I had closed the gate, and the bolt was already in place. But that slender figure still stood motionless outside. As if a large nail had been driven from deep within the earth and into the soles of her feet.
“It's alright, Mom. Don't worry so much. Nur isn't a child anymore.”
“Are you sure you'll be okay?”
“You've seen the proof, haven't you?” She fell silent again. A moment of quiet enveloped us. The gentle evening breeze caressed my skin and face. It felt cool and comfortable. Faintly, I heard the boisterous sounds of children playing in the field. I felt such peace at that moment.
“Alright then. Be careful here, okay? Later, if anything happens, or if you ever change your mind, just call home. Mom and the others will come pick you up.”
“If that's what Nur wanted, Nur would have said so a long time ago, Mom.” There was no answer. The few seconds that passed felt bland. Mom finally said goodbye, and I returned her greeting. Soon, I heard footsteps moving away from behind the door. She was gone.
* * *
I sat stunned on the bed that, from now on, I would occupy alone. I felt a slight unease in my heart. But I immediately tried to push it away. This was my own choice; I alone had to be responsible for whatever happened next. I had struggled so hard to be allowed to live in this boarding house, and now that I had obtained permission, and Mom had agreed to let me go, albeit reluctantly, I had to show that what I had told Mom earlier wasn't just empty talk. Even though I myself doubted if I could truly do it. I understood how Mom and my family felt when they gave their consent to let me live separately from them.
How could they not? Could a mother or father bear to let their daughter live far away from them? Alone, without any relatives or truly trustworthy friends to accompany her. Moreover, I was currently in a state of vision loss. Yes! At this moment, I was in a condition they called 'visually impaired.' Initially, I myself was unwilling to bear such a label. I didn't want to be equated with those who used canes or wore dark glasses, often seen on the streets, begging or coming to houses as masseurs. But they kept echoing that word into my ears and my family's. Finally, I gave in and had to get used to that label.
* * *
I myself never imagined I would lose this very precious sense. I used to be like normal people in general. My life was quite happy. I had many friends, and what's more, I had someone who loved me very much. He was caring, but don't call him my boyfriend. My life was normal, like any typical teenager. Playing, going to school, sometimes teasing people, tomboyish, and carefree. I didn't care about my surroundings. The important thing was that I was happy. Just ask me what was happening at the North Pole, and I wouldn't know. You probably wouldn't know either, right? But all that changed drastically when I graduated from high school.
I was struck by an illness that I myself didn't know what it was. Actually, my illness had been symptomatic for a long time, but because I was a carefree person, I didn't feel it was important to know about my disease. Until perhaps the time came when God reminded me to care a little, including about myself. That afternoon, I had just returned home with my older sibling from a university that I planned to choose for my further studies. I went into my room to rest. There were no signs that on that day, precisely at dusk, I would experience a devastating event that would change the course of my life. I was sitting watching television. Soap operas were my favorite program. I always got carried away by the stories. Especially if it was a story about love that had to be separated. Wow, I'd have to prepare tissues plus a bucket if I didn't want the house to flood. Second by second passed. The clock hands kept turning without anyone wanting to stop them. Dusk crept towards its end. Little by little, the light left by the sun began to fade. Darkness slowly began to greet me. Swallowing bit by bit the remaining light, until finally it disappeared completely. I was startled. Darkness kept crawling, flowing like a flood unleashed from the sky. Nothing could hold it back. Including when it broke through the doors and windows of my house. Approaching me, and entering the space of my eyes. I jumped. I tried to open my eyes wider. But still, I couldn't see anything. I felt as if I was squeezed and stuck by the blackness attacking me from all directions. Did someone turn off the lights? Was there a power outage? But I could still hear sounds coming from the television in front of me. But why couldn't I see anything?
“Mom... it's dark, Mom... so dark!!!! What's wrong with Nur, Mom???” I screamed hysterically. I didn't care if my voice would alarm the neighbors. I didn't care. All I knew was that I couldn't see anything. Everything was dark. My eyes felt pressed and poked. I didn't know what was happening to me. Where was my Mom? Where were the others? I kept screaming and yelling. Until finally, Mom and my family came and calmed me down.
* * *
I was in shock. I couldn't accept this reality. What was my fault? Why did I have to suffer this misfortune? God is unfair. Why did He take away my sight after I had enjoyed it for dozens of years? Why not from birth? Perhaps it would have been better if I couldn't see my whole life. Not now. I am still young, with dreams I want to achieve. I want to face a beautiful future. One more step and I would be in college, and in a few more years, perhaps I would be a graduate, working, getting married... Why did this have to happen? All my hopes were dashed. My zest for life was gone. All my dreams and aspirations were destroyed. Everything was ruined, swallowed by the darkness that ravaged my life. I didn't know how to live this life anymore, without sight, without light. Mom and Dad still tried to encourage me. They took me to the hospital for treatment. But the results were nil. Four times I went in and out of hospitals, from Pondok Kopi Islamic Hospital, Persahabatan Hospital, to Ciptomangunkusumo Hospital. But none of them yielded satisfactory results. In fact, I had to undergo a series of tests whose purpose I didn't even know.
They said all sorts of things. They even had the heart to diagnose me with goiter, which was truly annoying. I got tired and bored of having to go back and forth to hospitals. Until finally, I entered Aini Hospital. And there, I began to understand a little bit about what was actually happening to me. The doctor asked for all the examination results I had obtained from several previous hospitals. And after some time, I was finally told that I had Glaucoma, a vision disorder caused by pressure on the eyeball that could lead to blindness. I was stunned. Did this now mean I was blind? Did this mean I couldn't see this world anymore? Occasionally, I felt light penetrate into my eyes and show me the world, but it was only for a moment, and then it was dark again. I was tired. Everything I did seemed useless. I tried to reflect. A slightly comforting thought entered my chest. Perhaps this was what was best for me. Perhaps this is the path God had given me so that I wouldn't become a naughty child. Perhaps this was a sign that He loved me. I had surrendered. Perhaps this was the destiny I had to live. Meanwhile, Mom and the others were still trying to find a cure for me.
“No matter what, we must try. As for the results, let's leave it to God.” That's how they reasoned. And after I felt I had undergone enough medical treatment, it was time for me to try non-medical treatment. My family called several alternative medicine experts. And the results were still nil. For three long years, I was in a difficult situation. I didn't leave the house; I locked myself in my room. I cut off my connection with the outside world. Including with the one who loved me very much. I actually didn't want to do this, but would he still love me after knowing my current condition? He tried to contact me many times, from when I was in the hospital until I was back home again. But I always avoided him. I tried my best not to meet him. Although this would feel like a knife slicing every inch of my heart, I tried to face it bravely. Once, he came to the hospital and asked about my condition. I only replied that I was sick and didn't tell him what illness I was suffering from. He kept pressing, but I immediately refused. And I asked him not to see me again. Meanwhile, time kept moving. Days turned into nights, months passed, and I was still alone, enduring unbearable pain. What should I do? Let alone continuing my studies in college, I didn't even know what I would do tomorrow.
Then one day, several people came, identifying themselves as representatives from Helen Keller International. They were collecting data on children who were willing and suitable to participate in free cataract surgery. And thanks to information they received from neighbors, they finally found a girl named Nur Hasanah who had vision problems some time ago. They arrived at my house. I was invited to talk with them. Initially, they thought I had cataracts. I immediately denied it and explained what I had actually experienced. They mumbled. And then uttered a sentence that almost made my blood boil.
“Oh, in that case, Miss, you belong to the visually impaired group.” I was startled, and my face immediately flushed. I was called visually impaired? How dare they say that to me. What was their basis for putting me in that unfortunate group of people?
“Excuse me, sir! I can't see because I'm sick. Not because I was born this way or it's hereditary. What do you mean by calling me visually impaired?” I burst out passionately, showing my disapproval. How dare they? Just because I can't see, they can casually put me in that category? The atmosphere immediately became a bit awkward. But I was sure my ears caught the sound of a smile, which must have come from one of them. The person who called me visually impaired then apologized in a seemingly regretful tone. He then explained that 'Tunanetra' (visually impaired) is a term for people with visual disabilities, whether from birth or due to other causes like accidents or otherwise.
They took me out of the house, to a place said to be specifically for training the visually impaired in the Cawang area. There, I met a teacher who explained what people like me could do there.
“There's a lot you can do here, child. You can learn Braille, which is a special alphabet used by the visually impaired. You can also learn various skills here. Learn massage, and so on,” he explained like a skilled public relations person.
I was astonished. Could those who couldn't see actually read, let alone write? How? And what skills could they be taught anyway? Massage? I didn't want to be a masseuse. Did every visually impaired person have to become a masseuse? No, I could do more than that. I had to find another alternative. I expressed my disagreement to them. They then offered me another alternative. I was taken to a foundation that specifically dealt with the visually impaired in the field of education: Yayasan Mitra Netra. Yes, that's what they called the foundation. They invited me there. There, I met a counselor named Tolhas. He asked me how I had lost my sense of sight. I told him my story, just as I've told you. He mumbled and motivated me not to lose heart. Being visually impaired doesn't mean we lose everything. It's also not a reason for us to stop creating. Those are some of his words I still remember. So, from that moment on, I became a client of the Foundation. Two to three times a week, I went there, accompanied by my family. I started learning Orientation and Mobility, learning to use a cane, studying Braille, and even using a computer. Because of the considerable distance between my home and the Foundation, and to avoid burdening my family who always had to take me there, I started thinking about living in a boarding house. Coincidentally, I heard that there was a boarding house occupied by several visually impaired people not far from the Foundation where I was studying. I tried to express my intention to my mother. Her reaction was immediately strong.
“What? You want to live in a boarding house? Can you do everything by yourself?”
“How would Nur know if Nur hasn't tried yet?” I retorted just as fiercely. But Mom couldn't grant my request yet. Every time I went there, I had to be accompanied. Until one day, an unexpected situation occurred. No one could take me. I was annoyed because it meant I had lost valuable time for my studies. I got angry at them. For several days, I staged a silent protest, and finally, they gave in. They allowed me to move into a boarding house, but with the condition that I had to be accompanied. I refused. Finally, an agreement was reached after a short debate. I would live in the boarding house for a one-month trial period. And during that trial period, I would be accompanied by one of my family members, namely my mother. I was forced to accept that decision. After all, it was only for a month. I was sure it wouldn't take more than two weeks to convince Mom that I could be independent. All of this was for their good too.
During my first days living in the boarding house, Mom showed me everything in and outside the room. She showed me where the kitchen, bathroom, sink, and so on were located. I gradually got used to my new surroundings. There were several friends there who shared the same fate as me. From them, I learned how to live independently without relying on others. Like washing, lighting the stove, boiling water, and so on. Although sometimes I did all of this secretly, without my mother's knowledge. Because if Mom knew, oh, I would get scolded. Understandably, she was still worried. What if her delicate daughter's hands got burned or injured?
One day, I wanted to show that I didn't need to be “watched over” like that. Very early in the morning, I woke up before my mother. I tiptoed to the kitchen, heading towards the stove. Once I found it, I tried to light it. For a moment, I placed my hand above the stove to make sure the flame was indeed lit. I felt warmth on both my palms. Success! I immediately grabbed a pot and placed it on the stove after filling it with water. I wanted to boil water. After I thought it was ready, I tried to make coffee, as my mother usually drank coffee in the morning. I did what I usually did when making coffee, but this time without seeing. Well, I estimated the right measurements for each ingredient. After I finished, I tasted a little. Not bad! I brought my creation to the room, where I found my mother already awake. She seemed surprised to see her child enter with a glass of drink in her hand. Unfortunately, I couldn't see her facial expression. Only a murmur of
“Nur?” was all I heard. She seemed not to believe that it was her child who had entered.
“Don't ever do this again, okay?” That's what I heard after some time had passed. Since then, my mother always woke up before me. So I couldn't make any more “surprises.” Finally, a month had passed. And today, according to the agreement, I had to live alone without being accompanied by anyone from my family. My mother tried to suggest a little more time until I was more ready. But I immediately rejected that suggestion. When would I be able to progress if I kept being accompanied like that? And starting today, I will try to live independently.
* * *
The sun had begun to show its might. I left my room and locked it. Yep, today was my schedule to go to Mitranetra. And I was ready. I put on my sandals and immediately crossed the alley to head outside. I heard a clattering sound to my right. That must be Mbak Kun, who had just finished her routine morning work. She was one of the employees working at the Foundation where I studied. She lived with her husband, Kak Muji, who also worked there. And the latter had something in common with me regarding vision.
“Oh, Nur. It seems I can't go to Mitra now. I still have a lot of work. Maybe later in the afternoon. Well, around eleven o'clock, I might be able to go there.”
What? Eleven o'clock? Oh no, that means I'll be an hour late. I'd rather not go. But I don't want that. I have to go. But how? Kak Muji left an hour ago, and the others have also left their rooms. Does this mean I have to go alone? But I've never been there by myself. What if I hit a wall or fall into a ditch? What if I get on the wrong car and get lost? Ah, no. I have to be able to do it. Besides, the distance I have to travel isn't that far. I'll just be daring. Bismillah (In the name of God). I extended my cane, which had been folded. I directed it left and right as I stepped forward towards the gate. Got it! I opened it and immediately closed it again after I was outside. This was the most thrilling moment. I had to get out of the alley and cross the road before finally getting on a public minivan said to be numbered S 12. I faced right. And started walking straight. That's how it should be if I wanted to reach the main road. I was still walking. The few minutes that passed felt like hours. Finally, my ears caught the roar of a motor vehicle engine. My heart cheered with joy; that meant I was near the main road. I walked a few more meters. And it was true. Cars and motorcycles passed in front of me, so noisy. I stopped. Now I had to cross. As far as I knew, the road in front of me had four lanes. And in the middle of those four lanes, there was a divider in the form of a slightly raised sidewalk with trees and grass planted on it. The situation felt safe enough to cross. I stepped my feet across the wide road where cars and other motor vehicles passed. I kept walking, and I felt my cane trip over an obstacle. Right, this was the dividing sidewalk. I climbed up. I felt my feet stepping on something softer than asphalt. This must be grass. Not long after, my cane hit a low, hard part again. I immediately prepared to get off the sidewalk and walked again until I was at the edge. Yes, I successfully crossed safely. Now I had to wait for the angkot (public minivan) that would take me to Mitra. Oh, no need. I heard someone shouting a few meters in front of me.
“Dapur, dapur!” That must be the voice of the angkot driver heading to Dapur Susu. I got in. And asked to be dropped off at the parking lot. After arriving at the parking lot, I started walking again. Just a few more steps and I would reach my destination. In less than five minutes, my cane touched something that made a clattering sound. I knew. That must be the gate. I immediately directed my cane to the left and entered the front yard. Finally, my cane touched something hard. That must be the leg of the long bench that was placed there for seating. I slumped onto it. Only a few seconds later did I realize what I had done. Finally, I could do it. I managed to go by myself without anyone accompanying me. I could cross the road and take an angkot without getting lost. There was nothing to worry about. My feelings churned. Happiness, fear, anxiety filled the cavity of my chest, which felt rumbling. I heard footsteps approaching me. They came from the direction of the gate. Right in front of me. He stopped.
“Nur, what's wrong with you? Why is your face pale? Are you sick?” That was Mas Muis's voice, asking with full astonishment. I didn't have the courage to answer. I let my lips move as they pleased, without thinking about what they would say.
“Mas, this is Mitra, right?”
“What's wrong with you? This is indeed Mitra. Where did you think this was?” He then left and abandoned me. I was left alone. I sighed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I dialed my home phone number. I heard my mother's voice answer on the other end.
“Hello!”
“Hello, Mom. It's Nur.”
“Oh, yes. What is it, Nur?”
“Today, Nur went to Mitra by herself, Mom.”
“What? And you're okay, right? You didn't get hit by anything, right? You didn't fall into a ditch, right?”