Timeless Memory: The Rain in Childhood Memories

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2014/12/31/your-letters-childhood-memories-rainy-days.html

It’s rainy season, ladies and gentlemen! Keep your raincoat and umbrella ready! Be prepared to get wet! And brace yourselves for the worst enemy, the traffic jam!

Yet, the funny thing is the smell of rain always brings back my timeless blissful childhood memories. It brings me to my old days spent in the countryside; lie flat on the green grass under the blue skies, facing the lashing rain. After the rain, the small white and pink wild flowers just shine in the pure sun, the brightest rainbow ever decorate the bluish skies, and the smell of fresh ground and grass waft through the air. It’s so great to be so carefree, having an unfettered life with care a damn attitude.

Rainy days help to bring back the love, fun and joy of childhood memories. The melodic rhythm of raindrops pattering on the roof creates the full symphony overhead and dream of far off adventures. My childhood friends and I would dart out of the doors on a rainy day when our mothers weren’t paying attention. We jumped in the puddles, splashing water. Getting soaked, we ran along the edges of the slushy paddy fields, seeking out frogs and eels. Then, we hunted for fallen mangoes and rambutan or jack-fruit under the downpours, gorging at them when we were lucky to find any.

Our greatest joy came when the rain flooded the small river in our village. Its water became light brown like chocolate milk. The current got wilder which we loved so much. We swam across the flooding river in groups, testing our gut. The strong current often carried us down the stream and we had to hug some rocks as our saviors. We cheered like wild Amazons when each of us succeeded to swim across the other side. We were just like fearless warriors!

Oh, can we bring back the joy that we got from such silly things? It seems has been lost decades ago. Gone are those days when we could find wildlife in the rain.

Now, in the concrete jungle of Jakarta, the rain gives us an excuse to curl up on the couch with a good book with a sip of hot tea or coffee on the weekend. Or just listening to the melodic rhythm of it drumming on the roof. However, during workdays, venturing outside after a storm and taking in a long draw of damp air, an earthiness with hints of dust and smoke seems to linger in the air. Then, there have been several powerful storms with lightning and thunder, menacing clouds and a great quantity of water that almost flooded the streets of the city, disrupting the train and paralyzed the traffic. Rainy days become constant nightmare to this city dwellers.

Despite these odds, I still have this odd tingling feeling about the rain. I miss playing in it. I miss going out and just getting wet to be wet and getting muddy under the guise of having fun. So, I steal times just to have walk under the drizzle, feeling the droplets splash on my face. Closing my eyes for seconds, I could see flashbacks of my childhood timeless memory in the rain.  

My Mum said that rain is God’s tears to wash away the bad things from the earth. It does indeed wash away the ugly part of this city, the clogging garbage, the choking haze and so forth. It also brings life by helping the plants and grasses to re-grow. After all, we are all just humble travelers in this world, fragile and hopeful. Yet, we also are strong and tenacious as water making its way through dangerous cliffs to reach its final destination.

On Teachers' Day

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2014/11/28/your-letters-happy-teachers-day.html

The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires (William Arthur Ward)

On the National Teachers' day, my mind flew back to the old memories during school. I have conviction these memories of teachers persist, continuing to influence my live years later. The sweet and bitter memories are indeed indelible, sealing the lifelong influence that a teacher can have.

I remember my exceptional English teacher in the junior high school by heart. I was greatly affected by his love of the subject and his teaching talent. English was always hard for me. I didn't understand things the first time. It was worsened by my shyness. Combined, they put me into a torture chamber. Then, this particular teacher went out of his way throughout the year to create a fun way of learning and touch our hearts. The way he humored the class with his eccentric English accent along with the creative methods he labored, have unlocked  the imagination and energy of the class. 

Somehow, he sensed that I was extremely shy. I was simply a drop of water in the vast ocean. Yet, he didn't scold or punish me for my drawbacks. Instead, he encouraged me to keep on going and assured me it's OK to err. He said every great person always learn from their mistakes. In measured steps and with great skill he asked more and more of me in terms of participating in discussions. Unlike other teachers who didn't even know I existed, he knew me by name and heart.  He believed in me and gently pushed me to face what I found hardest to do -- speak up my mind in the public arena. I will never forget him. He nurtured my love for the subject and for writing. He inspired me to do things I was afraid of to do. He helped me to build my self esteem and identify my strenght.

In contrast, I also recall one particular Math teacher in the same school.  Math was my worst enemy and nightmare. I don't remember his name, but he had a way of making me feel like a second class citizen because I was a slow learner in this subject. It was a daily battle. I was not lazy but numbers was sort of my Achilles'' heel. Instead of helping me to find effective way to master the subject, he had made me look like a fool. It was still as vivid as lava when he deliberately drew a long white line across my face in front of the class with his favorite chalk on the day I failed to sum up and divide numbers as he instructed. It was humiliating and left a scar on my fragile heart. Some students suffered the same fate. We disliked him greatly. His class sent a wave of terror through me. To this day, the dreadful memory etched on mind like an annoying parasite

These two opposite experiences make me strongly believe that teaching by heart and love is much more effective than by fear and terror. Inspiring ways of learning unbolt the gate of my mind, to soar high and free. It helps me to overcome fears and doubts. It paid off when I nailed the subject. While demeaning ways of learning seal the gate to the land of opportunity. It forever shields me away from moving forward due to constant fear and shame. It became my silent bane. Both consequently have great influence on the way I choose my path the years afterwards.

Hence, it is undeniable that teachers hold in their hands the Holy Grail for the future of our nation. The children they teach are the future generation who will take the leadership estafet from their forefathers. They are the critical guardians of the intellectual life as well as the character of the nation.

In this sense, teachers are the foundation upon which a child's character is built. School is the closest laboratory of character building to home because a child spends more time in school rather than at home. Therefore, teachers have great responsibility to educate, to advise, to counsel and to nurture their students in realizing their full potential, shaping their character altogether. They should give their students the tools to become authors of their own life story and builders of a better world. It is not an exaggeration then to say that teachers are the catalyst for the emergence of a revolutionary ideal through knowledge and education.

Having said so, it is significantly important for teachers to build the integrity and character of the children by choosing to do the right thing. It is a case of living by example, providing a good role model. Teachers become the gravity of social values, ethics and a set of beliefs their students look up to. Effective teachers unlock the energies, imaginations, and, most of all, the minds of their students. To be such an ideal, they have to be highly passionate and obsessive about teaching just like a painter is about painting or an artist is about art. They way they shape and mould their students will leave lasting imprints on their students. Great teachers help their pupils to prepare in their quest in life, and the opposite thrust them into a dark alley of mistrust and doubt.

It is also worthy to note that teachers have the role of more than just to tell, explain or demonstrate. In today's technological savvy, students can get those stuffs from the internet. Every bit of information and knowledge are stored online, and anyone can have access to this massive knowledge repository by one simple click on their desktop. One thing this virtual world lack is the power to inspire. This is the sole authority of human to do so. This is the privilege of a teacher to inspire their students to be better and contribute to help building a better world.

I personally believe that great teachers should become role models and idols for students. Apart from educating students on subjects by touching the students' minds, they have noble duty to also touch their spirits -- the way they see and feel about themselves for the rest of their lives. Such influence is truly a rare privilege that should be prized and nurtured.

So, Happy Teachers Day! We thank all the great teachers out there. We love you!

Welcoming Mr. President

"In the name of God, I swear that I will fulfill my obligation as the president of Indonesia as best as I can and as fairly as possible." Wearing a black suit and traditional cap, the President Elect, Joko ‘Jokowi’ Widodo took the sacred oath. The political outsider will now start to wage the war and will be under fierce pressure from the outset as he now helms the world’s third largest democracy.

By this simple vow comes the daunting task amid the highly divided factions at the Parliament to enact a bold reform agenda. Today, the euphoria drowns the notoriously fractious parliament for awhile. After the ceremony, Jokowi and his new vice president, Jusuf Kalla, traveled in a horse-drawn carriage accompanied by a parade to the presidential palace from Hotel Indonesia traffic circle.

Thousands of people took to the street to welcome the new President. Employees in the buildings along the roads halted their activities to join the 'pesta rakyat' or people's celebration with hired street vendors to offer meals for free. My colleagues and I rushed out after break hour to join the masses to catch a glimpse of the infectious merriment. Under the scorching heat, Thamrin Street has turned into an ocean of people, old and young, employed and unemployed, rich and poor. It was smiles all around, and a real feeling of festivity in the air. 

Bapak Mahmuri came thousands of miles away from Pemalang on bicycle to Jakarta to mark the historical moment. For a week, he paddled his old bike with various attributes of Jokowi-JK posters, photos, and pins. Despite the long arduous journey, he said he had no regret and was happy to be here. Asked further by taking such a great length of troubles, he proudly said because he loved Jokowi for his down to earth style. Jokowi comes from neither a politically elite nor a military background. This simple and less glamorous backdrop makes him familiar with ordinary people. "Jokowi is me and I hope he will remain the same after becoming President. To keep listening to ordinary people's plights, honest and work for the good of Indonesia."

Seventy six years old Ibu Noor expressed similar view about Jokowi. Coming to Jakarta back in 1953 from Jebres-Solo, she had experienced all seven presidential inauguration, from Sukarno to Jokowi. Unlike his predecessors, there's never been such jubilant celebration joined by people from all walks of life in the main thoroughfares of Jakarta. Never before in her life, could she greet the President face to face in the street without any major hindrances. Ibu Noor lived in Jalan Jaksa area and she joined the masses with her daughter in law. Her big families from Solo would join them later after completing the parade with the entourage. Rearranging her headscarf with her wrinkled hands, she said "I hope Pak Jokowi remains truthful to deliver his promises. He is a good ordinary man with remarkable loveable persona."

It's amazing to speak with these various people on the street with their beaming faces and smile. Despite the searing hot climate, people were enthusiastic to closely follow up the procession, stealing an opportunity to shake hands with the President. So much hope and high expectations rest on the shoulder on the new government. People hope the remarkable of softly-spoken politician who was brought up in a riverside slum could truly relate his experiences with plights of the downtrodden could bring a difference. They hoped the new government could live up the expectations to bring Indonesia into a brighter future, alleviate poverty, eradicate the corruptive practices, build up stronger good governance and tackle the mounting minority discrimination.

The euphoria of the inauguration is likely to be short-lived as Jokowi comes to lead in a critical moment. His first test will be to reduce the huge fuel subsidies that eat up about a fifth of the budget, a move economists say is urgently needed but which risks sparking large street protests. He should also tackle the political gridlock which has been easing in ahead of inauguration. Yet, it does not guarantee his reform agenda to run smoothly without any challenge.

It's such a huge challenging task to be the New President. Jokowi is not a Messiah who can instantly bring us to salvation. Jokowi does not have a magic wand like Harry Potter or Merlin to bid things do things for him with one smooth wave of the magic spell. Nor does he have superhuman power to prevent bad things for happening. He is just a simple man with proven track record of hardworking ethics and integrity who wants the best for his people. He is imperfect, thus he needs every help to deliver the promises.

“Unity and working hand in hand are prerequisites for us to be a great nation. We will never become a great nation if we are stuck with division. "This is a historic moment for us all to move together, to work and work," Jokowi said after reading the oath.

Death Becomes Her

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2014/01/11/your-letters-death-becomes-her.html

As I read the news on the recent untimely dead of a Venezuelan girl due to unsafe silicon injection and how the country is trapped in a culture of beauty, my heart mourned with sympathy. I could relate her ‘ill-advised action’ to my own and to women all across the globe in general. 

We, girls, grow up honestly believing that we have to look like something that come out of fashion magazines, movies, and ads. Even fairy tales portray beauty in such image: Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, and many more. We've seen them exclusively featuring ideally thin, tall, fair skin women as the only happy and desirable ones, zooming in on parts of women’s bodies and pan up and down those parts.

Such is an ideal, by definition, can be met by only a minority of those who strive for it. Yep, beauty may not be skin deep, yet it doesn't stop women from putting their best.

Women are brainwashed by these bombardments that they value beauty more than their personal well-being. Striving to attain the ideal takes great toll either in coffers or personal well-being in the form of physical pain, health problems, medical procedures, psychological effects as well as time and effort.

They empty their coffer on expensive cosmetics and bleaching products. Some frenetically and compulsively implement severely restrictive and nutritionally deficient diets, developing bizarre eating habits to attain certain body weight and shape. Many go as far as to have plastic surgery, breasts implant, lips suction or buttock injection to improve their looks and physical appearance in expense of their health, even their life.

In Indonesia, mushrooming skin care clinics and beauty salons have offered varies of treatments to improve one’s look up to beauty standards. Hospitals also provide cosmetic plastic surgery. These places are sweet nectar for women.

Months ago, as I lay on the patient table, squirming in unimaginable pain while my dermatologist applied chemical substances on my face, I thought how the hell did I get here in the first place?!

The burning sensation was excruciating. Not to mention the feeling of tens of thousands of tiny red ants and creepy scorpions viciously injected their venoms on my face.

Guess what, the answer is simple and matter-of-factly: I want to have a fair skin. But wait! It’s not for the wrong reason as in pursuing beauty culture (ops, is it self-denial?), but due to my skin problem.

Formerly, I didn’t care about the spreading acnes and cysts on my face, leaving the pores of the skin to clog with oil and dead skin. Hey, I am married and my husband is generous enough not to criticize my monstrosity. I said to myself “I am beautiful on the inside”, promoting the wise theory as poor excuse to justify my look lol.

“You are beautiful just the way you are,” My husband said teasingly with a grin from ear to ear.

Hell yes, I love being Shrek-like! (lol)

My fortress fell apart to pieces when people I met at office, bus, train and any other public places asked me with concern. They began hurling me with skin products and promoted certain skin cares for a try. My face would have got a tinge of color if it was white…lol. I had to swallow my pride hard at this commentary and kept flashing my widest grin ever, thanking them with suppressed anger.

In the end, I gave up. I went to the famous skincare clinic that has reputable name with licensed specialist doctors. After years, my acne problem lessened. People stopped annoying me with their campaign of beauty. I lived in peace afterwards: happy and content!

Until one day, my dermatologist asked me whether I would like to try ‘peeling program’ to correct my scarring associated with acne. After some hesitation, I said “Why not? It’s absolutely for health reason! (Is it?)” while looking at the commercial ads promoting the program.

Once again, my serenity turned upside down!

That’s what brought me to that torture chamber. Afterwards, I told my dermatologist; never ever again would I want such ordeal. As long as my grizzly acnes did not come to revisit me, I would be content enoughJ.

Drawing form this personal experience, I don’t advocate women to purse beauty ideals created and maintained by pop culture products. Beauty is nothing but a fleeting nature, defeating by age and time.

How can we race against time that cuts down and destroys all things that are beautiful? Time causes beauty to fade, people to age and life to end.

So, why bother pursuing such ideal only to end up in vain. Is it worth it to trade your life and soul with momentary triumph of being a beauty?

Duh... I choose NO. I don’t want to end up like Dorian Gray or the Venezuelan girl.

Flashing my smile, I hammer the wisdom that inner beauty is a dozen times more important that the artificial one in my bone. It’s a mantra I cling on tightlyJ.

Ehm, sounds too good to be true and naïve, isn’t it? But that’s the hardcore truth.

As Oscar Wilde, the renowned Iris dramatist, novelist and poet, has once admonished us that “It’s beauty which captures your attention; personality captures your heart.

Mudik: A Spiritual Journey to Home

I took one last look at my office desk, a ritual repeated annually over the years. Piles of documents were gone. My desk drawers were neatly arranged. There was no pending letters. Nothing seemed gone amiss, and out of place. Listening to Michael Bubble’s song “Home”, I rummaged through my desk drawers once again where I used to put my stuffs at random. I had the urge to really make sure that I had clean and organized drawers before my absence. I sighed in relief and grinned widely, feeling satisfied.  Yeah, I guess I am ready to take my leave and depart for my hometown tomorrow. Let’s go Mudik!   

“And I’m surrounded by

A million people I

Still feel all alone

Oh, let me go home

Oh, I miss you, you know”

MUDIK has a unique cultural phenomenon in Indonesia as with the Chinese New Year or Imlek for the Chinese. MUDIK is the term referred to the exodus of millions of people from the urban centers to the villages or hometowns in order to celebrate the Idul Fitri holiday with family and friends. This phenomenon has drawn a lot of attention from all circles; government agencies, politicians, economists, sociologists, cultural experts and so forth into a repetitive endless discussions and buzz. Government will be so occupied to arrange transportation and ensure safety of those participated in the cyclic phenomenon every year. It is required to safeguard and maintain an orderly flow of Mudik. Something amiss is NOT tolerated as Mudik becomes the national spotlight, “hajat nasional.” It is deemed ‘a sacred duty’ to establish a safe and smooth flow of Mudik participants. If something went wrong, critics and debacles will surely follow.

Like many other millions migrants in Jakarta, I will follow the annual tradition of “Mudik” to celebrate Idul Fitri at home, reuniting with my parents, families, old friends, and neighbors. We usually start packing our stuffs for this occasion within 2-3 days before Lebaran. It is a unique annual phenomenon in Indonesia. Most of the population in this nation takes part in this ritual procession.  Although I work and live in Jakarta, I don’t forget my roots. There’s always a feeling of alienation in this big crowded metropolis that impartially scars the heart. It’s like living among millions, yet you still feel so alone inside.  It feels like something’s lost when I left my hometown back then. Living a far from home is draining our soul. Thus, it needs recharging.

Mudik in its own strange ways, offers us, the migrant workers a way to rediscover ‘something that we had lost’. It is a way to recharge our battery, gear up us all again to start afresh and anew.  It is like seashore where we can throw our anchor, and stay on dock for awhile. It’s something we call ‘home’. For me, there’s always a longing to set these feet on the paddies fields, a small stream running on it, a sweet scent of crops harvested, soft green grass on my playing fields back home. Reminiscing my old days when I barefooted threaded along the paddy fields, and plucked the ripened rice, I would gaze upon the vast yellowish paddies laid in front of my eyes. Back then, I used to walk among these fields to reach my school on foot with my childhood friends.  I remember the smell of my mother’s cooking when I get home. I remember how I used to play hide and seek and play among the trees in my childhood.  It is an ache of yearning and belonging. Such feeling needs to be nurtured with soothing and tender care, emotions that can only be provided by this annual tradition of Mudik. It refills the empty gap within the heart. Like a spiritual treat of holy fasting month, it generates a new freshness, which instills us with new vigor when we return to work in Jakarta.  This is a moment we cherish so much and we don’t want to miss ‘the thing.’

To satiate the hunger for such feelings, millions of migrants especially from Jakarta, drive, scramble for train tickets, buses, plains, ships, travel even are willing to drive car or private motorcycle all-night long just to celebrate this special moment with their family.  Millions of migrants in Jakarta make long queues for train and bus tickets, jump into any overloaded transportation vehicles they can find and get stuck for hours in traffic jams. For four consecutive years, I got trapped for hours on my way home to Solo. We had to travel for more than 24 hours just to reach my town. At normal days, it would only take 8 hours by car. The sun was scorching during the day. It burnt you with thirst. Soft fresh drinks were just on the verge to nail us down for a sip. It’s an excruciating journey. Yet for us, all the pain and inconveniences is nothing compared to the feeling of the home-sweet-home. Once we set our feet at our doorsteps, those ordeals paid off. Often, the journey itself is becomes an interesting tale to tell to the families back home. It’s the calling for home. It’s the sweet victory we taste when we are able to hug our parents and families with such yearning. It is the spiritual recharge that keeps migrant workers to keep on going. It is the needs to revisit, rediscover, and reclaim that makes endure for another battleJ.

Before leaving, “Happy Eid Al- Mubarak 1433H, Minal Aidin Wal Faidzin” to my brothers and sisters!

 “And the angels celebrate the praises of their Lord, and pray for forgiveness for all beings on earth; Behold! Verily God is He, the Oft-forgiving, Most Merciful!” (Surah As-Syura:5)

First Fast for Children

My six years old nephew tugged at my elbow with his little nose twitching and took the scent trail straight to coffee-scented bakeries shop at the entrance of GIANT Margo City. He whispered to me, “Bulik, bau rotinya sedap…” (Auntie, the aroma is so tantalizing). He couldn’t resist the smell of food obviously. That was enough to make any child break his first fast. I smiled mischievously at him and said, “Mau gak Bulik beliin? Tapi dimakan sekarang ya?” (Do you want any? I buy you some if only you eat them now). I ruffled his cropped hair and grinned widely. He looked at me with his thoughtful eyes, and then pursued his lips and frown. I burst into laughter. He dragged me away from the counter and headed for the supermarket. I teased him and asked why he refused to eat. He glared and said “Zaki puasa, Bulik.” (I am fasting auntie). Atta boy…that’s just my sweet little darling, lol. We are just proud of him. And I can be sometimes his devilish guardian….lol.




Ramadhan 1433 H is indeed a totally new experience for us, as our six years old Zaki is also fasting. Today is his 11th day of fast. It is his first time to complete a full day fast from dawn to dusk. Last year, he occasionally fasted half day. During weekend he would come to my home and ate milk and cookies I preserved in my fridge. Alhamdulillah, this year, his parents had encouraged him to fast full day from day 1. It had been also supported by his Islamic school that promoted the students in 1st grade to start to fast depending on their strength. It wasn’t easy on the onset. He kept whining of being hungry and thirsty. Initially, his parents planned to make him fast half day just but he seemed okay and no further complains afterwards. At times, we were tempted to let him break his fast, seeing his small lean posture weakened during the day. It’s a bit tricky to distract his attention from the gnawing hunger after school. His parents had to keep him occupied, playing games at his PC, racing his toy cars, drawing, and so son. Once, he got tired, he fell asleep immediately. When he woke up, he would look at the clock and counted how many hours left before iftar. Then, his parents would let him kill the time by playing. His steeled his determination more when his parents promised to buy him the thing he wanted if only he could complete a full month fast. He was all excited to take up the “challenge”. Honestly, we didn’t put any high expectation on it but so far only on 3rd day he broke his fast at noon.

From my observation on my nephew, I take some notes on how his parents succeeding in encouraging him to fast full day at his age.

1. First and foremost, instilling a desire to fast. Compulsion is without a doubt out of the question. Forcing him will only weaken him to succumb to temptation.

I kept asking him, “Zaki, why do you fast?” He said, “I want to get IPAD from Allah.” I chuckled hearing this.

“And how Allah will give it to you?” I questioned further.

He smiled sheepishly and looked at his mother. Then his mother intervened and said that Zaki was fasting to get rewards from Allah. They constantly told him the blessings and rewards that a fasting person received and the wisdom behind fasting.



I know the concept of rewards from Allah is still too abstract for him so his parents relates the prize to describe such reward.

2. Explaining the purpose of fasting in simple language.

Once, we took a drive. His parents asked him to look at the traffic light intersection with some little children begging in the scorching heat. Then his mum said, “Look at those less fortunate children. Instead of playing, they have to make money to eat. Now, tell me how do you feel when you go hungry like this?”

He looked bewilder, rubbed his stomach and said “It’s bad feeling hungry.”

His mother smiled and hugged him. “Yes, being hungry is miserable. Therefore, we are obliged to fast in order to feel what it’s like being hungry. Thus, we want to share our food with those less fortunate. Sharing and giving is a good way to help those in need.”

Well…it’s not completely the purpose of fasting, but I believe with such language, children are easier to grasp the idea. In the end, he dived in his pocket to find some small change, and gave the money to a child with a guitar. His mum then added extra money.

3. Offering positive reinforcement.

When breaking his fast after Maghrib, his parents would praise him. They gave him his most favorite food and drink. “Wonderful, that’s my boy, smart boy” are among praises uttered by his parents. Or when he was on the verge of giving up, his mum would gather him in her arms and said it was only a couple more hours to go before he could eat. Then, she would stay with him playing puzzle.

Further, they would tell him that at the end of Ramadhan, we would all celebrate the feisty day with Eid gifts and new clothes.

4. Keeping him occupied.

It helped him staying away from food and drinks. It offered distraction. Whenever, he whined, his parents would tell him stories, or let him play his favorite games or let him just doze off to sleep. As long as he was doing things he likes, he would easily forget his hunger.



Fasting is certainly more difficult and tougher for children than it is for adults in its most basic notion of absenting from food and drinks from dawn till dusk. Children who are extra active in their play may also have trouble fasting. Nevertheless, the parents should not be lax in the matter. It is important to introduce children on the importance of fasting in their early age. As long as a child is in good health, the child can be introduced to fasting in some manner or another. After all, children are like a sheet of white paper. It depends on how we write on that blank paper. It is during his early age, a child is easier to be instilled with good values and religious piousness.



Children who have a weak constitution might not be able to fast on the onset. Likewise, those who normally need to eat frequently can find fasting difficult. Children who are extra active in their play are also among those who have trouble fasting. It is the job of the parents to determine whether their children are ready to fast. They know their children's health...

KRL Oh KRL ... Tetap Dicinta Meskipun Sering Dicela

Saat terbangun pagi ini, bumi masih berselimut gelap ditingkahi gerimis yang mengalir tipis. Nampaknya, sang hujan yang telah mengguyur sejak semalam masih belum puas menumpahkan rindunya yang mengiris. Udara dingin menyergap tulang saat air wudhu menyentuh kulit. Hujan pagi yang identik dengan macet di Jakarta sontak menyegerakanku melipat selimut dan bergegas cepat. Dalam hitungan menit pun, suami tercinta yang gesit, menerjang kabut pagi dan membelah jalan yang mulai dipadati kendaraan pribadi, motor, atau pun angkot. Untungnya, gerimis telah menyingkir pergi seakan malu menatap rona mentari pagi yang mulai tersenyum manis. Alhamdulillah, sesampainya di stasiun, Komuter Line Depok-Jakarta keberangkatan 5.57 belum datang sehingga ada harapan dapat tempat duduk meskipun harus berebut. Maklum, sifat KRL yang moody alias suka-sukanya, seringkali memaksaku berdiri satu jam atau lebih jika terjadi gangguan atau ada KRL ngadat. Saat kereta merapat ke peron, dengan sigap aku melompat, dan berlomba dengan puluhan roker (sebutan keren ROmbongan KEReta) saling memepet dan menyerempet. Tidak sia-sia berangkat lebih awal, saat aku berhasil duduk manis di sebelah Bapak tua yang bersepatu karet.




Seperti biasa kereta penuh sesak, dan aku menenggelamkan diri dalam pusaran cerita novel terbitan terbaru novelis kesayangan. Kereta mulai mendengus menuju Jakarta, derikan roda dan rel makin keras karena penumpangnya penuh sesak, berjejal, dan berhimpit-himpitan. Di setiap stasiun, naga besi ini pun kembali berhenti dan membius para roker dengan hisapan liak liuknya yang menjanjikan perjalanan bebas hambatan tercepat. Selang 20 menit, udara di dalam gerbong semakin pengap dan lengket. Saat itulah, aku baru tersadar bahwa selepas stasiun Lenteng Agung, naga besi ini mulai memelankan liukannya seakan tersedak besi panas. AC pun mati sehingga mengubah gerbong penuh sesak ini menjadi sauna gratis. Sebagian roker mulai gelisah dan dengan kipas seadanya mulai berusaha menghalau hawa panas yang mengganas. Pria perlente yang dari awal berdiri tepat di depanku mulai sibuk menelpon kantornya sambil mendengus kesal karena terpaksa datang terlambat. Sebagian lain mulai sibuk mencari informasi gerangan apakah yang terjadi lewat smart phone, BBM, atau pun sms. Seperti biasa, petugas PT KAI yang mengendalikan naga besi ini seakan menutup mata, telinga, dan mulut. Para roker seakan dibiarkan terlantar tanpa informasi apa pun, apalagi ungkapan sepatah kata maaf. Walhasil, banyak gosip berhembus kencang, mulai dari adanya gangguan listrik di Stasiun Tanjung Barat, gangguan sinyal kereta karena hujan, sampai kereta ekonomi yang mogok sebelum sempat merapat.


Sejam berlalu sudah. Naga besi masih anteng dalam dengkuran sementara para roker mulai dicekam rasa cemas. Mentari pagi mulai meradang galak saata sinarnya menyengat kulit yang terpapar. Bau gerbong yang awalnya masih semerbak wangi karena aroma deodorant, parfum, dan cologne yang masih fresh, kini berubah asem dan apek bercampur dengan keringat yang membanjir deras. Bau campur aduk ini semakin menambah pengap hawa sehingga memaksa penumpang membuka paksa sejumlah jendela. Ah…lega rasanya saat udara luar yang relatif masih segar menyergap masuk. Sejurus kemudian, naga besi menggeliat. Sontak penumpang bersorak girang, dan hilang rasa was-was. Namun, kekecewaan kembali menghantam pedas saat sang naga besi kembali membisu, merampas harapan yang sempat tergores.


Jarum jam menunjukkan pukul 08.00. Dua jam sudah, para roker tersandera dalam perut sang naga besi yang semakin memanas. Menunggu tanpa kepastian dan kejelasan memang merupakan suatu bentuk siksaan yang sadis. Apalagi, dengan kondisi udara yang pengap dan berdiri berjam-jam tanpa bisa bergerak bebas. Perut pun mulai protes karena belum terisi dari pagi. Kondisi yang memprihatinkan ini memaksa sebagian penumpang berpindah haluan. Ada yang ‘mutung’ alias patah arang dan kembali pulang. Ada yang masih bersemangat baja, dan mencoba mencari alternatif angkutan lain menuju kantor. Ada pula yang masih bertahan seperti saya ditemani imajinasi novel sembari menunggu naga besi terbangun. Detik, menit, dan jam pun berlalu. Gerbong kereta pun mulai melenggang sepi karena ditinggalkan para roker. Saat jam menunjuk angka 08.35, sang naga besi pun akhirnya tersentak bangun dan mulai melaju kencang. Decit bunyi roda besi beradu dengan rel ditingkahi klakson masinis yang nyaring menggema. “Tut..tut..tut..tut,” gelegar sang naga besi hingga akhirnya berhasil berlabuh di Stasiun Tanjung Barat, dan Pasar Minggu. Bukannya menipis, jumlah penumpang bahkan semakin membludak melebihi kapasitas hingga meluber sampai ke atap. Hawa semakin panas, peluh membanjir deras, dan kaki semakin menegang keras. Dari sudut ekor mataku, sempat kulihat seorang ibu muda jatuh pingsan sesampai di stasiun Duren Kalibata. Sebagian lain mencoba bertahan meskipun penat dan pegel menghantam dengan beringas. Meskipun seluruh badannya ditunggagi para roker yang emosinya mengganas, sang naga besi masih mampu melenggok anggun dengan kecepatan nan tinggi.


Sesampai Stasiun Sudirman, para roker langsung merangsek keluar. Peluh yang membanjir terseka sepoi angin pagi yang masih berbaik hati menggalir pelan. Perjuangan masih belum berhenti sampai di sini karena para roker harus bergegas berganti moda transportasi lain menuju tempat kerja. Sebagian masih sibuk mencari surat keterangan ke petugas stasiun yang menegaskan adanya keterlambatan kereta untuk diserahkan ke atasan sebagai pendukung absensi yang meradang merah. Sebagian lain melesat bak anak panah mengejar metromini atau kopaja yang lewat. Siapa sangka bangun pagi buta dan berangkal lebih awal justeru berakhir dengan ‘datang terlambat.’ PT KAI seperti biasa selalu memutar lagu lama alias ‘ngeles abis’ atas keluhan buruknya pelayanan dan jadwal yang selalu molor. Para roker sebagai konsumen yang dirugikan lagi-lagi harus menelan pil pahit bahwa keluhan klasik akan selamanya dilayangkan tanpa hasil meskipun telah puluhan tahun membuktikan kesetian dan keloyalan mereka sebagai roker sejati. Ibaratnya para roker ini sudah terlanjur cinta mati dengan sang pujaan hati, si naga besi, namun sang jantung hati ‘ogah-ogahan’ karena merasa menang di atas angin. Para roker cuma bisa berucap “aku masih cinta” meskipun tanpa kepastian kapan pelayanan PT KAI akan meningkat .