“HUH?? Oh my goodness…,” Yudith groaned as he found his name on the long list of students admitted to the 11th-grade Science class. He was even more shocked when he saw his name was on the very last row in the 11th-grade Science 1 column. He was entering a tiger's den! He knew all those smart kids' names! All the students who participated in science olympiads were gathered in his class! Oh no, he would be a target for their intelligence!
Even worse! All he knew was that his class was on the upper floor, but he didn't know exactly which one. Limply, he trudged up the stairs. It seemed that knowing he was in a class full of smart kids had drained his energy and spirit. Once upstairs, he didn't know how to continue his search for the classroom. He looked left, looked right, looked back; he saw two children sitting in front of their classroom, which was unfortunately far from where he stood.
Hey, it's so quiet, where is everyone?
Yudith got his answer as he passed other classrooms. The students inside sat quietly, observing the ”lecturing living statues” (read: teachers or homeroom teachers).
”Oh no, I'm late!!!” Yudith exclaimed in a panic. He then ran towards the two children. ”Huff..., puff.... Where is 9th-grade Science 1, please?” he asked, out of breath.
One of the children pointed to the classroom right next to the stairs Yudith had just climbed. ”It's right there.”
It turns out what I was looking for was so close. Oh my gosh....
”Thanks!” Yudith replied, running again to meet his fate in the closed-door classroom. Ms. Mien, the Civics teacher who turned out to be his homeroom teacher, was speaking in front of the class.
”Crazy, this class is so tiny! And its occupants aren't fun either!” Don't expect him to fall in love with that class at first sight; instead, he felt nauseous, almost to the point of throwing up.
***
CRASH!!! Yudith's father slammed the dining table hard. Luckily, no food jumped from the shock.
”What is wrong with you? You got into an advanced class, and now you want to switch to a language class. What's in your head, huh?? You are staying in Science, period!!” his father roared.
”That's enough, Dad, calm down,” his mother said, holding her father's hand, which was prone to lashing out.
”No, I don't want to! You're the one who wants me in Science, not me!!!”
CRASH!! This time it was Yudith who slammed the table, throwing down his spoon and fork, then leaving the dining table.
”If you all keep forcing me, I'd rather just leave this house!” he yelled, walking towards his room. Hearing the threat, his father slumped down. ”Huh, that child is probably just bluffing. But don't expect me to let him change majors,” he muttered.
”What's wrong with you, Dad? This is too much!” his mother cried angrily, but her eyes were teary. She then ran to Yudith's room, afraid that the threat would actually be carried out.
***
Inside his room, Yudith was indeed packing his clothes and belongings, including his beloved guitar. Who knew, he might have to busk if his money ran out, especially since his writings weren't accepted by print media. He also didn't forget to bring ten fifty-thousand rupiah bills, the result of his savings over the past year.
”Bang, bang, bang!!” his mother pounded on his bedroom door. His younger sibling joined the commotion, crying and screaming.
”Dit, open the door! Don't actually leave, Dit,” his mother pleaded, her voice like bamboo creaking in the wind: krieeeet, krieeeet. Reluctantly, Yudith opened his room. He didn't want his mother to be sad, but he had to go and prove that he could achieve his dream of becoming a writer without his father.
”I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry too, Bit, but I have to go. I want to achieve my dreams, and for that, I don't need to be in a Science major that I don't like,” Yudith said, intensifying his mother's and sibling's tears.
”But don't leave us, Dit, I'm worried something might happen to you out there. Don't go, Dit.... I'll talk to your father,” his mother said.
Yudith hugged his mother and sibling. ”I'm sorry, but I have to go,” he said. Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes. A hint of doubt trickled into his heart. Was this just a momentary emotion that he would later regret? But no, he argued to himself. I can definitely do this!
”Yudith will be fine, Mom. Yudith will come back after he succeeds. Don't worry, I can take care of myself.” Yudith went back into his room, and a few moments later, came out again with a suitcase, school bag, and guitar filling both his hands. After saying goodbye and kissing his mother's hand, he left the house, heading towards a world that might be full of dangers, without his parents and his selfish father, but also full of hope. Yet he was already happy, even if all he had left was that hope. At least hope could understand his dreams and aspirations, rather than having a father who didn't care about his wishes. He inhaled the night air, and for some reason, it felt fresher than usual.
From inside the towering house behind him, his mother's screams and his sibling's cries could be heard. But there was no commotion from his father. Was there no sense of loss? His father was still sitting at the dining table, his face downcast. He gazed into the distance.. ”I also had big dreams like yours once,” he murmured.
***
The small child, about eight years old, paced back and forth in the corridor of a high school. A teacher came out of a room in that corridor—it seemed to be the teachers' lounge—then approached the child.
”Little one,” she greeted, touching the child's shoulder, ”who are you looking for?”
The child looked up, his face startled. ”Umm..., I'm looking for Brother Yudith...,” he replied timidly.
”Brother Yudith? Your older brother?” the teacher asked.
The child nodded.
”Wait a moment, I'll call him for you.” She led the child to a long bench in front of the teachers' lounge.
”Don't go anywhere, okay, wait here,” she instructed before re-entering the teachers' lounge, and then coming out again a second later, heading towards the corridor to the right of the teachers' lounge. The child sat quietly on the bench.
”Obit??? What are you doing here?” shouted the boy who was running from the corridor to the right of the teachers' lounge. He approached the small child and hugged him.
”Sniff..., Brother Yudith...,” the child wailed.
”What are you doing here, Bit? And alone, too...,” Yudith said, wiping away his sibling's tears.
”Obit just wants to be with Brother, it's not nice at home without Brother,” Obit replied, resting his head on his older brother's chest.
Suddenly, tears streamed down Yudith's cheeks, falling from the corners of his eyes. His thoughts flew far away on his torn wings, hovering over his father's injustice and landing on a mango tree branch in their yard. Yes, he missed home, his mother, and even his father. He had been living alone for almost a year, staying in a boarding house and earning money by writing short stories for magazines. The day after he ran away from home, he immediately met with the vice principal of student affairs to request a transfer to the language major. His parents clearly didn't know about it, and Yudith didn't care if they did. He pulled back his longing, remembering his promise. I won't go home until I succeed and prove that I can do it without my father! he vowed. His thoughts flew back to that moment, to his sibling who had suddenly come to him at school.
”How did you get here, Bit? Mom doesn't know you're here, does she?” he asked.
Obit shook his head. ”Obit asked Obit's teacher, whose house is near Brother's school, to drop me off.”
”Oh my goodness, Bit.... What if you got lost?”
”But Obit didn't get lost...,” he replied innocently.
Tears flowed even more profusely down Yudith's cheeks, nose, and chin, then fell onto his lap. Tears that had been at the corners of his eyes for almost a year, and which he only allowed to fall now, for his sibling whom he loved so dearly.
”Brother loves you very much, Bit. Brother really wants to stay here with Obit, but it's better if you go home, Mom must be worried.... Brother will take you, okay?” Yudith said softly. He stood up, took his sibling's hand, and they walked together, leaving the school. Obit could only cry.
***
Rustle.... Rustle....
Yudith's father rustled the newspaper covering his face, then sipped the coffee on the table beside him. He spat out the black liquid when his eyes caught the words ”By Yudith Hizkia, Staff Writer” at the end of the article about Science and Technology he had just read. He wiped his mouth, then called his wife.
”Mom, look at this,” he said to his wife.
”What is it, Dad?” his mother replied, approaching him. His father underlined the words ”By Yudith Hizkia, Staff Writer” with his finger. His mother could only stand frozen, and tears welled up in her eyes. His father then stood and hugged his mother, and strangely enough: his eyes were teary!
A week after Yudith left home, his parents went to the town where Yudith's school was, approximately 14 km from their house. They had found out where their child was living: in a boarding house near the school. But Yudith never wanted to meet them.
”I will come home and meet Dad and Mom after I succeed!!” he shouted from behind his boarding room door at that time.
His mother still remembered her child's words clearly, and once again, her heart was pierced by deep regret. Perhaps her husband felt the same pain as her, but no trace of sadness ever appeared on his face. Did he not feel the loss? What happened to him in the past, making him so stern? his mother wondered with every breath, but no answer to that question crossed her mind.
***
THUD!!!
”Ouch!!” his mother exclaimed, rubbing her leg, which had been hit by a heavy box full of books. For three hours, she had wrestled with billions of dust particles and dozens of cockroaches scurrying around the warehouse, having unpacked dozens of boxes of books. Fortunately, this was the last box she had to sort through. The books would later be sold by weight, which could generate some money, rather than cluttering up the warehouse like this. Only then did his mother realize how much she loved books, so much so that even her younger brother's college books were still in that warehouse. She took out Yudith's textbooks from 3rd to 6th grade from the box.
”Yudith.... I miss you...,” she remembered her eldest child. She examined the books one by one, but it was useless; the books couldn't be used by Obit because textbooks were replaced almost every year. The same went for the curriculum: GBPP 1994, KBK, up to KTSP as it is now. Still, many Indonesian children only received a partial education or none at all.
As she flipped through her younger brother's books, she found a stack of bound, yellowed papers containing some kind of scientific work.
***
”Yudith!!! Someone's looking for you!” called Ezra, Yudith's next-door friend.
”Ah, it's probably my father! Just tell him I'm not here,” Yudith's voice echoed from inside his room to the boarding house living room, where Ezra was bringing a glass of water for the guest.
”Hey, don't be silly! It's your mother, Dit!” Ezra shouted, which was then answered by the echoing footsteps of Yudith running to hug his mother. Ezra could only shake his head, then left the mother and son to catch up.
”Yudith, I've been worried about you...,” his mother said with teary eyes.
”Me too, Mom! Why are you suddenly here?” Yudith asked, his eyes looking at his mother with a loving gaze full of tearful warmth.
”I know now why your father was so insistent on forcing you into the Science major and didn't approve of your dreams.” His mother took out a stack of bound, yellowed, and musty papers, then handed them to her son.
”What is this, Mom? ’Solarplexus: The Human Heart?’” His eyes shifted from the title, then darted from line to line, page after page. About sixty minutes later, he had devoured the entire stack of papers.
”Mom, is this...,” Yudith said hesitantly, his eyes meeting his mother's, and they exchanged glances of understanding.
***
”Excuse meee,” someone called from outside. Yudith's father, who was relaxing on the porch of their house on a somewhat windy afternoon, sipping his coffee—he had just taken off his shoes and tie a few minutes ago—sighed, then opened the door for the person. The person was wearing an all-orange uniform: the Postman!
”Yes?” his father said.
”Excuse me, Sir, this is a letter for you,” he said, handing over a brown envelope. His father looked at the envelope, his attention drawn to the sender's address on the back. After the Postman left, he closed the gate and returned to sit on the porch. He slowly opened the envelope so as not to damage it.
To the esteemed Mr. Theo Sutanto,
We have received the manuscript titled ”Solarplexus: The Human Heart?” that you submitted to us, and based on various considerations, we have agreed to publish your manuscript as a book.
Thank you for your willingness to collaborate with us. We will send further notifications regarding your manuscript.
Editor-in-Chief, Bintang Publishing,
Andrea Laksana
He was stunned as the words reached his retina and were transmitted by nerves to his brain, which then commanded his mouth to shout.
”THIS LETTER MUST BE MISADDRESSED—” then he went inside the house,
—MOMM!!” His wife hurried towards him, but strangely, with a blossoming smile on her lips.
”Oh, Dad already got a letter from Bintang Publishing! I'm very sure Dad's manuscript was accepted,” his mother said, still smiling.
His father looked confused. ”Huh? But who....” His father's words were cut short by the melodious chime of the front doorbell. His wife walked to the door, and as she opened it, someone unexpected appeared.
”Yudith?!” his father exclaimed in disbelief as his eldest son entered the living room and smiled at him.
”Yes, it's Yudith, Dad,” Yudith replied, hugging his father.
Tears—which perhaps he had only allowed to fall for the first time—streamed uncontrollably in his son's embrace.
”Forgive me, Son...”
”It's alright, Dad. Yudith understands why you were like that. Yudith and Mom were the ones who revised the manuscript and sent it to the publisher.”
”Thank you, Son. That was my dream once: to be a psychologist and a writer. But it was never achieved because I didn't finish college,” his father recounted.
Obit, who had been hiding behind the bedroom door, eavesdropping on the conversation, then revealed himself and joined the warm atmosphere he had longed for.
Editor: Putri Istiqomah Priyatna