What a beautiful morning, even though the sky is a bit cloudy like yesterday. Perhaps the rain that poured over Subang two days ago still wants to leave its mark as a grey hue in the clouds. As usual, I start my day with a morning shower, which I almost always take immediately after waking up. Hehehe, maybe because it's become a habit, I always feel uncomfortable if I don't shower quickly after getting out of bed. As usual, my brain, refreshed after a night's rest, starts chattering. Perhaps it's also due to habit that I can't bring myself to silence it. So, it's predictable that amidst the gushing water in the bathroom, I replay the records of events stored in my head.
One of these was an invitation I received yesterday from a friend to write a kind of autobiography. The invitation, conveyed in a short message or SMS, sparked an idea. Why not? I feel like I could write it into something interesting, at least for myself. Perhaps some might think this idea is too narcissistic, hehehe. But don't people always have to start big steps from the starting line? If it's not started, the life story of a Chrysanova might gradually fade away, eroded by time.
Perhaps I should start with the smaller details first, and not from the very beginning. Because if I were to arrange it chronologically, it would feel incredibly difficult. Wouldn't it? The thing I really want to tell, and perhaps my friend also wants to know, is the origin story of why I become blind.
Perhaps I should start from my last year of junior high school. At that time, I was preparing for exams. This final exam was like a gallows, hehehe, because it would determine my entire future. Would I be able to continue my education? And so, day after day, I went through a series of try-outs. There was no time to sit idly by. Especially for me, who since childhood had been accustomed to the 'Spirit of '45' for pursuing knowledge. My nights were always filled with mountains of books. Hehehe, maybe not literally mountains. I apologize because sometimes I exaggerate. But this is just a brief depiction so you can imagine what I was like back then, which is certainly very different from now (but the 'Spirit of '45' will, God willing, always be there! It's a must for all Indonesian children, hehehe). Sorry, when I write like this, I often digress. Alright, let's get back to the main track.
It was around the time I was grappling with those try-outs that tragedy began to loom. The questions written on the white paper would often suddenly disappear from my sight, only to reappear a few moments later. Thus, I suspected that the tumor nestled in my brain had begun to play tricks on my eyes back then. Such incidents kept repeating until I finally graduated. But alas, my grades were not very satisfying at the time. I myself was shocked to see that reality. How can it be? After all, I had even won the overall championship when I was in second grade.
I entered high school. I was very grateful for this because my high school was a favorite one in my city. However disappointed I was that my exam scores weren't quite what I hoped for, they were still enough to get me into a prestigious high school. I must admit, that period was a difficult one. It was somewhat hard for me to grasp new lessons, especially subjects that were already considered major enemies for most students, like mathematics. Looking back now, I have a strong suspicion that the foreign object in my head contributed to disrupting my learning process. Yet, beyond all that, it cannot be denied that it was one of the most beautiful memories of my life. I had the opportunity to get to know a wider world than I had known in junior high. My classmates were all kind. I didn't get to know all the students in other classes, but I was quite satisfied because high school offered new things for my young mind at the time.
However, as many who know me might already be aware, I wasn't in high school for long. From my very first month there, my condition began to decline. Nevertheless, it wasn't overtly noticeable, so I continued all my activities as usual. I stubbornly participated in sports even though my physical education teacher had forbidden me from heavy activities. This was, of course, because he knew my medical history, which recorded a tumor residing in my brainstem. Like mistletoe on a tree trunk. Yeah, perhaps that's the most accurate analogy, considering that the presence of that object had interfered with the body's control center.
There was even a time when the illness recurred when I was just nine years old, and I, already helpless and confined to bed, couldn't breathe. Having felt dizzy for a long time, I was forced to ask for sick leave from the elementary school where I studied. At that time, I was only in the fourth grade. I didn't truly understand what was happening to my body. My head hurt so much that I could only lie in bed. Even standing required someone to hold me so I wouldn't fall. My body felt weak, and my head ached terribly. I spent days lying in bed. I apologize, as that incident happened so long ago that I've forgotten the details.
In short, that night arrived. I was still lying in bed, being fed by my mother. At that moment, I could barely feel the food entering my mouth or whether I was swallowing it. Suddenly, I choked. I only know what happened after that from my family's account. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a different place. The atmosphere was very unfamiliar, and the scent in the air was also strange, not like my own room. Someone was standing beside my bed. I asked where I was, and they replied that it was a hospital.
Only later did I learn what happened on the night I was brought here. The food I ate at that time went down the wrong way, entering my windpipe instead of its proper path through the esophagus to the stomach. Essentially, the misplaced food entered my lungs and blocked oxygen from getting in. That’s why I didn’t know what happened around me. I lost consciousness for an unknown period of time.
Now, when I recall it, I often laugh to myself. At nine years old, I didn't feel fear, boredom, or hatred. That's just how kids are, right? So, during the two months I was there, I almost got used to it and even started to enjoy the atmosphere. I often felt nervous, though, when nurses came with new syringes or IV needles. The rather long duration of my treatment meant the IV had to be changed and relocated frequently. Oh, and what was even more exciting, my head was, of course, shaved. Then, after the operation, I spent my recovery period reading. Apparently, that ingrained hobby couldn't wait until I returned home. Feeling much better at the time, I immediately asked my parents to buy me books. Of course, they were just light reads like storybooks by H.C. Andersen and Doraemon comics. Also, novels like The Famous Five or The Three Investigators. These books were very effective at killing my boredom. And what was even more enjoyable, of course, was the food. Hehehe, I didn’t know why, but during that recovery period, whatever food entered my mouth tasted delicious. Hehehe, it's natural. When you're healthy, everything tastes good.
I never expected that what I had experienced at the age of nine would happen again. At fifteen, a few months after entering high school, my condition continued to decline. Initially, I didn't think the decline stemmed from my tumor, which
was still comfortably residing in my head. The doctors had not removed it entirely, considering its location in the brainstem, which is a vulnerable area. At that time, its position was so deeply embedded that there were concerns that removing it completely would disturb the surrounding tissues. The manifestation of my declining health included impaired body balance. I started falling frequently, and my walk became unsteady, so my kind classmates always looked after me wherever I went on the school grounds. They also didn't hesitate to guide me if we had to go outside the school gate for physical education class.
Another testament to the kindness and great care from my classmates at that time was when a somewhat embarrassing incident occurred. I went to school carrying many books, corresponding to the number of lessons that day. So, I went to school with a large, rather heavy bag on my back, but the journey I took by public transport made its weight unnoticeable. It was only after getting off the transport that I felt the burden on my back was extremely heavy. So, I had to hobble from the school gate to my classroom, which was across the assembly field. As I crossed the classroom threshold, my balance completely gave way. Unable to stop myself, I fell face down. Luckily, no teacher had arrived yet, so my face was saved, hehehe. Spontaneously, the entire class rushed to me. They helped me walk to my desk while others carried my bag to the table. That’s very nice of them. They were so kind that I can't forget them even now, although different paths in life have taken us further apart, and eventually, I lost touch with them.
TO BE CONTINUED
editor: Putri Istiqomah P