I navigated the increasingly chaotic sidewalk. Numerous street vendors occupied parts of the road, and there were many illegally parked motorcycles. This forced me to walk even more carefully. Considering my eyes were completely blind, coupled with city dwellers who were indifferent, or rather, didn't know how to help a blind person. They would casually bump into me because they were walking too fast. Once, my elbow accidentally hit a woman's breast, which made her furious, and the man beside her almost slapped my face. Fortunately, he saw the cane I was holding.
“Oh, you're blind, sorry then.” The man said, before walking away with the woman.
I am a telemarketing employee at a private bank that, Alhamdulillah (thank God), has been kind enough to open job opportunities for people with disabilities like me. They are aware of the government-mandated law to allocate 1% of jobs for people with disabilities. I admit, the job is very boring, and many of my disabled friends eventually resigned from it for various reasons.
Besides feeling fed up having to spend all day in front of a computer and telephone, constantly calling an endless stream of customers, it's not uncommon for us telemarketers to be verbally abused by customers who feel we're wasting their time. Some even threaten to close their accounts at my bank just because they frequently receive calls from telemarketers like us.
What can we do? We have to sincerely accept all the risks involved. Because long before, when we were first hired, our team leader had already anticipated these possibilities.
I actually wanted to resign like my friends, but my mother forbade it.
“Wi, finding a job is hard now, especially for someone not able-bodied like you. Be patient for a while; later, when your salary is enough to start your own business, then go ahead if you want to quit.” My mother advised me in her thick Betawi accent one evening when I came home from work with a crumpled face, like a worn-out cassette tape. My feelings at the time were truly chaotic; I had received many insults from customers I called, plus a scolding from my team leader because I failed to meet the customer target for the last month to join the insurance we offered.
Before I knew it, I had arrived at the TransJakarta Harmoni bus stop. I could hear the bustling crowd of prospective passengers queuing for tickets.
“Are you buying a ticket, sir?” A woman greeted, holding my left hand.
“Yes, ma'am.” I was startled by her sudden presence.
“Alright, sir, just wait here! Let me buy it for you. The queue is long, sir!” The woman pulled my hand to a safe spot away from the passenger queue. I simply complied.
“Just use my money first, sir!” She said when she saw my hand reaching into my pants pocket for my wallet. I simply agreed. 1 minute, 2 minutes, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, ..., up to 15 minutes passed, and she still hadn't returned. I grew anxious, wondering if I had been tricked. I was about to decide to join the queue to buy a ticket myself when she stopped me by holding my right hand.
“Sorry, sir, it took a while, the queue was really excessive! Let's go in!” The woman comfortably held my right hand.
I asked if I could hold her wrist, as per the unwritten agreement for guiding visually impaired people. She agreed, as she herself was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Her steps were brisk; she seemed to enjoy walking fast, fortunately, my pace could match hers.
“Is my walking pace too fast?”
“Oh no, ma'am, I'm used to it.” I smiled, answering the question.
Then we didn't speak to each other throughout the journey to the bus stop entrance, due to the noisy surroundings. At the bus stop entrance, we had to wait for about another 20 minutes, said the gate attendant; several TransJakarta buses had broken down because their drivers wanted a pay raise. Each corridor was forced to share the remaining fleet.
The awaited bus arrived, passengers scrambled to get in. I was pulled by the bus conductor while being instructed to step from the bus stop entrance to the bus door; meanwhile, other passengers were scolded by the conductor for their unruly pushing and shoving.
Inside the bus, the woman and I found seats next to each other. She sat to my right. The bus started moving without the usual announcement played when a bus departs. This bus was likely from another corridor. Or perhaps its loudspeaker was broken. Understandably, sometimes people in this city lack a sense of ownership.
“Oh, by the way, ma'am, what's your name?” I started the conversation.
“Oh, right, I forgot, my name is Secilia. And you?”
“I'm Wijaya, ma'am. Ma'am, are you already working?”
“Why are you still calling me 'ma'am'? You already know my name. Yes, I'm a consultant at PT Bimasakti Sentosa. Sir?”
“Well, you're calling me 'sir', and you already know my name too. I'm a telemarketer at a private bank, Harmoni branch.”
“Yes, because you are a man and I am a woman, it's not polite if I just call you by your name.”
“Oh, whose teaching is that?”
“My mother told me that. Since childhood, I've been strongly emphasized on politeness. I have to call men 'Mas'.”
I just nodded, reluctant to comment.
“So how do you work, Mas Jaya? Excuse me, as far as I know, Mas Jaya, you're visually impaired. As a telemarketer, at the very least, you're required to operate a computer.”
“Yes, the computer is equipped with a screen reader, so we are able to access text-based data on it. The screen reader's job is to read out every text that appears on the screen, which is then translated into spoken language. We just access customer data and then contact them.”
“So, the phone also uses a screen reader?” I smiled at the question.
“No, Lia, phones are very easy to operate; most of us memorize each button on the phone. So, a screen reader doesn't need to be installed on the telephone.”
Secilia expressed her admiration, “Wow, that means your instincts are strong, right, sir? Sometimes I even have to look at the writing on each button of the phone.”
I smiled again at her innocence.
“Yes, plus trained habit.”
“So..., can you write SMS messages, sir?”
“Yes...”
“How?”
I took out my antique phone, which I had bought when I was in the third year of high school. I hadn't changed phones even after starting work. It wasn't that I couldn't afford it, but it felt like a waste because this phone was still perfectly fine. Meanwhile, friends my age had changed phones up to 20 times for various reasons.
Instead of explaining at length with words, I immediately demonstrated how I send SMS messages using a phone equipped with a screen reader. Indirectly, I also got her phone number. I saved it right away.
After I finished demonstrating, Secilia was amazed to see something new before her eyes.
“Such a provincial city person.” I muttered to myself.
At the next stop, a mother and her toddler boarded the TransJakarta bus. The toddler began to cry inside the bus. I found it annoying because its voice was not as melodious as Ridho Roma's. It sounded hoarse and loud. Sometimes it screamed like a true rocker who had just received recognition from their fans. After screaming, the toddler coughed like an old man on his deathbed. The TransJakarta bus started to fill up, and the air conditioning seemed insufficient to cool my temper. It truly violated human rights in terms of comfort. To get rid of my annoyance, I resumed chatting with Lia.
“Oh, by the way, Lia, what number child are you?”
“I'm the second child, sir, of three siblings. And you, sir?”
“I'm the fifth child of five siblings.”
“Where are you originally from, sir?”
“I'm originally from Jakarta. Where are you from, Lia?”
“Central Java, sir, Solo to be exact. But I was born in Jakarta.”
“Can you speak Javanese?”
Secilia seemed to smile.
“No, sir, just a little bit. I've never gone back to my hometown because there's no family left there. Besides, my parents didn't teach me Javanese. So, here I am, I can only speak Indonesian. Sir, are you pure Betawi?”
“Yes, I'm pure Betawi.” I broadened my smile.
“Ah, I don't believe it! How can a pure Betawi speak Javanese? Your face also looks like a Javanese person's.”
“Hehehe! I don't know, Lia, but that's how the lineage goes. My father and mother have indeed lived in Jakarta for a long time. And they claim to be pure Betawi. Well, maybe what you said is true too.”
At the next stop, Secilia had to end her conversation because she had to get off. She was very happy to have met me. She hoped their communication could continue at a later time.
Honestly, I regretted that she had to get off, because I thought Secilia was a pleasant conversationalist throughout my journey. I thought she would go all the way to Lebak Bulus, just like me.
Now my journey was accompanied by the toddler's wails, which grew louder and louder. If I were that toddler's parent, I would rather get off and take a taxi for everyone's comfort.
“May I sit here, sir?” A woman standing in front of me asked.
“Oh, please do!” I replied indifferently.
She sat down, and the fragrant aroma of fresh lemon tea filled my nostrils. I took out my laptop to ward off boredom. I often carried this laptop everywhere as my companion during long journeys like this. My mother was actually worried about me carrying a laptop, considering how harsh Jakarta can be, but I just resigned myself to it. After all, if it gets lost, then so be it!
I opened the internet and started browsing social media. I opened my profile. Wow, it turned out many people had written birthday wishes on my wall! From elementary school friends to college friends. From my crush to my ex-fiancée...
I checked the date on my laptop calendar. It was true, it was my birthday today. I myself had forgotten it was my birthday. I sent thank you messages through their respective walls, but after a while, I got bored. It felt like my wall was gaining 10 new messages every minute. Finally, I made a status update as a thank you for their concern.
“Happy birthday, sir!” Someone suddenly shook my hand. Her skin was smooth and warm.
“Oh, yes, thank you. You're not getting off, Lia?”
“I'm not Lia, sir, I'm Lisa. Your friend already got off earlier.” I stammered, hearing her clear and soft voice. How foolish of me to assume she was Lia.
“Oh, Lisa, a new passenger, right? My apologies.” The laptop on my lap almost slid onto the bus floor. Fortunately, Lisa immediately caught it.
“No, I actually boarded with you, sir, I just didn't get a seat. There are a lot of people wishing you a happy birthday on Facebook, Mas Jaya.” Her tone of voice carried a smile. According to the principles of politeness, that was already a breach of etiquette for peeking at someone's profile while they were on Facebook.
“Yes.” I said, opening Mahar Masykur's profile to reply to his message. The woman leaned closer.
“His photo looks like the crying toddler.” She whispered into my ear. Oh my, her breath was warm and fresh!
“Really?”
“You, don't believe me...” Lisa defended herself, and I conceded.
“Who is he, actually?”
“He's my older brother...”
“Why don't you look like him, sir?”
“He's like an older brother I met later in life.”
“Ugh, seriously, maybe that toddler is his biological younger sibling...”
“Perhaps.”
I ended my online browsing activity because I thought it would be better to chat with this woman, who was Insya Allah (God willing) beautiful and engaging.
I closed my laptop and put it into my work bag.
From our brief introduction, I learned that her full name was Lisa Amalia. She was born in Jakarta, but both her parents were from Meulaboh, Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam. Since the tsunami struck her hometown several years ago, she and her family had never returned because all their relatives in Aceh and their possessions had been swept away by the ocean currents. She was the first of two siblings. And now she was studying German Literature at the University of Indonesia. She was currently in her tenth semester. When I asked about her thesis, she chuckled and then explained that she would complete her studies without writing a thesis, as her university allowed it. Her reason for not writing a thesis was that she didn't want to be bothered with matters that might complicate its creation. She was already very grateful to be able to complete her studies in that department. This was her last semester, and Insya Allah (God willing), she would graduate in a few months. However, what worried her was that she feared not finding a job after graduating. I offered motivation and encouragement, telling her that sustenance is already ordained by the Almighty God, depending on our ability to seek it.
I asked about her destination on this bus. She explained that she had just come from Kwitang, looking for used books for her studies. Unfortunately, the book she was looking for wasn't found. Forced to, she returned empty-handed. She really hoped that her friend managed to get the book and would lend it to her to photocopy.
I dared to ask about her boyfriend, who wasn't accompanying her in her book search. She said that she had never had a boyfriend. She concluded that men could only hurt women's hearts. She drew this conclusion from her friends who confided in her, sobbing after their virginity was taken by their boyfriends, who then ran off to who knows where. Fortunately, she didn't get pregnant.
“Do you have a girlfriend, sir?”
I told her honestly that I didn't have a girlfriend. I once did, but it didn't last long. I told her that my ex-girlfriend was materialistic. My pocket money was almost completely drained because I kept buying her phone credit. So, I just broke up with her rather than becoming destitute.
Lisa seemed sympathetic towards me.
“So the conclusion is, both guys and girls can be jerks. But not all girls are like that.” Lisa asserted.
“And not all guys are like that either.” I added.
The bus stopped, a passenger boarded, and the distinctive music of Gita Gutawa began to play. The sound seemed to come from one of the newly boarded passengers.
“The harmony of my love, now comes, singing the voice of my heart...” The sound was immediately cut off because the passenger received a call on their phone. The toddler was still crying, and the mother was trying to coax it with a music box she carried. But the object didn't help much.
I continued my conversation with Lisa.
I asked her many things about her hobbies. She was a novel enthusiast, but she hadn't written a single novel herself. She didn't like Indonesian novels because she felt that local novels nowadays lacked quality. She wasn't the type of person who enjoyed cooking; in fact, she couldn't cook even now. But she loved to eat. She liked seafood, fast food, well, basically foods that foreigners usually enjoy (not including guinea pig meat and seaweed). She didn't particularly like music, only a few songs, and even those weren't Indonesian music.
“The harmony of my love, now comes...” The song was cut off again because the passenger answered their phone. Their tone of voice became unfriendly; it seemed they were getting annoyed with the caller. The mother began to sing lullabies to her toddler. From Gundul-Gundul Pacul, Gambang Suling, Javanese version of Nina Bobo, to the song Lingsir Wengi. The toddler cried even louder when the song Lingsir Wengi was sung. Whether it disliked it or was scared of the song, I didn't know. Several passengers also protested when the song Lingsir Wengi began to be sung.
I resumed talking with Lisa. Lisa also liked foreign films, but not including Titanic or Romeo and Juliet. For whatever reason, I wasn't given further explanation. But what was clear was that there was one film she had watched 20 times, yet she never got bored of it. It was about the story of Armageddon coming to Earth. For whatever reason, I also wasn't given further explanation.
We spent the rest of our journey discussing a novel we had both read. Lisa was so enthusiastic talking about the characters in the novel and its storyline. I almost couldn't keep up with her conversation because, honestly, I myself had forgotten the contents of the novel. When she forgot the name of one of the characters in the story, I immediately mentioned a character name that popped into my head. She immediately agreed. Even though I was just making it up. As I recalled, that wasn't the character she meant. But, oh well, my main goal wasn't to engage in a discussion, but merely to listen to her talk to gain her sympathy.
The conversation concluded with us briefly recounting our life stories, from childhood until now. In her story, I was surprised by her confession. It turned out she was a toxoplasma sufferer. Since the 6th grade of elementary school, she had been diagnosed by doctors that she would experience blindness. And currently, she had entered the intermediate low vision phase, but she didn't want to be categorized as visually impaired. She and her family continued to pursue both medical and alternative treatments, and the results had slowed down the deterioration of her eyesight. Her determination in her heart was to recover quickly, so she wouldn't become visually impaired.
“I'm not ready, sir, to be visually impaired.” She said with a sad tone.
“If God wills it, you must be ready, Lis. Being visually impaired can be fun, you know!”
I felt our conversation becoming more intimate; it seemed we were starting to be attracted to each other. From her speaking style, her words, even her demeanor, it all pointed in that direction. The conversation, which lasted about 40 minutes, felt short to us.
“The harmony of my love, now comes...” The song was cut off again, not because the call was answered, but it seemed the phone was slammed down.