DOOM
Storm Child

In this piece of rock I was still sitting pensively looking at the arid hills in front of me. The twilight air began to feel cold caressing my bare-chested skinny body. Twenty-five years ago I spent a lot of my childhood here. Here, in a lump of rock on the edge of a damned reservoir not far from the sea. Twenty-five years ago the expanse of hills was so green that it forced my little image to fly up there. Even though the dark was getting shrouded, I still refused to shift my body, as if there was a magnet I forced to be silent and dumbstruck there.

“Nak, this is grandma bring melon for you, later if the bowl is big, you must be grandma invite to the rice field. But remember you must be diligent in teaching let the reading qur’annya so smoothly”

Ah, the melodious grandmother's words after coming home from the paddy field were as if she had just stopped by my ear. And now, after twenty-five years, the shady old woman still leaves her shadow among the reddish sweeps of the sunshine on the hill, smiling and gently caressing my curly hair through the breath of the baby.

Remembering that, I wanted to cry. Time is too fast to roll and force me far into a time that until twenty-five years now I find it difficult to accept. Even I was often pensive, delusional and wished I had remained as I was twenty-five years ago. A wonderful childhood and full of laughter. And there was a fear that was always going through my mind as my age grew year after year. Increasing age means that I will grow old and the burden I will carry becomes more complex and complicated. I will be old and death will be close to me. I fear death and want to live another thousand years with my loved ones, even if I can live forever.

But now, in my solitude, I feel like there is no one by my side. There are only seagull babbles and waves that are relentlessly hitting the beach. Where was my hometown twenty-five years ago that was cold with a wave of nyiur leaves? My little family, my playmates and definitely Syifa, the sweet girl who always puts her flirtatious smile on every eye? Where'd they? Why am I the only one here pensively like a lonely rock without a wave?

I could no longer hold back my tears. Memories after memories that came like daggers that hit my chest. Such a world had really ended and something I feared had really happened. Death has widened my farewell distance to my family, my friends and my little girl's syifa. Just yesterday I reported my return to them . About my longing for the smell of the white sand of my sea, the melodious sound of seagull singing and the full moon that I and my friends used to enjoy the beautiful glow on the edge of the sea. And the first time I set foot on this land after twenty-five years of disappearing on the land of the region, all I found was the debris left over by the violent tidal wave this morning. They have all left and right now all I deserve to blame is God. The authoritarian god. The Lord who wills all He wills to shed His anger and Mutakabbirism. My family, my friends and certainly the Syifa were destroyed.

Nothing was left to erase the longing of a lost child other than a blurry photo that left only my little face. The faces of my parents are like a nikala painting that I can only present through the memories of my past.

There was the sound of azan coming from a distance. I let out a short sigh while lowering my weak head. That azan voice had added a new incision in my inner wound. Maybe for now I no longer have the energy and the specificity to just answer his call. And maybe God will be a little bit familiar with my situation. I am not a guardian or a pious person who can interpret calamity for the sake of calamity as a test that will stretch my way to heaven. I am just a speck of life crammed with various longings that run aground at a crossroads. And now, when everything has disappeared and left me alone, I feel I can no longer think that I am a servant of God.

The night is getting darker. A cold gust of wind pierced the sum-sum. The occasional sound of my cough echoing broke the sound of the ocean waves that occasionally sounded. Even though my feet were limp, I forced them to get up and slowly step down through the rubble. My sobbing became more and more so when my footsteps came to a halt in a wet haystack stuck in an iron stake that used to be the boundary of our yard with the next-door neighbor. I threw my body weak. This roof gedekku” whisikku lirih. Here my little house used to stand firm, right here, by the iron stake where the haystack got stuck. Here first, precisely on our small veranda grandma often spend time ba’da isya’ with me to storytelling before I sleep. Next to the veranda, the kitchen where the mother cooks and with her singing her donation accompanies the night bird whistles. In the courtyard of the house, the father with his body stocked at night was always busy preparing his fishing equipment and the next day before sunrise, my mother and I happily and prayerfully hoped to welcome him back home.

Now, where are they going? Why don't I hear Grandma's voice again? Wouldn't she be storytelling me like my childhood? Stories about Balang simbar, Doyan medaran and of course my favorite fairy tales, Cuplak and Gerantang. Where's mommy? Why don't you hear the clinking sound of spoons and steel cups from a bitter cup of coffee made for you? And where is that burly black guy? Why hasn't he been seen checking his little sampan machine? Will he go to sea tomorrow morning? Oh, the boisterous sound of seabirds as if waiting for him and will accompany his departure to the high seas.

But soon my eyes changed like dewandaru eyes that ******. Like a whisper that came out of nowhere suddenly shrouded my feelings. Looking at a bamboo sprawled not far from where I rested, I felt like a devil worshipper who was calling an angel of darkness to me. Without a second thought, I just grabbed the bamboo blade and slowly thrust it right into my heart. The sound of the waves is like a soft song that seems to confirm my choice. And it was as if shadow after shadow of my past were present and welcome the new guest who had long awaited his arrival. But before the knife actually came close to my heart, I suddenly felt something heavy hit my head. My vision darkened and soon I was unconscious.

It was like seeing them all, mother, father, shady-eyed old woman, my little friends, and of course the syifa who stood lined up on the balcony of a palace that was so amazing. But there was something strange about the smileless look on my face when I saw me trying to get up from the mud hole that was about to drown me. When I wave my hand they remain unmoved and there are no signs of wanting to help me.

“Dad, mother, grandmother, friends, and my little girl Syifa, I'm coming! Give me your hands so I can hug you. Hurry up because this mud seems to be about to drown me”. Shouts begging.

“Look at your dirty face and body, Balang Simbar, your clothes are tattered and you smell bad. We have no right to take your filthy body to this sacred place. This is God's place for His chosen servants. You are just a beggar who forces yourself to run away from reality in order to immediately be free from the suffering of life that afflicts you. You loser and get out of here!

I stupefied. Shaking her head in disbelief heard the words of the shady-faced old woman, like the sound of lightning that shocked my nerves.

“Back. Do not spoil our cheerfulness with your vain groaning and lamentation. We're calm here. Return son. Return”.

The old woman's last voice was like taking me back to my conscious. My breath was like being jolted and cold sweat was pouring down my body. I felt my head ache and my whole body crumpled.

I tried to raise my head. The sun looks one pole from behind the hill. I saw half a palm tree cross my chest. Apparently half the palm tree that fell and hit my head until I was unconscious and met with the spirits.

My head then bowed. Full of regret I tried to get up and step slowly along the beach. Twenty-five years have I left this village and now I am back in my solitude. This will be a lesson in my life. There are many ways God tests His servants. There are many ways God loves His servant. Life is sure to end. There was a meeting there was a farewell. There is love and hate. There is life there is also death. This is the unavoidable cycle of life. Only the knights are able to understand the wisdom behind every disaster and calamity, and I believe I am capable of it. Goodbye to my village. Goodbye memories I will never remember again….