The Irony of Reality

The streets were still bustling as usual. The roar of motorcycles and cars still echoed throughout the city. Sometimes, people deliberately revved their engines just to show off and cause a commotion. Usually, these were young people who hadn't yet understood the circumstances of others. I started walking; having no money meant I had to walk home from campus. I was even close to giving up on my studies because I couldn't afford them. The money I earned from work went towards tuition, and sometimes my living expenses weren't even met. I only ate once a day. I saw Nia, a classmate of mine. “Hi, Rina,” she greeted cheerfully. “Hello,” I replied without enthusiasm. “Going home?” Nia asked. “Yes,” I answered. Nia smiled. “Got time to hang out tonight?” she offered. “No,” I immediately refused. “I don't want to bear sins.” Nia looked a bit offended, but her gaze was cynical, and her smile seemed mocking. “Oh, I already know you're a highly fanatical person,” she scoffed, then left. I could only make allowances for her sarcastic words. Nia's perfume still lingered, even after she was gone. I knew Nia went to the disco to enjoy her night with lecherous men, selling her body for mere pleasure, or perhaps just because she needed money for a more glamorous life. I always tried to advise her, but the answers I got were always very rude. Upon arriving at my boarding house, I lay down for a moment on the thin mat. I exhaled wearily, thinking about all the endless burdens of life. Rent for the boarding house, I was four months behind. Tuition fees were due, including the single tuition fee (UKT) and all the other miscellaneous costs. Not to mention data costs, books I had to buy, and everything else. Even living expenses weren't guaranteed to be met. I suddenly got up. If my situation was like this, hard work was the only way to solve the problem. I made cake batter as usual, whisking the dough manually because I didn't have a mixer. My arms were already aching, as whisking batter like this took a long time; if there was a lot, it could take hours. Occasionally, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine outside, indicating someone had just returned from somewhere. Then, very loud music blared, and I could only sigh inwardly. After what felt like ages, the batter was finally perfectly whisked. I started greasing the molds with oil, pouring the batter into them, and separating it so it wouldn't spill. And when the stove started to hum, I placed mold after mold into the pot where I boiled my cakes. Again, I didn't have an oven. This would take about 30 minutes. I waited patiently. And when they were cooked, I wrapped them one by one in small plastic bags and arranged them neatly in a box. I got ready again, this time to sell them around the city. I locked the boarding house door, held the box tighter in my lap, and then started selling. Starting from the surrounding areas, even reaching quite distant places. Sometimes I saw street children hanging out, occasionally catching the smell of alcohol from them as I passed by, or sometimes I saw people sniffing glue, inhaling from cans until drowsiness hit. I accidentally passed the disco where Nia was partying. I saw several people dancing lively, or rather, babbling incoherently, influenced by alcohol. I quickened my pace, afraid one of them might drag me inside. I passed through lush gardens, the dense trees creating a dark atmosphere as if night was approaching. People say that gardens like these are full of resident ghosts. They usually disguise themselves as old women, beautiful ladies, or something else. But I just thought, if Allah is in my heart, why should I be afraid of such creatures? Occasionally, mosquitoes bit my fingers or landed on my face, but I couldn't swat them away because I had to hold my wares tightly. Well, this was very normal. I often got bitten by mosquitoes when I was in gardens like this. Suddenly, a sound behind me startled me. There was a dog barking fiercely. I ran quickly, afraid the dog would come near me. Honestly, I was a little afraid of dogs. Not afraid of anything specific, I was just afraid of its ritual impurity. I kept running, my breath felt tight, but the dog kept chasing me. Until finally I crashed into a large tree, my wares fell, the box split in two, and all my goods scattered on the ground. I fainted. When I woke up, I found myself in an unfamiliar place. It looked like a stilt house. I remembered home, and it felt just like my house in Kampung Kuta. Then a middle-aged woman approached me, offering a glass of water. I sat up and drank without hesitation. I didn't forget to say Bismillah. “You're quite badly injured,” the woman said. “Just rest here until you're fully recovered.” “Thank you, Ma'am,” I said. “But… where am I?” “You're at my cottage,” the woman said. “My name is Ningsih. Just call me Ning.” “Thank you, Mrs. Ning,” I said, and finally I could sit up, even though my whole body ached. “But where are my goods?” Mrs. Ningsih seemed hesitant to answer. But finally she said: “Your goods were all eaten by the dog that chased you.” I was stunned. Those goods, I made them all with so much effort and sweat, and now not a single one had sold, but they were all eaten by a dog. Tears fell without me realizing it. All the capital I spent was in vain. Yet all the ingredients were quite expensive. It was like the proverb, 'when it rains, it pours.' “Oh Allah,” I wailed, unable to hold back my tears. My phone rang, and when I looked, it was Nia. I answered it, still crying silently. “Rina, Rina, help me! I'm going to be killed!” Nia said, half-panicked. “What?” I exclaimed, shocked. “There's a drunk man who thinks I'm his ex-girlfriend!” Nia tried to explain in a panicked tone. “I'm almost being killed right now.” “But I'm also in an unfamiliar place right now,” I said, my voice choked. But before I could hear her reply, Nia screamed loudly, and just like that, only the noisy sounds of the street and disco remained. I sobbed, staring at my phone screen, could Nia be dead? Why did my luck feel so terrible today? My heart ached. For several days I was cared for by Mrs. Ningsih, and when my condition improved enough, I asked permission to go home. Mrs. Ningsih walked me to the edge of the wooded garden I had passed when I was chased by the dog a few days ago. I arrived at campus very early, performed Dhuha prayer at the Mosque, and waited for my friends in class. Everyone came, except Nia. I had a bad feeling. Then all my friends greeted me; some hugged me tightly, some congratulated me on my recovery. “You know, Rin, Nia passed away,” said one of my friends, Intan. “She was killed in front of the disco.” I was truly shocked. Although I had suspected it from the beginning, I was still surprised to hear the actual truth. Nia was dead. Poor thing, my heart ached. She hadn't had a chance to repent, hadn't had a chance to mend her ways. “Nia became a prostitute out of coercion,” Intan explained. “Her mother pressured her to do it because she was beautiful and could surely make a lot of money if she sold her body. They had a lot of debt, especially her mother who often borrowed from the bank. Her father was a gambler, with many debts. Nia didn't actually like it, but maybe over time she got carried away by the situation.” I was utterly shocked to hear this. It turned out my perception of Nia all this time was wrong. Or at least, more wrong than right. I stared blankly at the opposite wall. I remembered Nia's plea to me when I was still at Mrs. Ningsih's house. Sadly, I couldn't save Nia from two things. First, I couldn't save her from the quagmire of sin. Second, I couldn't save her life from a heavy drunkard. Forgive me, Nia. Whatever Allah's destiny for you, I don't know. But I pray that you may enter Heaven. This is reality. So ironic and heartbreaking. But some people are able to endure it, and some are not.