Tangisan Apriansyah

//reposted for posterity from http://indonesiamengajar.org/cerita-pm/masyhur-hilmy-2/tangisan-apriansyah

"Pak, torang sekarang kelas lima, Pak beajar kelas lima. Nanti torang naik kelas anam, sama Pak juga saja!" kata Ita, muridku di kelas lima yang sejak tahun lalu aku ajar ketika dia di kelas empat.

"Iya Pak, nanti torang SMP, Pak ikut beajar SMP saja, sampai torang SMA, sama Pak terus!" timpal Libra, muridku yang lain lagi.

Aku mau, aku mau sekali, jawabku dalam hati.

Tak sampai hati aku menjawab mereka dengan jawabanku biasanya, kalau nanti bulan dua belas akan datang PM penerusku. Empat bulan lagi saja.

Ucapan yang mereka lontarkan sukses membuatku sesaat kehilangan irama menjelaskan materi sistem pencernaan di pelajaran IPA siang tadi. Aku tak yakin apa yang aku pikirkan benar-benar terlontar juga menjawab ucapan mereka. Aku pikir, asal mereka tidak putus sekolah, belajar sampai SMA bahkan lebih tinggi, I would like nothing better than that. I would fight to ensure they have the best education this nation can offer them.

But I'm a little bit troubled.

Karena Apri mulai menyita perhatianku lagi.

Kenaikan kelas lalu, aku berpikir untuk tidak menaikkannya. Kemampuan menulisnya rendah, dua dari lima kata yang dia tulis akan rumpang hurufnya. Perkalian dia belum hafal. Nilai ujian semester mengharuskannya ikut remedial di semua mata pelajaran yang aku ampu. Lebih dari 30 hari di satu semester dia absen. Keterselesaian tugasnya rendah.

Apri memang harus diperhitungkan sebagai kasus khusus. Berbeda dengan Libra, yang cenderung usil ketika tidak diberi kerja ekstra, dia tidak bisa diberi terlalu banyak kerja kalau aku tak siap mensupervisi dia. Yang ada mungkin malah seperti hari Kamis sore: tak sabar menanti aku mengoreksi jawaban anak-anak lain, dia meninggalkan bukunya untuk main, lalu pulang. Baru malamnya dia datang ke rumah untuk bertanya apa aku bawa buku dia supaya dia bisa belajar saat. Itu. Juga. Ga pake lama.

Kalau dia aku paksa duduk diam saja, daya konsentrasi dia yang pendek akan membuatnya menjahili teman-temannya.

Yang akan bikin teman-temannya menangis.

Ini alasannya kenapa hari Sabtu dua minggu yang lalu aku ambil dia dari kursi dia, lalu aku asingkan dia di kantor. Bagaimana tidak, satu pelajaran, tidak kurang dari tiga temannya dia buat menangis. Yang membuatku akhirnya menariknya adalah entah bagaimana dia melepaskan kaos Liong dari badannya.

Sialnya, karena itu hari Sabtu dan setelahnya aku harus ke kota, aku tak bisa berlama-lama pegang kunci kantor. Jadi setelah bel pulang, aku serahkan ke Pak Penjaga Sekolah, lalu aku ajak Apri duduk di depan pintu kantor yang dikunci. Di tempat terbuka macam begitu aku tak terlalu nyaman mau bicara betulan dengan dia. Pun karena anak-anak SMP dari sebelah bisa melihat kalau kami duduk berdua saja. Melihat, dan penasaran, lalu mendekat untuk menguping.

Aku agak berharap bisa mengulangi pembicaraan kami semester lalu, ketika aku memintanya berjanji tidak akan memukul temannya lagi walau mereka mulai mengejek duluan, tapi settingnya kurang pas. Aku terburu-buru, ruangan terbuka, banyak anak yang harus aku halau.

Sementara itu, Aprinya sudah mulai menangis duluan. Yang membuat anak-anak SMP dari jauh makin penasaran kenapa dia--yang biasanya membuat anak-anak lain menangis, sendirinya menangis. Di sebelahku pula.

Hari itu pun berakhir antiklimaks, tapi setidaknya aku berhasil minta dia berjanji kalau dia Senin akan datang sekolah lagi.

Seminggu terakhir, dia masuk sekolah penuh. Hari Rabu dia sempat bilang mungkin dia akan diajak turun ke kota--dan aku dalam hati langsung mencelos membayangkannya makin jauh mengejar ketertinggalan pelajarannya, apalagi dengan kemampuan menulisnya yang setingkat dengan adiknya di kelas 3. Tapi hari Kamis toh dia ada lagi.

Dia kini hafal prosedur perkalian bersusun, dan sudah menguasai penjumlahan dengan simpanan. Ketika dia melihat nilai matematikanya hari itu dapat 4, dia memilih untuk pulang terlambat untuk mengerjakan ulang hingga betul.

All is not lost.

Of course, the whole effect was a bit ruined when he told me sheepishly, "Saya ditempeleng mamak saya tadi Pak,"

"Saya tadi loncat dari jembatan [ke sungai], hehehe."

Words fail me then.

Berkat Ramadan 1434 H

With berkah Ramadan, crossing the treacherously dilapidated bridge to Ondo-ondolu SPC becomes a win-win situation. If you can successfully navigate your motorcycle on the broken beams, then you win, because your passage means you get to get to your destination.

If you fail to navigate, the worst thing that could happen is you'll slip and when worst come to worst, you'll fall headlong into the rushing river: limbs, guts, motorcycle and all. And thus concluded your history on Earth.

This is why berkah Ramadan is a boon. You pass, you get to your destination; you fail, you'll die mati syahid--it was Ramadan after all--and heaven is ensured. Virgin consorts, rivers of milk and honey await. I myself just hope that there'll be a cornucopia of aphrodisiac as well. I imagine eternity--even one envisioned with endless consorts--would be quite tedious.

When we consider the alternative--dying not in Ramadan, though, there's only one question to consider. Do people retain their immaterial souls' characteristic as they are subjected to divine retribution in hell? If so, I'm curious to find out whether hope will be included in the package.

Because without hope, the almighty might as well be flogging a desk that snubbed his toes. Just like a desk that have no agency to wish the flogging to end, torturing a soul dispossessed of hope is not as pleasurable as torturing a soul that hopes. Without hope to extinguish, a deity will fail to make the subjects of his punishment feel as dreadful.

Equally confounding is when the soul remains able to hope. Especially when its visit to hell is purgatorial. With hope, the pains are but a blink of an eye. And when the pains felt none-too-long, that's not really a worthy retribution for all the earthly wrongs done, isn't it?

Banggai Berbelanja

Nine months together, we've started to know better our own strengths and weaknesses in relation with each other. Armed with that knowledge, it's now possible to devise a unique PM Banggai strategy in procuring goods and services. It can be outlined as follows.

The first step is to divide the team into two smaller teams of three. One team as designated reconnaissance team, and another as tactical follow up team. The first team comprised of Lilli, Luqman, and Yanti, who represent wealth in social connection, and thus wider information net whereupon we can rely to find the best deals being offered. And it also makes sense geographically, as Luqman is located in the northernmost part of Banggai team, the closest to the Palu, with easy access to Pagimana port. Lilli, on the other hand, holds the key to Luwuk, the capital of Banggai as information hub, as well as other, more curlier source of information (Ahem!). Lastly, on the Morowali-bound route, Yanti's proximity to Toili serves as the strategic gatekeeper to the information flowing in aforementioned direction.

Our reconnaissance team thus deserves to be reckoned with. Once they have located a good deal, it's time for the tactical response team to spring to action.

There is a reason why Ika, despite her communication degree, is better suited in the second team: not only she provides a counterbalance to me and Auliya in communicating our needs to the providers of the deal, her tastes can also be relied upon for aesthetic consideration. Her one weakness that may complicate the procurement process, the lengthy consideration process ("Eh, yang ini juga lucu!" she'd remark on a previously unseen item, after an hour-long consideration on another item.) can be easily remedied with my presence. I'll only need to glower to harry her along her decision process, much like the way I did to goodbyes in Cengkareng during deployment and to her packing when we were leaving for Banggai Island. If needs be, I'll render my numerical skill to the team to estimate ballpark figures and decide which options are the most economical and give the most bang-per-buck. After our decision was made, it's then time for Auliya to shine with her hard bargaining skill. It should be noted that it's most convenient that she draws the line of what's not to bargain in malls. Everything else is fair game to be bargained: neither the entry ticket attendant in Luwuk port nor hapless shopkeepers in wholesale clothing retailers stand a chance before her.

And with a deal sealed, it's then time to redeploy the reconnaissance team again, to touch base with the people involved, and make sure we are on their good grace.

It's a win-win solution. In Banggai, Together Everyone Acquires More (services)! Together Everyone Amass More (goods)!

Paradoks Ramadan 1434 H

Di awal bulan Ramadan, pada suatu sore saya mau diajak tahlilan di dusun sebelah. Lebih tepatnya sebetulnya saya diajak ke dusun sebelah dan baru sadar kalau mau tahlilan ketika separo jalan melintas jembatan kayu bolong-bolong.

Tapi toh sudah terlanjur pergi, dan saya bosan juga tidak ada kerjaan karena libur bulan puasa jadi saya datang juga. Di sana, selain dapat pencerahan--yang tidak terkait dengan isi takziah yang disampaikan--tentang berkah Ramadan dan Rodja TV, saya juga jadi sadar tentang adanya paradoks dalam paradigma Islam seperti yang disampaikan tuan rumah saya.

Waduh, berat nih bahasannya. Paradoks? Paradigma? Ohya, Anda mungkin akan tersinggung lho baca lanjutannya. Kalau Anda baca, berarti Anda secara eksplisit memang paham kalau yang saya tulis berikutnya mungkin menyinggung Anda, dan Anda kehilangan hak untuk marah-marah secara tidak rasional. Kalau mau menunjukkan bahwa logika saya ada bolongnya sih tetap boleh, marah-marahnya itu yang tidak boleh. Tetap mau lanjut?

Being Enterprising

Mbak Yanti remarked that of all six of us, it was not Lilli and Luqman who are most different. It is me and Luqman.
To some extent, there is no denying her words, surga di telapak kaki ibu-ibu and all, but also because it was also factually accurate that I didn't spend a dime in tuition for my tertiary educations while Luqman, well, had to strive to go to college.
It was no question by the time I was in high school that I'd go to college. The only question was only what major I will choose. This led me to consider few of the most esoteric of them all: Nuclear Engineering (only listed in UGM), Russian Literature (UI is one of the few universities that have it in Indonesia), and of course, Astronomy.
Our path could have been very similar, though.
After my father passed away, I actually pondered if we'd still be able to go to school. It was not that I doubt Mom's capability to be the breadwinner but the soils her three children tread on don't magically turn into gold anyway. Despite the old "banyak anak banyak rejeki" axiom, this rejeki needs investment in form of education first. Maybe that's because our family wasn't--isn't--a farming family which can simply turn a pair of infantile hands into unpaid labor*. Or maybe it's especially because we're not a farming family.

On the other hand, stories like Luqman's are probably the more common ones here in Sulawesi. Dabbling and trying one's fortune in various occupations to make ends meet. My headmaster and teacher colleagues are no exception. Not when my headmaster is practically a jack of all trade: he's a teacher cum carpenter cum transporter cum trader cum farmer cum print shop owner. All told, adding the time he has spent in each occupation means that he has lived four times longer than the average human lifespan. Even if one only lives as a farmer who moonlights as a teacher who preaches Islam in one's spare time like the Islamic study teacher in my school, he will still out-enterprise me by light years. In his case, his farming expertise repertoire boggles an urbanite like me: cocoa, rice, all sorts of vegetables, corn, banana, salak, and of course, oil palm.

And then you have me. The juxtaposition couldn't have been more jarring. Because enterprising in business is clearly what I am not.
Our path could have been very similar, though.
Yet it was not. Looking back, my distinct lack of retail acumen possibly stemmed from the little reward and appreciation to my first attempt in sales. Back in junior high school, awash with wide-eyed enthusiasm for KKN students, some of my friends turned one of the craft they were taught to items for sale. The craft in question was an imitation rose made from ribbons, folded and glued together. It was painstaking work that needed attention to details if you want your roses to be realistic. It was something fun.
True, the fun wears off after the thirtieth rose or so, and curling the ribbons and neatly folding them was not work you can multitask with, say, doing homework. But until that point, it was rather enjoyable, and the companies were pleasant.
Which was the reason why Mom expressly expressed her disapproval to this particular activity, pointing out with the particularly unassailable brand of adult logic that (a) this would have reduced my study time, and (b) it's not like our family's livelihood was in dire need of the Rp. 1.500/flower cash that I could
get from the plastic roses, and they didn't even look /that/ real.
And thus end my first foray in craft retails.

This is anachronistic, I know, given how arts and crafts are essential to Mom's line of work. But is it any wonder now that I wonder how I don't /actually/ need any antihistamines whenever I had to deal with anything even remotely artsy?

____
* case in point: cocoa harvest at Auliya's school.

Anak Dewasa

//reposted for posterity from http://indonesiamengajar.org/cerita-pm/masyhur-hilmy-2/anak-dewasa

"Iya Pak, kata bapak saya nanti kalau saya ranking satu saya dibelikan Absolute Revo," cerita Ibra setelah dia membuat prediksi ranking 1-2-3 kelas 4 SDN Trans Batui 5 di semester dua ini.

"Bapak kamu janji membelikan kamu motor?" tanyaku setengah tak percaya .

"Iya Pak, tapi Absolute Revo yang bekas," jawabnya lagi.

Ibra adalah muridku kelas 4. Pintar menggambar dan cepat menangkap tugas yang diberikan di papan tulis. Dia aku ikutkan OSK kemarin meski ketika pengumuman semifinalis keluar, namanya tidak ada di daftar itu. Sudah beberapa kali aku melihatnya naik motor sore-sore, jadi aku memang sudah tahu dia bisa naik motor. Yang membuatku separuh tidak percaya adalah bayangan anak SD yang memiliki sepeda motornya sendiri.

Bagiku dulu, memiliki sepeda motor pertama ketika SMA terasa sebagai validasi memasuki dunia orang dewasa. Dengan sepeda motorku sendiri, aku memiliki kebebasan untuk menentukan apakah aku akan langsung pulang ke rumah usai sekolah, atau bermain-main. Ketika ibu membelikan sepeda motor, ada rasa tanggung jawab baru.

Ketika membuat perbandingan mental antara asumsiku tentang kedewasaan dia dan kedewasaanku ketika SMA, aku menjadi agak khawatir tentang Ibra dan teman-teman sebayanya. Mungkin benar mereka matang jauh lebih cepat dari seharusnya. Mereka terbawa masuk dunia orang dewasa ketika mereka harusnya masih senang bermain. Tentu bisa kita menyalahkan TV yang tidak mendidik, tapi kadang juga ada yang berdampak lebih hebat daripada TV: kehidupan sehari-hari.

Ada murid pindahan baru di kelas 5, tapi murid ini tidak benar-benar baru. Awal tahun ajaran ini dia bersekolah di SD kami, tapi lalu ia pindah ke Bubung, desa di kecamatan lain di Banggai. Secara diplomatis bisa dibilang ia mengikuti ibunya. Tapi obrolan para tetangga selalu menyebutkan ia "diculik" dari keluarga ayahnya oleh ibunya yang pergi bersama pria lain. Dramatis memang, cerita kejar-kejaran kakeknya mengejar ibunya dan kekasih prianya di atas gunung. Dari cerita-cerita ini saya jadi belajar kosakata baru: hugel, alias hubungan gelap.

Ada murid kelas 4 yang saya tahu dulu sempat melihat pertengkaran verbal dan fisik orang tuanya sebagai tontonan sehari-hari. Tidak pernah lama, tapi sering.

Saya yakin kasus-kasus terkait pertikaian domestik yang saya tahu ini cuma puncak dari gunung es yang menyeret anak-anak ke dunianya orang dewasa. Di bawah permukaan air, masih ada berbagai macam hal lainnya: kebiasaan ringan tangan, obrolan-obrolan seksual, olok-olokan agama, dan lain-lain. Saya sampai sekarang masih kebingungan harus menjawab apa kalau ada anak yang bertanya, "Pak, pak tau tempik?" sementara raut mukanya menunjukkan jelas muka saya-pengen-ngetes-pak-guru-ah. Bingung campur sesal tidak bisa menyisipkan pengenalan pendidikan seksual ke anak-anak ketika teachable moment-nya lewat.

Kadang saya berpikir mungkin kekhawatiran ini tidak cocok ada di dunia realita, cocoknya di dunia utopia, tempat tidak ada orang tua yang sudah mempercayakan menyetir mobil pada anak SD kelas lima—seperti yang pernah saya lihat di Ijen. Tidak cocok di dunia nyata, karena bahkan di fiksi-fiksi anak yang saya baca tokohnya sudah memanggul tanggung jawab besar di usia belia. Anak-anak Lima Sekawan bahkan sudah mulai menerjang bahaya bahkan ketika mereka belum genap 10 tahun. Barangkali gerbang kedewasaan sudah jamak dilewati sejak mereka kelas tiga.

Atau bahkan kelas dua.

Bagaimana tidak heran mendengar anak kelas dua meminta ke saya, "Pak guru ganteng, boleh minta cium?"

Untungnya, dia melanjutkan dengan, "Cium pipi, Pak!"

The Pleasures and Sorrows of Math

//reposted for posterity, from http://indonesiamengajar.org/cerita-pm/masyhur-hilmy-2/the-pleasure-and-sorrow-of-math

There was no pleasure in realizing that the legwork for interactive, constructive teaching takes a lot of time. And most of these work was disproportionate, as the result of a 3 man-hour work may only be enough to occupy the kids' attention for 30 minutes. Or maybe less.

There was no pleasure knowing that my carefully cut colored folding papers will end up all crumpled and ugly after being manhandled by 17 students in just one morning math period. There was even less pleasure comparing the amount of time I spent pleading my cheaply bought compass to draw a perfect circle to the amount of time they will spend noticing the shape in their hand was a true circle. Or knowing that the subtleties of a neatly drawn star--with 72 degrees angle separating each of neighboring points in the star--will definitely be lost on them.

There was no pleasure in being aware that after the dull hour of writing a teaching plan--which probably won't go smoothly anyway, more work awaits. More pencil-pushing work of drawing up an evaluation and marking scheme, and recording its result.

Yet there was only pleasure in sharing your love of something to other people you care about. I can attest to this, as it was thoroughly enjoyable making--trying to make--my pupils fond of basic mathematics as I do. I am not always successful, but trying is half the fun. And when I do get through to them, the jubilant feeling is very addicting.

You wouldn't believe how there was no other thing but pleasure watching your students taking up the initiative to create their own number card by imitating what they see in class and after classes end. It's nothing fancy, it's only discarded corrugated cardboxes, after all, but their enthusiasm was nothing short of heartening.

I say, it's a good addiction, as there was only pleasure in getting the work done in the best way you know how. Sorrow will have to be a stranger today.

Berkeras Memutus Arus

// reposted for posterity, from http://indonesiamengajar.org/cerita-pm/masyhur-hilmy-2/berkeras-memutus-arus

"Pak, kenapa Pak Guru tidak pernah bapukul, Pak?" tanya Rahma tadi malam.

Saya berpikir sejenak.

"Kamu suka kalau dipukul?" tanyaku balik.

"Tidak, Pak," jawab Rahma. "Tapi kenapa Pak Guru tidak pernah bapukul yang nakal macam Mamat?"

***

And honestly I was stumped. I know that it's wrong, but to point out exactly why it's wrong, I'm out of my depths. If pressed, I can recite a stock argument or two why I am not an ardent believer of corporal punishment. But convincing a rational, knowledgeable individual acting as a parliamentary debate adjudicator is worlds apart from giving a sense of understanding to a young mind why an idea is wrong. Especially if violence is casual for her.

I stumbled for words, while not three feet away Mamat continued his playful roughhousing with Yoga and Pai, meaking my previous effort to tidy up my house vain. As he always does even in classroom during lessons.

I wish I'd have another chance to explain my reasons to Rahma. I wish even harder that I have a good answer ready.

Earlier this Monday morning, all of our teachers were present at school. Conversations sparked up, and one of the teachers claimed to the success of strict actions and distance between teachers and students to make his earlier pupils, well, succeed. I did not ask him how exactly did they succeed. I know I'm a bit prejudiced this way.

Much earlier, Ika asked me how to make me angry. Answering that I'm not really sure if I've ever harbored a burning anger--though for sure I've been frustrated, e.g. at present time--she pressed me how would I express myself angry. Those of you who know me well may now chuckle.

The answer I gave her was something noncomittal before continuing that for some people, I know I'm physically superior to them that any attempt at a violent recourse will be heavily disproportionate for them. Her and my pupils included in this category. I mean, you just have to look at their slender arms that could so easily be broken or dislocated by careless adult hands.

For those excepted from that category, I'm not powerful enough to overpower them that any attempt at genuine physical retaliation will only leave me emasculated and embarrassed.

Those are perhaps personal reasons enough not to do that. That, and family tradition, I suppose.

Though I suppose this now leaves me with an unanswered question of what to do with violent students.

Eko is a sixth-grader who've brought me to my wit's end. Last week, I logged two notes about him:

"Eko bikin masalah dua hari ini. Hari Rabu (27/3) dia di pagi hari menonjok dada Apri hingga dia meringkuk menangis kesakitan. Tanpa alasan jelas. Hari ini (28/3) kata anak-anak dia banting kepala Andrian ke tembok hingga Andrian menangis kesakitan juga. Tanpa alasan jelas pula. Honestly this kid tests me severely."

Bear in mind that: a. Apri is his younger brother, and b. both Apri and Andrian are big compared to the other fourth-graders. Not to mention the fact that usually Apri is the source of complain from his classmates for roughhousing!

Even the book offers little by way of ideas. We have a book titled "Penanganan Kekerasan di Sekolah" but the activities there would be of little use to handle Eko. How would you ask him to write the concept of an ideal, violence-free school if he knows very little how to write?

Patrick Rothfuss wrote in The Name of the Wind by quoting Teccam's Theophany: "there are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man." I bear the word gentle in my surname, and I just hope that my students will one day be wise enough to fear all three.

Kelinci Kertas Murid Ganteng

// reposted for posterity, from http://indonesiamengajar.org/cerita-pm/masyhur-hilmy-2/kelinci-kertas-murid-ganteng

Mamat (belakang tengah), dengan Irfan, Pai, Arif, dan Apri.

Saya punya murid ganteng. Namanya Ahmad, biasa dipanggil Mamat oleh teman-teman dan gurunya yang lain. Mamat sekarang sudah kelas 5, tapi walau saya wali kelas 4, sering juga saya mengajar dia. Posturnya tegap, badannya tinggi, kulitnya sehat, dan kalau tersenyum tambah cakep.

Tapi kegantengannya ini sepaket dengan kebadungannya. Dari awal saya mengajar di SD Trans Batui 5, satu hari belajar belum lengkap kalau belum ada murid lain yang menangis sambil mengadu, "Paaak, Mamat Paak!"

Kalau saya sedang mujur, maka dalam satu hari bisa tiga aduan berbeda tentang Mamat yang saya dapat. Untungnya, biasanya aduannya bervariasi, "Mamat nakal Pak!", "Mamat betarik rambut Pak!", atau "Mamat bapukul Pak!"

Kalau saya benar-benar mujur, variasi yang saya dapat bisa bertambah menjadi "Paak, Mamat bapeluk-peluk Pak!" atau "Mamat bacium-cium Pak!" dari anak-anak perempuannya.

Saya tidak bisa membayangkan kalau hanya ada saya di kantor, karena berarti semua aduan itu lari ke saya. Mujurnya, saya tak perlu membayangkan hal tersebut, karena sudah kejadian beberapa kali. Biasanya kalau pagi dan sebagian guru yang lain terhalang datang. Kadang-kadang semesta sedang baik dan saya sedang bersama banyak guru berkumpul di kantor SMP sebelah (gedung SD bersebelahan dengan gedung SMP). Tapi kebaikan semesta ini biasanya harus dibayar dengan merasa kasihan pada Mamat yang lalu dimarahi oleh (hampir) semua guru.

"Mau kau Mat, Pak Guru kasih kau libur tidak sekolah seperti lalu?"

Bonusnya, setelah itu kami memperbincangkan kebadungan dia, termasuk skorsing yang pernah dia dapat karena pernah membuat kepala salah satu temannya bocor. Daripada parang orang tua terayun ke sekolah, dia pun dijatuhi skorsing seminggu. Peristiwa ini terjadi sebelum saya datang kemari.

Bagi saya, Mamat sebenarnya tidak jauh berbeda dengan anak-anak lain yang kelebihan energi tapi dipaksa duduk diam di bangku kelas. He fits like a round hole with a square peg, ga cocok jek!* Seperti anak-anak lainnya juga, dia belum tahu batas-batas kekuatan dia, apalagi ketika bermain dan bergumul fisik dengan teman-temannya yang posturnya lebih kecil. Jadilah apa yang dia rasa biasa, terasa menyakitkan bagi teman-temannya. Makin parah lagi kalau dia bermain dengan teman-teman adiknya yang duduk di kelas 1, sudah pasti kekuatannya tidak berimbang.

Ketika dia diadukan ke guru dan lalu dimarahi sambil disebut-sebut sebagai murid nakal, makin kental pula cara dia mengenali diri sendiri sebagai anak nakal, dan mungkin ke depannya dia tidak akan peduli nasehat siapapun. “Karena saya toh memang nakal,” begitu mungkin pikirnya. Kalau itu sudah terjadi, makin sulit lagi mengajak Mamat belajar dan menyerap materi yang diberikan kepadanya.

Saya sering berpikir bahwa ketika saya mengajar dia, saya harus menyiapkan aktivitas tambahan untuk menyalurkan energinya. Tapi hingga kini, belum juga saya menemukan aktivitas yang cocok.

Yang ada justru saya keheranan mendapati Mamat bisa berkonsentrasi dan memperhatikan saya penuh ketika saya mengajarinya origami membuat bentuk kepala kelinci.

Suatu sore, saya meninggalkan satu kepala kelinci di jendela luar rumah dinas. Sebagai guru yang tidak artistik sama sekali, mau tak mau saya harus memperbanyak amunisi untuk kelas SBK (Seni, Budaya, Keterampilan)—termasuk di antaranya membuat origami. Mamat adalah salah satu anak yang melihat kelinci itu dan langsung minta diajari saat itu juga. Bersama tiga anak yang lain, saya beri mereka kertas lipat masing-masing satu lembar dan saya ajari mereka melipat kepala kelinci.

Siapa sangka justru Mamat yang pertama mengerti instruksi melipat saya? Heran saya tak habis-habis ketika melihat dia lalu mengajari temannya yang lain yang belum mengerti (sambil disertai celetukan “Bodoh ngana! Begini!” tapi ya memang tidak bisa semalam menghilangkan semua kebiasaan negatif anak).

Setelah itu, dia termasuk yang paling getol mengajari teman-temannya. Kalau saja saya bisa membuatnya berkonsentrasi seperti itu ketika menulis karangan pengalaman atau mengubah persentase menjadi pecahan biasa, biar dia menulis tak pakai titik atau koma saya sudah bahagia.

Tapi paling tidak, sekarang saya tahu kalau dia bisa belajar. Tinggal PR saya bagaimana membuat Mamat belajar, tanpa mengganggu temannya belajar.

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*Do pardon the rhyme.

Beauty and terror in a night's entertainment

In Batui 5, I don't normally have my bath that late: for the two months that I have been living here, I have made myself a habit of going out just before sundown. This is for no other reason than that the public well where I wash myself have no artificial illumination while the well's lip is merely 10 cm high lend credence to one's fear of tripping down into the well in the dark of the night.

But by then it was already 6.30 pm, my body felt sticky all over after playing with the kids in a nearby river and I needed to wash. Assuring myself that then it was only a couple of days past full moon, I assure myself that nothing will be going wrong with ample lunar illumination (and in doing so, I embarrassingly forgot a basic fact: the moon won't rise until 9 pm, well after I'm supposed to be done with my wash. Truly a disgrace for an astronomy graduate.)

And yet even without lunar illumination, it turned out that taking a bath that night was simply splendid: I had never before, taking a bath with entertainment present. There were fireflies swarming a nearby coconut tree and another--a leafy flower tree. A dance so dynamic I couldn't help but be transfixed.

I moved the pail from the well rather automatically, transferring the water to a bigger bucket nearby. Because truly, wouldn't you rather enjoy the flickering twinkles of fireflies than staring down the gaping maw of the well's darkness?

That night's bath almost had all the ingredients I needed for me to have my bath leisurely. Almost, because from inside the gaping maw there's a persistent sound of something repeatedly dunking under the water and then surfacing. The sound of splashing continued even when I stayed still, making sure that it wasn't caused by water dripping from my body to the well.

Leave it to the stubborn splashing sounds to ruin a perfectly enjoyable bath. I don't have a particularly active imagination, but a persistent sound in the night will inevitably play suggestions to one's mind. Not least of all, mine, which often jumps to the most morbid possibility.

It also didn't help that I've just finished Koji Suzuki's novel: you remember Sadako Yamamura (of The Ring) met her watery end inside a well, don't you? Even if you don't, I did.

When I finished my bath, I don't exactly scamper--that would be undignified. Though I don't suppose one can scuttle with much dignity either. I shall leave it until the morning light reveal what terror lies in the well's gaping maw, I thought. Knowing full well that it would make me feel ridiculous afterward.

The following morning before school begin, I returned to wash myself, and to see what denouement awaits inside the well--now no longer a maw it had been the night before under the bright daylight. And to no-one's surprise, the promise of a revelation doesn't disappoint: there was indeed something big bobbing inside the well. The culprit of the sound, however, was rather disappointing, it was no foul spectre and there was no trace of any Sadako.

It was just a big toad, trapped inside, unable to climb the wall of the well.

A toad with a very ordinary appearance.

In toto, this had not been an earth-shattering news of the year.