I WAS very excited about going to campus. I dared myself to step closer to the Faculty of Letters gate. Somewhat far ahead, I could see a group of girls coming to campus in droves. They laughed out loud. I did not know what the rumors they were talking about.
At the faculty gate, I saw a pack of wild males running scattered. The group of females gave way. Among the flock, one of the females spread an alluring air. I already knew the owner of this pheromone. The other males felt the same way. They glared at her compactly.
This young lady had a body shape like a Spanish guitar. She was curvy, tight, and accurate.
Her breast scale was more challenging than her peers. Each swung of her step makes those twin mountains churn as if they were about to erupt.
Because I did not want this scene to pass quickly, I felt the need to tune it to a slow a la adagio tempo. Ah no, gave me that grave tempo. Geez! I tensed up. This one girl, her body was indeed numero uno!
Her long, shiny hair let loose. She then shook her head like a buffalo bullied by a swarm of flies. Her forehead was broad and glisten, like a princess from a Javanese court. She strolled casually and carefree. At that moment, I realized that she was like an angel getting off from a sand truck.
She seemed to say something to me. However, I could not focus on what she was pronouncing. I just concentrated on something that interests male instincts more. After that, she shouted at me because I did not listen to her.
Suddenly, she started to glare at me. Her forehead frowned. It seemed she did not like my stare sticking at her chest. What did I do? Was I wrong? I was just an ordinary man who adored the beauty of the world.
Got closer, I could see her wearing some kind of earphones. Yes, she was deaf from birth. When outside, she wore a hearing aid. However, since she was a child, she continued to practice speaking and could speak a little.
She only used sign language when she talked with her close friends, usually with me. Yes, I could speak in sign language. It was all for the sake of being able to communicate with her.
"Step aside!" she burst out in verbally.
Apparently, I got in her way. I was obedient while still staring at her. Indeed, every inch of her body was poetry. It was something beautiful to enjoy. But it was not like Walt Whitman's kind of poetry where the recitation was like chanting the mantra. But closer to the late of Grandfather Sapardi's rhyme that 'I want to love you simply'.
Her name was Julia.
Julia herself was my neighbor in Certajava Hamlet. Her house was five houses apart from my house. Julia herself often came to my mother's shop to buy toiletries, sanitary napkins, deodorant, and fake branded perfume refills. Maybe because of the geographic proximity reason, she did not mind if I stared at her big boobs.
From the back, her buttocks swayed in classical Indian dance style. It was okay, as long as she did not shake it in a lap dance style. I could feel my groin hurt. My ‘Mickey’ demanded freedom. But, it was not the right time for the rally.
Suddenly, Julia turned around and walking back to me.
She stared at me, removed her hearing aid, and then started sniffing in front of my face. How dare you, Julia! I could kiss your lips if I lost my mind. With that close, I could scent deodorant, her only fragrance.
“I smell alcohol,” she accused me by her sign language.
Alright, Julia always busy to reminded me about everything. But, why the hell, she always fussed over trivial things like that. I did not like being cared for. But she could find the odd thing out of me, no matter what.
“It's a coffee. Why you always been a jerk, anyway,” I expressed my irritation by my sign language.
“Listen,” Julia insisted, “if I'm not bound by the oath my family made to your grandfather, I don't care!” Julia furious then left.
“Oh, come on Julia, come back, please! I’m sorry,” I verbally pleaded to her.
My grandfather, Bradley Tanoto, remained a respectful person in Certajava. I remembered my mother said he was a national hero, actually. But somehow, the government would not admit it officially. My mother said the situation got worse when her father disappears mysteriously about three decades ago when I was born yet. We did not know him still alive or not.
During the Indonesia independence war, my mother continued, Bradley had a loyal Javanese servant. His faithful servant was Samuel or just Sam. He was Julia’s grandfather. Sam vowed to stay devoted to my family until Brad's wish to make Indonesia free from oligarch comes true. A crazy dream, I thought.
After the communist party coup failed in 1965, my old Bradley bought land and built a new settlement along with his loyal servants. The land now called Certajava, my mother said. Then, Brad gave a square land for his trustworthy servants to build their own house. So, they could live together as neighbors. One of them was Sam.
Before Sam died, he obligated his vow to his son Paul, Julia’s father. The vow to continued the loyalty to my family until my grandfather's dream comes true. Paul agreed.
Then, when I was still in high school, Paul fell ill. Before Paul died, he obligated his father’s vow to his wife and children to stay loyal to my family.
I stood among Paul's family when he blew his last breath. Paul was a typical Javanese person, humble, polite, and loyal. I remembered Julia crying on my shoulder. Both Sam and Paul kept their vow to my family until they died.
"Lang!" a baritone voice called out to me.
"Hey!" I replied shrilly.
From his curly hair, short, and stocky stature, I knew him as Mat Bagi or just Matt. He was like a mini version of the Hulk. Her curly hair framed her square face. His jaw also looked as firm as a tyrannosaurus jaw.
We shook hands, and this palm felt like it squeezed. Matt was from an Islamic boarding school graduate in Grisee a small town next to Surabaya to the west. Matt's family was devout to worship. But Matt was the disobedient one.
Then, Matt showed a peace finger gesture in front of his mouth. I gestured to the 'No Smoking' board sign. Matt did not acknowledge my intention. Instead, he showed me two thumbs up. What the ...?
Suddenly, there was an arm wrapped around my neck then dragged me through the campus gate. There was a scent of the armpit that was exposed freely in the air. This one friend of mine always wore dull clothes in the last four years. As I recalled, he never had new clothes. Without a doubt, this friend must be Mr. P. His real name was just as short as Parker. But we just called him Pee or Mr. P.
"Still alive?" taunted Mr. P at me. "Let go your helmet first, will you?" he added.
Wait! No wonder the girls were laughing. Okay, I would take off my helmet first. Fortunately, no one flipped somersaults in the air like Aisha used to. I could bite their ears one by one.
This Mr. P stature was thin, but not taller than me. His straight, stiff hair framed her oval face. What makes Mr. P easy to spot were his pouty lips. The rows of his teeth advanced like the beak of a peacock. In fact, Mr. P had a hard time keeping his mouth closed. Peacock Parker. That was initial that makes him entitled as Mr. P.
Both Matt and Mr. P lived in the Maynard neighborhood, opposite my Certajava, where I lived. In Maynard, there was a traditional market that had been evicted for road widening. There was also the famous Maynard Mental Hospital.
Then, there was a young woman, while hugged many books pass over me. She laughed softly, and her cheeks flushed red. This girl's skin was white like a soap commercials star. Her long hair braided behind her back. I recognized her oriental face, a mole on her left temple, and her minus glasses she wears.
Her full name was Amelia Limantoro. Let just called her Amelia.
Amelia lived at Wigan, across from my Certajava. She was of Chinese descent. In contrast to Julia, this Amelia was flat. You know what I meant, right?
Both Julia and Amelia were my childhood playmates, even neighbors. Since we were in kindergarten, the three of us were always in the same school. But somehow, my friends did not match me with Julia? I became suspicious they were not willing.
Amelia itself was one of the smartest students in Clofus.
"Morning, Mel," I said politely.
"Morning, Lang," she replied kindly and then stopped in front of me.
It seemed Amelia wanted to have a chit chat. Okay. But, these two friends were just annoying. “Geez!”, “Watch out!”, and so forth.
Two of them, especially Mr. P, would not allow me to spread my charm freely. However, Amelia and I were used to being teased. As I said, we are always in the same school.
And then, I ordered Matt to return the helmet to my motorcycle in the parking lot. I even ordered Mr. P to go to the campus canteen. Finally, Mr. P and Matt separated.
"What class do you go to, Mel?" I asked pleasantly, even though I already knew.
Then I started walking so that Amelia would follow me.
"Contemporary Chinese Literature," replied Amelia shyly.
I did not know why the God of air was always curious about the girls in front of me. I felt that I did not have absolute feelings for Amelia. As a result of that natural coziness, Amelia then pushed her hair behind her ear. It made me think of Amelia as a Chinese emperor's daughter wearing a classic silk dress. Really charming.
"Where had you been on a day off, Mel?" I started the chit chat.
“Nowhere. Just worked at the market, assisted papa," replied Amelia. "You went around, right?"
"No, Mel, only in Java. Semarang and Jakarta and so on," I replied.
"It's good to have a gig tour," added Amelia.
"I'm tired actually," I wailed.
Then, Amelia informed me that she was just as tired. Then, she told me a long story. Amelia said she also worked, such as record bills, calculating turnover, and supervising transport workers at her father's fabric shop in Poo Chang Market.
For some reason, I was not interested in Amelia's story? I preferred to imagine Aisha's dimples, Julia’s boobs, and Kacey's clean armpits. However, I could not show my boredom to Amelia. So, I nodded in agreement with her story.
“Um,” Amelia shyly, “there’ll be my cousin's wedding reception in the next couple of days.”
“Okay,” I replied.
“Would you go with me?” asked Amelia shyly to me.
“Huh?” I raised my eyebrows. “Aren’t that party will only for the Chinese and the richest? Why me?”
“You are Chinese,” Amelia insisted.
I sighed.
My parents and many people in my neighborhood also said the same as Amelia. I had Chinese blood from my mother. Actually, Bradley Tanoto was Chinese. His real name was Tan Hok Gie. Brad married my grandmother Mary Sue, a Javanese woman, a long time ago. Sue then gave birth to three children. My mother was the middle one.
My mother ever told me the late Bradley had a close comrade in arms name--also the late--Liem Koen Hian or George Limantoro. He was Amelia's grandfather. So, in the name of my grandfather, I would consider her invitation.
"Okay, I'll think about it,” I surrender to her manipulative speech. “Who’s married again?”
“My cousin,” Amelia answered. “I’ll send you the invitation letter.”
“Alright then, see you, Mel!" I waved while walking backward.
Amelia smiled, then turned around and started walking. But damn, Amelia did not see a ditch behind her.
"Watch out Mel!" I spontaneously ran towards her.
But she fell. The objects she was carrying scattered.
I helped Amelia up and then picked her scattered objects. Among them, I saw a brown handkerchief that already dull but still well-groomed. I gave it back to Amelia.
“Thank you,” she thanked me while blushed.
“It’s yours,” she handed me the handkerchief. “Did you remember?”
Of course, I remembered. It was the handkerchief that I gave to Amelia when we were in junior high school. At that time, Amelia was suddenly fallen ill at school. That was why I gave her that brown handkerchief. Because Amelia was my neighbor, the counseling teacher told me to take Amelia back to her house.
I forgot why junior school boys bring handkerchiefs to school. If I was not mistaken, there was a screen printing practice class. I never thought Amelia still had it. I was touch by her. So, I returned the item to the owner. I meant Amelia. It was hers since.
“Really?” I stared at her eyes while pretending to forget.
Amelia nodded.
“Ah!” I pretend to remember. “Keep it for me!”
I could see Amelia's face still blushing. But, she could not hide her happiness behind her minus glasses from me. I felt like there was something about Amelia on me. Or maybe otherwise. I did not know.
Actually, I felt terrible about leaving Amelia. However, I distracted myself by walking towards the food court. Along the way, a line of friends greeted me one after another. These cheerful faces would scatter in the next year. Therefore, I wanted to make the best use of the remaining time.
Of course, I had not forgotten my priority agenda, released my single status. But with whom? Aisha, Kacey, Julia, or Amelia. But, got close to them was not an easy task.
Oh, my goat, gave me your alpha power. Or, I left this love affair to you. One or two of them was splendid. The four of them at once, I was willing.
Or, I would find another one? After all, this Clofus was too big if I just focused on four of them. Hello, my glorious Clofus. Who else do you have for me?
ON the first day of college, as usual, there were no lectures. For the new students, they made a fuss. They were noisy about with whom they will spend their time in class in the next four years. That new college students were all staring at the row of blackboards affixed with sheets of paper in the middle of the faculty lobby. There, listed the names of the class members.Here, at the Clofus campus, almost all majors were available, even the rarest in Indonesia, such as Nuclear Engineering and Javanese Literature. A row of notable people listed as Clofus graduates, such as World Bank’s Managing Director Mrs. Shri Lakhsmi. She als
THIS Dharma Hoover Street was as congested as ever. Apart from being located in the center of Surabaya City, the Dharma Hoover block was flanked by three giant infrastructures, namely the Dr. Sue Thompson Regional Hospital, Airlangga University, and Dharma Hoover's elite real estate complex. Cars, buses, motorbikes, pedicabs, and students, crowded this area.Then, my eyes caught something interesting. I saw a black Toyota Avanza parked under a yellow tabebuia tree. Perhaps because of their contrast color,--black and yellow--my attention was drawn to it. But, there were no activities there.
CERTAJAVA and Wigan were divided by a 3-meter wide creek. Just like in other villages, a lot of garbage floated there. For example, food wrappers, sanitary napkins, and even helmets. Neighborhood children were also like to defecate at that creek. I lived just across the creek.Then, I saw the children playing. Near them, there was a puddle that starts to recede at the edge of the river. With their snot dangling, they cheerfully played partially naked under the umbrella of the cherry tree. Indeed, the night before, the rain fell heavily. But then, it was the sun that does not want to lose to show off its power.
ALL my way back to Certajava, I dreamed of singing a love song in the rain for Julia. From behind the window, Julia greeted my chant with her Indian dance. Really hypnotized until I am not aware, I almost arrived at Brother Laymisch's coffee stall. From a distance, I saw a group of people laughing there.My father ever told me the nowadays people, who lived in Certajava and Wigan are the descendants of the elders who experts in 'silat'--traditional martial arts--and boxing.My father himself was not a native of Surabaya but was born in Yogyakarta, Central Java Province. He served as an Indonesia National Army personnel. My father was a captain and currently on duty in Papua. He rarely came home, even once a year. My family was sincerely let him go to carry out his mission of the state. Keeping the peace, my father ever said. Yes, there was still indeed a separatist conflict in Papua.Rumors also said that Wigan-Certajava was a place for outcast people in the pas
THE rain had just stopped, and today had reached its end. It was late at night; 11 P. M. I was still awake in my bedroom while visualizing my four crushes. I did not know for how long I have been already dreaming of those beautiful young women.During my excitement, my cell phone rang. There was a call that came in from Big K. He told me to take my guitar to the alley front corner. Big K said there were Cole and Santos and several others. I said yes, while irritated.I grabbed my Yamaha acoustic guitar then went outside the house. But my vigilance was getting increased.When I reached the end of the alley, the traffic on East Poo Chang Street seemed quiet. Bowie, Ratty, and Cameron still had coffee at the Laymisch's stall. I then asked Laymisch where was Yuri--Big K neighborhood real name--and friends were. Laymisch pointed to a closed middle east style restaurant."Here, give it to them," said Laymisch while handing over a plastic bag containing many fri
THE next day, I woke up. I felt this head heavy. Very sick, dizzy, and nauseous. I felt like I want to sleep again. But I could not. Bolster to the left hurts to the right was the same. I must have drunk too much last night.My eyes then landed on an old man in a white turban with bushy white sideburns. His forefinger pointed up as if he is giving me a bit of advice to not be drunk. He was not Gandalf, but Ayatollah Khomeini, the leader of the Iranian revolution. Next to him, there was a silhouette of Che Guevara, the hero of the Cuban revolution.
"MY name is Eric, I am the operational manager at Grand Wahid Hotel," he introduced himself.Ah! Yes, Brother Eric. He was once Erpid 19th band crew.In his presentation, Eric said that his life and one of his friend's life, the vocalist, was destroyed by drugs. Of course, he kept the name of the band and the vocalist involved in drugs a secret. But I knew who and what band he was referring to.
AT the Faculty of Letters, Clofus, I hurried to the food court. There, I rushed again to Brother Eugene's coffee stall--the only smoking area. Enjoying coffee alone while imagining a beautiful woman in the pickup car earlier seemed to be fun. Her blown kiss made my heart tremble. It was as if we were connected.After ordering a glass of my favorite coarse coffee, I opened my cellphone, looking for news of the Saltyville eviction refusal rally.Apparently, the anti-eviction demonstrators almost clashed with the Indonesian Muslim Defender (IMD) crowd on Great Certajava Street. It meant that the near clash incident occurred sometime after I left the Grand Wahid Hotel earlier.In the news, the IMD crowd was suspected of deliberately blocking the rally. There was taunting and throwing each other happened. Fortunately, the police managed to control the situation by a barricade.Then, I rushed to send Mr. P and Big K a message, asking if they and the other prote