's.

Never have I had a wish nor a hope.

This trip was different. Although I've been out of town a lot, even abroad. Countless cities I've been to for work.

However, going out of town not for work can be counted on the fingers. And the trip this time including not for the benefit of work. Although on Reyfan's orders, but his orders are completely unrelated to work.

I left Jakarta with Cecilia. Hitchhiking on the first scheduled flight, because Cecilia had to meet with the team before the shoot. Yes, my cousin's sister is a model. He works for an agency in Yogyakarta.

We did leave together, but we split up at Yogyakarta International Airport. Because our goals are different, of course. Cecilia has to get to the shooting spot, and I have to stop somewhere.

Magelangs....

Yeah, I gotta stop by this town first to get a vehicle. Otherwise my mobility will be hampered. There's no way I'm using office facilities, because what I'm doing is not for the sake of work.

So, I have to pick up Reyfan's private vehicle. I was riding a DAMRI car majored magelang, down in a place that looks like a rest area but not yet so.

If I'm not mistaken, this place is the entrance to Magelang district from the south. The border between Magelang and Kulon Progo regency. I'm here, waiting for someone to pick me up.

“Later you contact Faiz mas, he will pick you up.” So Reyfan said yesterday, when I drove him home from work.

I just scanned the location, will be waiting next to where. When a katana stopped right in front of me.

“It's been a long time, yes, Mas?” A man came out from behind the wheel. Displaying a simple figure with a friendly face.

“No, coke. I just arrived,” I experienced him, because he had reached out.

Mas Faiz smiled kindly, about to grab the suitcase I brought. But I prevent, "don't bother. Let me bring it myself."

I followed her steps towards the car, putting the suitcase in the middle. Then I got into the car, along with the roar of the engine sound turned on. I sat next to the Faiz mas who started running the steering wheel.

"Rest area is still under construction, not yet completed. Built to attract tourists. If later the Yogya-Semarang toll road has been built."

I noticed the building of a giant ship whose edge is still covered with zinc. A magnificent building in the border area of the district. Attractively.

"The name is the ocean gate of mercury. There are 4 buildings like this. In addition to here, later will be built in Mertoyudan, the entrance of the borobudur and soko pitu tourist area." Mas Faiz explained, even though I don't want to know.

We didn't linger there. Mas Faiz took me home soon, because he had to attend an event. I don't know what show, I don't know and I don't want to know. From the rest of the mercury ocean gate area, we headed to Aneesha's house located in a small town. Part of Magelang regency.

The sun was moving up, the day leading up to noon when we arrived at a joglo house. The noisy sound of bamboo leaves being blown by the wind and the friction of the bamboo stems which gave off a roaring sound was welcome. Playing the melody of the shahdu nature.

Mas Faiz invited me into the house. The atmosphere in the house was quiet, but there was a sound of murmuring from the back of the house. From the loudspeaker I heard someone talking, like I was guiding an event.

‘Sholawat and greetings are always addressed to the great prophet Muhammad shalallohu ‘alaihi wassalam .…’

I'm turning. I haven't had time to ask, Faiz has explained like I know what I'm thinking, “ behind there is an event.”

“Mas Hara can rest first. Later just choose to use a car or motorcycle which, to be prepared with Irkham.”

I nodded, following Faiz, who invited me to sit in the living room chair. I heard Faiz screaming for his wife, “Nduk! Gawekno wedang!” (Snake! Make drinks!)

I was just about to open up a chat, when Faiz's wife came over with two cups of coffee and some snacks in a jar. A plate of boiled yams that still reflects hot smoke was in session, evoking my taste that had not had time to eat breakfast.

“Map mboten saged rawuh, badali chalk genie.” Said Faiz's wife I didn't know what it meant while removing the cup from the tray, putting it on the table. (Father cannot come, you are told to replace.)

“Kon fill my opo? Wes okay mas-mas Ansor,©️ to?” (See what I'm talking about? There's been a lot of mas-mas ansor, right?)

“Mangkeh lak diurugi lare IPNU,©️ wau also singang leh kulo. I also called.” (Later someone comes IPNU child, already told me. My father also called.)

While I then heard Faiz and his wife speak in Javanese language that I do not know the meaning. I only arrested a few times when Nanda, wife of Faiz, mentioned the name of a religious organization. I know the name of the organization because Aneesha used to tell stories.

We enjoyed boiled yams and tea while talking about many things. Ever since I first met, I felt like Faiz was a great conversation partner. Talking about anything is always comfortable with the man who already has these two. Relax, not patronizing but holding in the heart.

Our conversation came to a halt as a teenager came, saying that it was time for Faiz to fill the show.

“Mas Hara rest first, can use any room. As long as it is not the room,” he pointed to the room located at the front, then pointed to one more room in the middle of the room, “and that. The two are Aneesha and Om Fares' private rooms when they're here. No one else can enter.”

I nodded in understanding. Although I feel absurd. Mr. Fares and Aneesha, are rarely in this house. But have a private room that is not habitable.

Whatever ....

Left alone by Faiz mas, I drive away bored by tracing the corners of this joglo house. The house built by Aneesha with great difficulty, as evidence to those who belittle her. A house built to benefit many people.

I walked around the house from the inside out. Stunned on a wall on the side porch, bordering the motor garage. Walls that display many photos in figurines. The photos are arranged in such a way, displayed neatly, attracting the attention of passers-by. Family photo….

There are photos of the Aneesha family in Jakarta, family photos of Aneesha in Surabaya, family photos in Magelang, and the most interesting thing is the collage of photos of Aneesha with her two sisters in various poses. Something I never had, which was a beautiful and warm moment with my family.

Especially brother and sister. All my life I could only spend time with Reyfan. Never feel the sense of having a sibling bond like others feel. My living senses are familyless.

I exhaled a long breath, researching one photo at a time on the wall. They are happy to have a family, especially parents. You can joke, chat and even fight for trivial things, but it only makes the family bond tighter.

I look away when I hear the sound of a child crying from behind my back. Followed by the soft voice of the woman, trying to ease the cries of her son.

“Cup, dear ... cup cup ... sleepy nggih? Brother sleepy?”

I nodded as the woman who was none other than Nanda smiled at me. Just for a moment, then Nanda went into the house. Must be about to put his little daughter who is only about 3 months old.

Faintly from the backyard, I heard Faiz's voice over the loudspeakers, filling the show.

“Organizing should not forget your main obligations as students. Your main task is to learn ...”

I continued my steps, down the car garage lined up on the side of the yard. There are some old cars, the collection of Mr. Fares and Reyfan, neatly and cleanly stored. Must be because it's taken care of.

One by one I searched the garage, choosing which car I should use, because everything was old and antique. Just arrived at the third garage, the tail of my eyes caught the shadow of a figure

a busy man in front of a timor car whose hood is open. It looks like the man is repairing the engine of a timor car that has been modified body.

I frowned, squinted my eyes, only able to see the man's back from where I was standing. I'm no stranger to that guy, but who. I was just about to take a step, without me noticing a sound coming in my ear, knowing that I was watching the man and the timor sedan.

“Om Fares is not kidding about caring for his collection car. Until bringing in mechanics from Surabaya.”

I was almost surprised, it turned out that Faiz was already standing next to me holding his first son. Though it seems that it was still talking at the event that took place in the pendopo. I just nodded, understanding who Faiz meant.

“If I want to bring a motor, there is no helmet here, Mas?” Manya make sure. Because it is impossible for me to go from Magelang to Yogya without wearing a helmet.

“There. Didn't tell Irkham to be prepared first.”

Accompanied by Faiz, I went around talking. View the entire corner of the yard, from the garage of cars and motorcycles, to Aneesha's photo gallery. Passing through some mothers who seemed to have just come to deliver their sons and daughters.

“Sunday is their schedule to learn to paint,” like I can read my mind, Faiz pointed to ABG children who just entered the gallery, “they are all with special needs, so they are, but they have talent that can be developed. Usually classes take place in pendopo, but because it is being used event, so move to gallery.”

“Not just painting classes, there are also dance, singing, carawitan and solo music classes. Everything is led by a special teacher, some are deliberately brought by Aneesha from Jakarta.” Mas Faiz explained the activities that took place in this joglo house area.

“There are taekwondo exercises every Friday’at afternoon, pantomime and children's drama every wednesday afternoon, the lesbian community that accommodates.”

“Pendopo it,” mas Faiz pointed pendopo are still crowded people, “often rented for events like this. Many organizations use this place to hold events. From routine mappings*, break the fast together, or other meeting events.”

“Most people wear organizations. Schools and madrasas also used. Last week was used for IRM and IPM deliberations. Yesterday the day after tomorrow is used for Fatayat dressings, if the routine is yes, every Saturday night paing is used for dressings mas-mas Ansor.”

"Date 5 every month there is a cadet coral meeting. Here too ... its wide place."

“Wah! Every day crowded, dong, Mas? Do many people wear this place? Maybe because it's free, huh, Mas?" I know that everyone who uses this place is never charged. Although some willingly give, but not obliged.

“Yes, according to the purpose of building this place. Thank God for the benefit of the crowd, may it be a charity field jariyah.”

“Aamiin.”

I was stunned for a moment, as I passed the mothers sitting in the gazebo. They muttered, chatting about their children. Something that makes me feel .. Does it have to be like being a mother? Talking about his son with other mothers, feeling proud of the uniqueness of each child.

.... Have you ever talked about me with anyone else? About my learning achievement or about my delinquency? Uh! Happy are those who are still the talk of mama and papa, and those who can still talk about their respective children.

Mas Faiz had a conversation with a man who was repairing a car engine. While I only occasionally respond because I do not know too well. More interested in paying attention to the timor car that is being repaired. Looks still good, kinclong, like new. Maybe because of the repaint. Mr. Fares and Reyfan did not mess around in caring for their old car collection. This place is like a unique house, for items that are also antique.

I don't want to leave this cool, soothing place. Talk casually with Faiz mas who managed to parse the contents of my head that is always tangled. Bringing a new understanding, that there is no harm in talking a lot. All this time I only spoke if needed, rarely talking pleasantries like now. And it turns out that trivial things like this are actually fun. Makes life a little light.

I had to leave the area of joglo and Faiz mas house, although I actually still want to talk for a long time. But the vibration of the mobile phone sign of an incoming message made my purpose come to this place, and the task that I had to carry out immediately.

After all Faiz had to go, attend events elsewhere. I just found out that this simple guy who always wears a sarong and peci is very busy.

“There is study of safinatunnajah book in mushola,” so bright mas Faiz. It was the last sentence before I left.

Finally I chose a vespa that I will use as a tool to support mobility while in Yogya. Light blue old Vespa.

“Can choose between the two, the light blue or the matic yellow, the latest output,” said Faiz as I looked around three vespas in the garage, “asal not the orange. It's got om Fares, can't be borrowed haphazardly. Historic said.”

My mobility in Yogya will not be like in Jakarta, more relaxed. I just need to find out where Ghufron lives and how his family behaves. So I think it's more comfortable to use this old vespa than an equally old car.

I drove the Vespa casually. Lucky I only brought a small suitcase, so it was not too troublesome.

From Magelang to the student city, I turned the wheel after crossing the Magelang-Yogya border. I want to stop somewhere. Passing through a primary school building, a mosque and a pesantren. Straight follow the village road that is not too wide, then stop.

I parked the vespa on the shoulder of the street, at the entrance to the Muslim cemetery. After making sure my vespa and luggage were safe, I entered the tomb. Be careful I walk on the mound of the tomb. Looking for a tomb planted with frangipani trees on his left. Mama's tomb ….

I did not plan to visit my mother's grave. But talking to Faiz, seeing Faiz's wife calm his daughter, as well as the mothers in the gazebo, made me remember the figure of the mother. Sending a signal to the brain, so I can move the steering wheel here.

The tomb is only a mound of land, protected by plesir of natural stone. I was sitting in front of my mom's grave. Sighing deeply, I rubbed the tombstone, muttering without making a sound, “how are you, Ma? Did mom miss me? I miss my mom every time ..”

Silence ….

I felt the wind blowing slowly, stroking the body, crushing the feathers of Rome. Frangipani tree branches swayed, dried leaves and flowers flew to and fro, then just fell on the ground.

Midday ... The air feels a little cold, even though the sun is shining. Or because I haven't adapted to the weather here? Because accustomed to the hot and sultry air of Jakarta.

Cold froze me, piercing into the recesses of the heart. It was painful when I heard the rustling of leaves rubbing against each other because of the wind. It felt like there was a vacuum inside there, empty uninhabited.

A room that should be filled with love, love, and affection. A space that has never been occupied until now. The space I had neglected, I had no idea. Now I can feel clearly, the emptiness that has been neglected.

I have everything to survive. But is that enough? Am I not willing to do anything else?

What do I want in this life besides matter and position? Maybe I want the presence of mama and papa. But that's not possible, because we're in a different realm. The most tragic longing is to miss the one who has passed away. No matter how deep the plant longs, it will not be possible to reap in the world.

I rubbed the tombstone again, then I stood up while putting two hands in the pocket of the pants. I sniffed my shoulders when the wind came back.

'Shit! It was cold and I didn't wear a jacket. On the outskirts of town. Why is it this cold?’ My soul is in my heart.

I turned my body. Wanted to walk away from my mother's grave, but the presence of someone broke my steps. The middle-aged man stood before me. Smiling then approached, patting my shoulder softly.

“How are you, Hara?”

It was a question I had longed for. Trivial questions I've never heard from a person like him. The one I missed but couldn't possibly meet.

Perhaps, what I am as of now is being able to feel like a child ....

.

.

.

Connect ....

NOTE :

*IPNU, IPPNU, IRM, IPM, Ansor: All names of Islamic youth organizations, both from NU and Muahammadyah.

Why did I enter organization2 into the story? Because it is related to the journey of Hara's self-search.

Nothing to mean, or where to go. All for the sake of the entry of the story.😁

Hope it is enjoyed, yes...😁

Readers all hopefully in good health all. Where I have a lot of sick people. hospital IGD until full, until the patient is rejected because the isolation room is full and lack of oxygen stock.

So stay save friends. Obey the prokes, don't ignore. We help each other let the pandemic pass.

Honestly my trauma, hearing siren sounds like a memory back to 11 years ago. Time glared down his valiant. Can only pray, hopefully things will improve soon. Aami....