Short Story: Blarak

Blarak

Yanusa Nugroho - 8 Februari 2009

image soure: blarak

I woke up because the leaves fell. With a little stuttering, I removed the dried leaves from my face. I saw Mbah (grandpa, old people) Tuhu's face brightly looking at me.

Hehehe ... let's go home, it's late ... "he said, moving from his seat which was not far from me lying down. "From before, I actually wanted to wake up until now, but ... how come it looks really good, can't bear it, me. Uh, even the leaves are waking up to the side ... heheheheh ... "

I just smile. Fresh. I've never woken up from sleep feeling like this. Without much talk, we immediately followed the moor. Quiet. Insects start singing. The earth cools and soon, the fog will surely go down.

"We'll all look for blarak (palm young leaves) later to cook ..." he said a few moments later.

I've been here for two days. I don't know where this name is, I don't really understand. Previously, I was a creature born and raised in a "concrete forest" called Jakarta. Mbah Tuhu is still a relative of mine, which - this is strange - I just learned a few days ago. Imagine, during my life, approximately 35 years, I never knew that having relatives came from this region, suddenly — very absurd — the name appeared and made me 'dragged' to this small hamlet.

 

Last month, we — I mean, my wife and I, got bad news from the doctor: my wife had cancer in her womb. You must have known our reaction, especially my wife. And since we heard the news, his body withered.

Between the business trips I had to do, I invited Grace to various international hospitals. However, nothing could make me believe that Grace's condition improved. Colleagues, business partners, acquaintances, anyone who has provided assistance, whether it's a sympathy shake or hospital referral. All in vain. Last month, Grace resigned. I can't do anything, even I can't afford to be sad anymore.

That Sunday morning, when I accompanied Grace watching Kurosawa's Dreams, my phone rang. For a moment, I still had time to see on the screen, dancing a fairy peach tree in front of a small child. I then rushed to the telephone table while grumbling.

"Haloo? Mas (brother) Yos? "From there there was a strange voice in my ear. But he knows my name.

"Right ... sorry with whom, sir?"

After I heard his laughter, I heard he mentioned his name, then what was the connection with me. I just realized that he was one of my uncles who lived in Cirebon. I don't know, when I last got in touch with him, I didn't know.

"That's right, uncle ... yes, that's how it is, we've given up ..." I said, when he asked Grace's condition. I secretly thank you, whether to whom I have to say, that someone who has never even been in my memory, gives his sympathy to me. Suddenly there was a feeling of regret that was suffocating my chest. I don't know what else he was talking about, actually I didn't really care, because at that time I was like being pulled into a vortex of regret that was somewhere in the end.

"Try there ... maybe just ..."

"Sorry, where to go?"

"Mbah Tuhu ... he is still our relative ..."

Then I arrived here. Two days ago, on a motorcycle taxi, then on foot, we arrived at this house. Quiet, at that time, because the owner of the house was not in place. Quiet. Only the mountain wind carries the scent of wood smoke burning, faintly out of nowhere. Grace sat on a bamboo couch in front of the house. He smiled - and I just realized - that was his first smile since the 'verdict' was given. Almost my tears dripped as Grace's smile bloomed like a fresh rose.

 

"Delicious, right?! Here ... smell it, doesn't it smell of firewood ...?" He said while still sniffing the smoke-scented wood of firewood. "What wood is burned, huh?"

"Weeeeh, hehehe ... have you come, to? Come on in, come in ... "suddenly a rather bald man appeared from nowhere, immediately carrying our bags lightly and pushing the door. "I don't lock it, bro ... hahahahaha ... let's go in ..."

That night, the three of us had dinner. Mbah Tuhu has been widowed for thirty years and has no children. Rice with clear vegetables, chili sauce and salted fish, made my excitement rise. "Tasty, huh? Hahahaha ... sorry, Mbah never cooks ... come on, with Grace, add more ... "

"The vegetables are delicious, mbah ... fresh ..." Grace said, spooning the clear vegetable.

"Good, good ... spend it, it's really for Grace ..."

"Is this vegetable mbah?"

"What is it, huh? Hehehe ... if here, people call it lompong. That is, like taro, but small, and growing on the edge of the river ... "

"Ooo ..." I said because I really didn't know what to do.

A moment later I remembered that I must immediately convey our intentions here. However, I never got the chance to say it, because Mbah Tuhu continued to chatter and every chatter made Grace smile, even chuckle.

"Her daughter's grandmother, was a friend of mine."

"Grandmother Mimi?"

"Yes, the Mimi ... He called me, bro, because I am a pakdenya child. Wow, the wayward is asking for forgiveness ... One time, yes, really ... he jumped on a juwet tree ... "

Grace frowned, then looked at me.

"Mmm, juwet it ... um, what, huh?"

"Wow, if I speak Jakarta, I don't understand ... heheheh ..." and after giving enough explanation about what is juwet, Mbah Tuhu continues his story about Eyang Mimi. Grace laughed off when the story arrived at the Mimi Eyang screaming in the branches of the tree because it couldn't go down: afraid of caterpillars.

And today, even until our second day at Mbah Tuhu's house, I haven't been able to convey the purpose of our arrival.

Today, as yesterday, I joined Mbah Tuhu to his field. He calls his field with 'alas' (forest). I am also happy to try something that I have never done in my life — even I consider it despicable. All of my theories are about perseverance, the intensity of work, which I learned from thick books on my campus, there is no end to the nail of Mbah Tuhu's life. He lovingly, patiently, knows exactly how to treat his fields. There are peanuts, there are also some coffee stalks, some coconut stalks and somehow I don't know. I can't imagine, it even crossed that Mbah Tuhu must be wrong, when he mentioned that the yield of his field last year could reach one and a half tons of peanuts. How could it be, a land that was only less than three hundred meters long, including the south slope, could produce that much peanut?

When there are withered leaves, not yet completely dry, which are piled on the edge of the field, and I intend to burn them, Mbah Tuhu prevents them. "Ora ilok (not ethics). Let it dry first ... Don't ever burn leaves that still look green ... ora ilok. "

I stopped there. I don't know, I suddenly obeyed his words. Where is my 'critical' power all this time? Where do humans not want to believe this answer? Why is it that only in simple and very illogical terms can I be silenced?

On the way home, we passed a number of other people, which I actually did not know the boundaries of, except from the words of Mbah Tuhu. Every time he mentions this belongs to someone or someone, I try hard to find something called 'limit', but in vain. Let alone 'limits', even a single coconut that has dried out, Mbah Tuhu can recognize that it is not from his coconut tree. Strange.

 

"Yes, taken away, Mbah ... it has fallen, it means our sustenance, please ..."

Mbah Tuhu laughed while shaking his head. He still forbade me to pick up the dried coconut. "Ora ilok ..." he added.

"Yes, already, that, just that coconut branch, the dry one ... it says for fuel at home ..."

Mbah Tuhu looked at me softly, then ... "well, but later we have to tell the owner ..."

"Yes, yes ... but, then, stop by at Giman's house first ..."

"?"

"" Why, yes, ask permission first, to ... this is his own ... "he replied as he walked ahead of me.

"Mbah, this, right, just dried coconut leaves and midribs ... have fallen too ..."

"Tetep has to get permission from the owner ... this is the one who planted his father Giman, and Giman also lives on this coconut ... this is a valuable item, Le ..."

While dragging dry coconut fronds, I still don't think. How could even the items that had been wasted not be taken without the owner's permission?

That night, we had dinner. This time, Grace is cooking. Even though the cooked one was the same vegetable as yesterday, there were other feelings that developed, so I felt my food was so ravenous. In the cold air of the mountains, my sweat melted, full of delicious chili made by my wife. Before I hugged my wife in bed, we had a chance to talk about the things I had experienced that day, including asking permission for the coconut midrib to Mr. Giman.

"Know, isn't Giman's answer?" I whispered, "... please Mbah, just take it, if I don't, I'll send it again ..." I added, laughing at what I thought was ridiculous.

Grace just smiled. Then sobbed and looked at me closely.

"What is wrong?"

"Know, no? It's only been two days here, I just found out that I miss you ... "

And until the following year, when Grace's birthday, the events at Mbah Tuhu's house did not evaporate from my life. What was remarkable was that Grace's illness disappeared somewhere. Even stranger, our doctors were surprised, because only this time the cancer could disappear to its roots.

We convey the good news to the families present, including Eyang Mimi. We convey all the series of events to everyone present.

"Hmmm ... for a moment, I remember ..." interrupted Eyang (old people, usually still relative) Mimi. "Tuhu, Tuhu ...? Who is this? The child is pakde (older uncle)? As far as I know I have a pakde that is close to us, but don't have children ... Who can you get from to his house? "

"Uncle Legawa, who is in Cirebon ..." I replied confidently.

"Sukma Legawa?"

"Yes, grandparent."

"As I recall, Legawa had died almost ten years ago ... where's his wife going home, don't know; because it's an official house ... "

At that point, Grace and I fell silent. We just tried to be brave, concluding, that the memories of the Anniversary of Mimi were indeed completely unreliable.
 

Pinang, 982 

 

short story: Eksekusi (Execution)

Eksekusi (Execution)
Waluyo Basuki - 1 Februari 2009 

 

image source

It's been three days Boneng was placed in an isolation room. That means, the death sentence that has been handed down to him will be carried out immediately after all the legal measures taken have not produced results. The death penalty is deserved because there have been too many crimes committed. Starting from just tormenting roadside merchants, public transportation drivers, to stealing, maiming, robbing, robbery, and even killing, he had already done it. Only one crime he never committed, raped a woman!

But, his champions, as bad as he is, Boneng is a human, too, who has a conscience and ultimately has fear too, including fear of death.

In his prime, he used to claim he was not afraid to die to show his heroism. In the past, he felt and assumed that with the heroism and 'knowledge' he possessed, he could avoid death. On the contrary, it can easily cause the death of others. And that has been proven. Many times he escaped the threat of death and how many lives had been finished with his bare hands. He had been beaten by several fellow armed thugs, but he was not the one who died, but two people killed him in his hand, some were battered and some were runaways! He was also once chased by security officers and hit by bullets, but managed to escape without the slightest injury!

Once because of his negligence in breaking one of the taboos, Boneng was caught by officers who had hunted him for a long time. As a result, his body was battered as the target of an outlet for the aggravation of the officers who had been buried for so long. However, after being in the cell, when the officers just left his body that had been lost in shape and almost dying, he immediately took the position of sitting cross-legged in a corner of the cell while reading a mantra. After that, even though the bruises and injuries were still there, the pain that spread all over his body was completely gone. When he was beaten, he deliberately did not use his original knowledge to trick the officers. So, it is appropriate that he never feels afraid to die. also when the death sentence is dropped, he is not too afraid because he believes there are still opportunities to avoid it through legal efforts or if necessary to escape.

But now, when death is in front of his nose, his heart is thrilled too. This afternoon health officials and prison officials (prisons, honorable designations for prisons) had their health checks. And declared healthy both physically and mentally!

"Yes ... I am ready to undergo this sentence ...," he said to the clergy who came to give guidance.

"Sincerely?" Asked the clergy to convince.

"God willing, sincere ...," replied Boneng steadily even though with a trembling tone.

"Yes ... you must be sincere and must be sure that this is part of the destiny outlined by Allah subhana wa taala."

"God willing, Mr. Haji ..."

"Don't forget, multiply dhikr and istigfar to beg forgiveness to Allah subhana wa taala. Thus, hopefully you are given strength in the face of execution, which is only a few hours away. And hopefully you can end your life in a state of husnulkhatimah! "

"Really ..."

"Remember, in fact the death has been determined by time and place by Allah subhana wa taala, which is not one force that can hinder or accelerate even if it is only for a second."

"But, does my death seem to have been determined by state officials who are humans going to happen at night?"

"Yes, by birth it seems like a decisive human being, but God's essence is also decisive. Because, if God wants others, even though it has been legally determined, who can block it? "

"I mean Mr. Haji, can the execution be postponed or canceled?"

"Yes ... if it's not God's destiny, there will always be a reason to postpone it. But, it can also be the opposite, it can happen before the specified time! Well ... who dares to guarantee that everything will go according to plan? In essence, whenever death can come and don't ever let your guard down. Pick up death with confidence. "

"Good ... Mr. Haji ..."

In the criminal world, the name Boneng is quite well known. At first, only thugs from the small-scale artisan tradesmen market were just to meet their daily snack needs and smoke. However, thanks to his heroism he was able to defeat some of the more senior thugs and later become the ruler of the area around the market. Since then, he no longer needs to go to the merchants one by one, but is just waiting for the deposit of his men.

Boneng's name is increasingly fluttering and along with it is increasingly often dealing with security officers and several times huddled in prison. Through this very intensive learning process in prison, the quality and quantity of criminals is increasing.

Finally, after being crossed in the criminal world and for several times huddled in prison cells - some of them had escaped - Boneng had actually begun to repent. Despite feeling heavy and somewhat embarrassed, he started a new job on a building project as a stone mason with very little salary. However, armed with the awareness of his faith that began to build, he tried to sincerely accept the situation.

Once upon a time, he felt that the salary received was less than normal without an explanation from the foreman. At first he tried to accept sincerely, but after going on several times and knowing that he did not experience it himself, he could not hold back his anger.

"Bang ... I want to ask, is there a decrease in salary?" He asked Udin's foreman.

"Indeed, why?" Udin's foreman asked back with a snobby attitude and tone.

"Well ... why not, just knowing, how many times is my salary not as usual?"

"Why come down?"

"Yes there must be an explanation, why come down."

"That's my business, it's not your business. Lu is just a coolie! Is it still good for me to work here? "

"Yes, it can't be so bad ..." Boneng began to get inflamed, but still tried to restrain himself.

"So what do you want? You are a new child here ... don't worry ... "

"I'm just asking for my rights and those of my friends ..."

"Already ... don't bother much," said the foreman Udin as he slammed his fist into Boneng's face.

With deftness, Boneng dodged and the blow of Udin's Overseer was only about the wind.

 "Ooo ... apparently you're good at it too, can you avoid my punch ...," said Udin's foreman as he returned to throwing his fist.

"Hold Bang!" Boneng said this time immediately caught the hand of Udin's foreman. "I just want to ask my rights, not want to make a fuss."

"Waaah ... it's great too, you dare to play my game ...," said the foreman Udin while releasing the ban. "Apparently you don't know who I am ..." he continued, immediately pulling out the dagger tucked into his waist and pointing straight at Boneng.

"Patience ... I'm patient ... we don't need to fuss like this ..." Boneng tried to prevent.

"You can't ... it's about pride! Lu already made me embarrassed in front of the men ..., "shouted Udin's foreman as he immediately attacked. Several times the attack did not hit the target, making Udin's foreman frantic and continued to attack blindly.

At first Boneng tried to restrain himself by continuing to dodge and dodge. However, when his pride began to speak, his thug's soul rose again. After a few evasive attempts, he grabbed Udin's foreman's hand and immediately stared, then with all his strength pushed forward. Udin's foreman who did not expect to face a formidable opponent immediately fell down and hit his head against the concrete wall and then collapsed with his head covered in blood.

Boneng was stunned to see his opponent lying dead. In the past when watching his opponent fall down and not move like this his heart felt proud, but this time he regretted it. Especially when he realized he was still undergoing a parole. That is, if this incident is discovered by law enforcement officials, he must immediately undergo a long sentence plus the action just taken! So, the death sentence is indeed worthy of being handed down to him.

Boneng sat cross-legged in the corner of the room while continuing to recite the remembrance and istigfar that had been done since after the evening prayer. However, when the moments of execution approached his feelings began to be hit by anxiety. Suddenly tears ran down his cheeks and for the first time cried uncontrollably when he imagined the face of his wife and child who would be left forever. Remembrance and istigfar which are constantly pronounced as if they don't feel any more influence. His heart continued to beat as the ticking time continued to roll and cold sweat began to wet all over his body. He tried to overcome anxiety by slightly hardening his dhikr which began to stammer.

The time showed half past eleven o'clock. Boneng stopped his remembrance, then rose from the precepts, tidied the prayer mat that had been occupied and straightened the direction of the Qibla with the intention to perform the repentance prayer. As usual, at the last rak'ah he deliberately compared his prostration to pray for forgiveness for all the sins he had committed in his life. At times like that he feels closer and can dialogue directly with the Creator.

Around eleven o'clock, executors and doctors and clergymen came to the solitary cell to pick up the execution. Accompanied by cell guards, they enter the room to find Boneng prostrate. They also held back his steps waiting for Boneng to finish praying. One minute, two minutes, three minutes, until five minutes awaited but no movement was seen. However, they did not dare to disturb the people who were praying and asked the clergy to wake him up because the execution should not be delayed.

The clergyman moved to approach Boneng who was still prostrate.

"Neeng ... Boneeng ..." he said, poking his hip and suddenly Boneng's body rolled in a curled position like a prostrate person. Very carefully he touched Boneng's body and tried to pull his hand, then his legs. Everything is stiff!

"Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi rajiun ...," said the clergyman, turning to the officers from the Brimob guards. For a moment they looked at each other as if they did not believe. The doctor who participated in the group conducted an examination to ensure the death was medically. Boneng is dead! And then the news was made.

They stared at the lifeless body with a look of emotion. Some of them shed tears.

 

Song Lyric & Chord: Your Smile

Song Lyric & Chord: Your Smile
by Juli Sarwanto



E              A
everyday we're living our life
B                C#m
you always there in my heart

E                        A
even though the easy not always on our side
B                C#m
our heart would be stick up hard

        G#m
when the days and years gone
A
like the waves in open sea
    B
I'll be with you again

                        E
so give me your smile
A                        B
... I can't life without you
C#m                                A
and all the time that makes me going on and on
 B                    
I'll be with you again

E                                                   
when the thunder brighten up the and the light goes on
A
when the dark set aside tell world to born
B
when the love gather up images
C#m
all beauty off you, all story of you

A
With all the hardness life
                B
we'll carry on


        E                                A
to open up the right and wrong of the sky
B                                C#m
and every wound on our relationship,

E                                    A
every argument that we don't really mean
B                                            C#m
All silly thinking that we didn't really see


        G#m
when the days and years gone
A
like the waves in open sea
    BI'll be with you again


                        E
so give me your smile
A                        B
   i can't life without you
C#m                                A
and all the time that makes me goin on and on
 B                    
I'll be with you again

E                                                   
when the thunder brighten up the and the light goes on
A
when the dark set aside tell world to born
B
when the love gather up images
C#m
all beauty off you, all story of you

A
With all the hardness life
                B
we'll carry on

        E                                A
to open up the right and wrong of the sky
B                                C#m
I will be with you, i will be with you...

Money : the missing manual

This post is about a book called "money: the missing manual". I got to know this book from Blog Walking that I've done. This book tell the story of the people of our generation that didn't have enough education about money in the school. We got to learn mathematics, science, literature, history, and so on, but not money, not tax.
The problem is that  "money" is even bigger problem that should be tackled by most people, considering he lives in the modern society and not inside the cave. 
Cavemen didn't have enough complex economic and socio culture under the impression of money. Just think about it. Every damn advertisement in every corner you see and hear is to make money move from one people to another people. Cavemen didn't need to care about how society think about him when he doesn't have a car. Cavemen didn't need to care how his neighbor would think about his house, about how much IKEA product standing in his room. Cavemen not need that, cavemen live with the solely purpose of living and, you know, having sex breeding. He live in the way that nature bring him all he need, but of course, he must get to work to get it. It just men against nature.

But all was too different for this "modern" people, which have more complex shit to be thinking when you be a part and member of society. Society in which now being captured by capitalism in every corner that scream "consume! consume! consume!" that diluting of simple and holy purpose of the cavemen: survive and having fun,  to make a baby, preserve next generation of human. Modern People Thinking that intoxicated by  short term happiness of buying, of owning, of destroying, but not really creating, not really independent of what to do in his own time to be alive as the perpose was changing into become the not really so able to understand what his purpose are, other than what every corner of advertisement tell him to do.

Short Story: Cerita tentang Hujan (The Story of The Rain)

Cerita tentang Hujan (The Story of The Rain)

K Usman - 25 Januari 2009

painting rain art prompt

When it rains and is alone, I remember Anatolia. The six-year-old little girl is the daughter of a beautiful young woman. Olive name. They live in a good rental house, a few meters in front of my house. In that house no man lived. The driver who drove Anatolia arrived in the morning, came home late in the afternoon. Si Anatolia's father never showed his nose. Now, the house is quiet.

During the afternoon that Sunday Anatolia did not appear in my house. From ten in the morning, he attended Sofia's birthday party, his compatriot. Afternoon, Anatolia was escorted to my house by Uun, the painstaking and faithful housemaid. As impatient, Anatolia asked me to tell about rain.

"Uncle, tell me about rain," he pleaded once again.

"What's wrong with the rain?" I asked, watching the increasingly heavy rain. I opened the door wide so that the room lit up. So, I don't need to turn on the lights.

The first year elementary school student turned towards the rain. He listened to rain songs on the tiled roofs, leaves, twigs, branches and trees. The raindrops were sad. An elegy, I thought. Anatolia's cute face, since meeting me was always moody. His eyes were sad. The growing daughter missed someone. He also really needs love.

I often imagine, raindrops have small feet. They always unite and line up neatly. So they become very strong. Millions of raindrops slipped between the roots of trees in the forest, seeped, then settled in the bowels of the earth. The water saving is very beneficial if there is a long dry season. The strong little feet of rain were not like Anatolia's legs. The child's feet are not free to step, according to his will. Olives always forbid him from leaving home. Zaitun said, outside the house, Ana could be kidnapped by a bad person. However, after a year with my neighbor, Olives allowed Anatolia to play in my house on holidays. Of course, the little virgin must be escorted by Uun, if Olives is not at home.

If I haven't met Anatolia for a while, I think something's missing. The little yellow-faced and yellow-skinned girl has become a part of my life. In the office, I often tell my close friends about Anatolia. Then, my friends chuckled. They guessed that I and Olive, the beautiful and smart, had a special relationship. I said: I'm only friends with Anatolia! Not with his mother! Only once did I meet with Olives, which was when I came to get acquainted, early last year.

"Tell me about the rain, Uncle," Anatolia begged once again.

I'm happy to tell you about the occurrence of rain: First, the sun's heat heats the water so it turns into steam. The warm moist air soars high and the top becomes cold. The steam turns into small grains of water, which cools condensation. Then, clouds formed in the sky. The water points in the cloud become bigger and heavier, then fall to the earth as rain. Three quarters of the rain fell back into the ocean. A quarter, fell on land.

Anatolia asked again, "Uncle, is rain good for living things?" I replied, of course rain is good for all living things. Humans and animals need water for drinking and bathing. Water is also used by humans to wash clothes, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and other necessities. Rainwater will fertilize the soil. When the land is fertile, any plant lives fertile, fresh, radiant, and useful for fellow life.

Anatolia also asks, if it is good for all beings, why does rain cause flash floods and landslides? Flash floods and landslides cause humans and other creatures to suffer, and objects are damaged, he said.

Rest assured, I say, rain has never been evil to sentient beings. Flash floods and landslides are not a mistake of rain! If forests are deforested after being cleared wildly by humans, flash floods and landslides can occur. Flash floods and landslides can also occur if tall buildings have stood tightly in vacant lots, in many places. Rubbish that pollutes gutters, lakes, rivers, and the sea, is also a cause of flooding. So, flash floods and landslides are human errors, I said firmly.

"Uncle, tell me about my friends, rain," begged Anatolia as well. Anatolia said, Olga, his classmate was good at telling stories about frogs singing so much to ask for rain to come down soon. The frogs sing during the dry season. Anatolia wants to hear stories about other rainy friends.

Besides frogs, I say, rain friends are humans, other animals, and plants. Forests, bushes, rivers, lakes and oceans are rainy friends too, I continued.

"What's more about rain, Uncle?" Anatolia asked.

The Aztec Indians in Central America adore the rain god Tlaloc, my story. Indian tribes in North America performed a special dance so that the spirits sent rain to their country to fertilize farmland. If the dry season is very long, usually Muslims worship the Istiqarah Sunnah in congregation to beg Allah Almighty that the rain falls to the earth, my heart. Other religious people prayed, begging God to rain in the dry season, I continued.

The temperature is hot in the air, around us, I continued. The heat comes from the sun. Now, when the temperature is very low, not rain falling to the earth, but snowstorms, chunks of ice, or snowfall, I connect the story.

"Did the snow fall in Jakarta, Uncle?" Anatolia asked again.

"Uncle has never seen snowfall in Jakarta, honey," I replied.

One Saturday afternoon, I visited Anatolia's house for the second time. Olives is still a task in South Korea. The driver is delivering Anatolia piano lessons. There is only Uun in the house. I asked Uun, why did Anatolian's father leave? Uun wants to tell, as long as I promise, I won't tell Olive and Anatolia. I promised him, would not tell anyone.

Uun told me, after visiting outside: Anatolian father left after being expelled by Olives, he said. At that time, Anatolia would be the 5th anniversary, in an old rented house. After not working in a foreign company because he was dismissed, Anatolian father was unemployed. As a result of being unemployed for a long time, he is easily offended, jealous, likes to be angry with harsh words. At that time, Anatolian father yelled at Olives. The man asked for more money to buy liquor. However, Olive refused Uto's request. When Uto was about to punch Olive, Anatolia defended his mother. The child bit his father's right thigh. The father yelled the boy in a thunderous voice. Anatolian father was dismissed from work because he was found using company money to gamble, parties, and drunk, continued Uun.

Anatolian father since gone never returned, Uun told me. Olives is a kind employer, Uun continues his story. He works in an automotive company owned by a South Korean businessman. Olives holds an engineering degree. His position is high in the big automotive company. Olive always comes home at night. He is often also assigned abroad. Anatolia asks his mother, if old Olives don't go home. Anatolians often cry when they wake up at night, Uun continued.

The intelligent-minded Anatolia asked me, why was Uncle alone at home? I answered, I don't have a wife yet. Doesn't Uncle feel lonely? Anatolia asked too. Of course it's quiet, I replied. But, Uncle likes to make stories, read, run in the morning, after Fajr prayer, cooking, gardening, and watching good movies, I added.

One Sunday, twilight is drifting. I was startled by the voice of the woman greeting at the gate. Outside the fence stood Olive. He developed a broad-leaf umbrella. The woman's face was very pale. His eyes are puffy and blue. I hurriedly opened the turnstile. I let him in. Olive covers me when I pull the gate. We went to the living room in unison.

There was a little gift, said Olive before sitting on the couch. He handed over a large bottle wrapped in brown shiny paper. Fill the bottle is a vitamin drink for body fresheners from Korea, namely water ginseng mixed with honey. Thank you, I said after welcoming the souvenir from South Korea. I let him sit down. I did not forget to ask, why was Anatolia not invited? Olives was surprised after hearing my question. He looked at me suspiciously.

"I'm sure Anatolia is here," said Olives. His face suddenly became tense. "So, my child is not here?" He thought, I hid his child in my house.

Olives said Anatolia left home when he was in the office. Anatolia did not want to be invited to move to South Korea, said Zaitun. He was afraid of Uto Kwon Lee, his father. Carefully I told Anatolia before going to bed last night, I and Uto would repair a broken house. Uto has apologized. He regretted all his wrongdoings. Uto has repented to God. He promised to be a good husband for me and a loving father for Anatolia. I pondered for a month, then forgave him. Anatolia, who always obeyed me, suddenly became a dissident, he continued while wiping tears.

Anatolia was afraid of Uto Kwon Lee, said Olives. Anatolia always remembers, when it will celebrate its 5th birthday, first. His father did not give a birthday present as usual, but was angry with a rude voice. Olive said goodbye, but continued to cry. His whole body trembled. He was very panicked. He was worried, his little girl had been kidnapped by a bad person. Anxiousness sneaked in my heart.

That night, as the drizzle drifted, I heard people greeting outside the fence. I immediately won the umbrella. I opened the door. Outside the fence I saw an adult man and two little girls. I hurriedly unlocked the gate.

"Eh, Anatolia!" I shouted when I saw the little girl with her daughter her age under a wide umbrella. The umbrella was held by an adult man. Anatolia introduced Sofia and her father, Mr. Arif. In the living room, Anatolia told a story. He went to Sofia's house after piano lessons, without the driver being escorted. The driver is sick again. Sofia's mother forbade Anatolia to go home alone. After returning from work, after the Isha prayer, Arif and Sofia escorted Anatolia to my house at the request of the child. He was afraid of being scolded by his mother. After Mr. Arif and Sofia said goodbye, I invited Anatolia to eat warm quail egg soup, my food. He refused because he was still full after eating meatballs and drinking milk in Sofia's house.

Over an hour I persuaded Anatolia to go home. I told of the arrival of Olives to my house. Your mother was very panicked and sad. "But, I don't want to come with you to South Korea!" Anatolia shouted. "I'm afraid of my father," he continued, hugging me tightly.

Olive's story about Uto Kwon Lee's regret I repeat. The man will love Anatolia. He also promised to be a good husband for Olives. Then, I persuaded Anatolia to go home soon. Your mother is very afraid of losing you, I whispered softly. After a long pause, a faint smile appeared on her beautiful face. Uncle want to take me home? He asked. I nodded. If you are angry, how? Anatolia asked again. You tell the truth to Mother, I said. If you feel you have something wrong, apologize, huh? Uncle is very sure, Mother is not angry anymore, I said. I heard lightning boom outside. The rain is getting heavier. The wind is getting stronger. Television reported, a storm was raging on the beach, that night.

At eight o'clock in the evening, I drove Anatolia in my old deer car to his house. Olives roared, hugged, and kissed her child. When I said goodbye, Anatolia ran towards me. He cried while embracing me. I stroked his straight hair and convinced him that Uto, his father missed him so much.

"If I come with you to South Korea, who accompanies Uncle?" Anatolia asked innocently while looking at me.

"Uh, em, in the office, there are Uncle's friends," I replied nervously, held back.

***

This Sunday, the rain fell. The rented house on the other side is empty and quiet. I remembered Anatolia. He has been with his parents for a long time in South Korea. If the little girl asks for a story about rain, I hope her father and mother can fulfill their wishes happily ...

Pasar Rebo, December 16, 2008 - January 12, 2009

Short Story: Anak Ikan (little fish)

Anak Ikan (little fish) 

Fitra Yanti - Published 18 Januari 2009 

little fish

Whenever I put my head on his chest, I felt struck by a flash of fire? Wonder. There was a roar of boiling there. Instantly, I just want to be a fish kid swimming freely to the bottom of the lake.

I remember, that was the last dawn. I saw my brother pushed aside the blanket and kissed the forehead of the woman who always slept beside her. The woman woke up and tiptoeing to the well, fighting against the body's shock in the cold air.

I don't know exactly what they are doing. What was clear afterwards, they both changed clothes. The woman was wearing a sarong and a large veil that had been sewn. They lift and fold their hands on the chest. For a moment there was a hiss of their voices. Then he doesn't speak like a person reciting Al Quran. Soon, they looked down at their knees and kissed the floor.

Usually, I also come with them. I didn't wear a big hood like that woman. He wrapped a long cloth over my face by pinning a pin under my chin and the edge of the cloth of the small sarong he wrapped around my waist. I follow them move. For me this is an exciting game.

When they kiss the floor I follow too. But I let my head go to the woman next to me like reading something. It's not clear they read what. I move my mouth. Hopefully the same as what they read. Every now and then I'm tired, I just sit or I switch to a stand. While waiting for all movements to finish.

But, apart from being very cold, I still felt that there was something unfinished between me and the woman behind the brother. I just saw them from where I slept. After all their movements were finished, the woman kissed his brother's hand. A sincere kiss. I again saw a flash of fire lick my hands. I don't know what to call it.

My eyes just watched what they both did. The woman walked towards me. He smiled. Something similar to the stretching of the flames was increasingly felt, as if spraying my face. But when I saw my brother approaching my bed, everything turned cool and as usual returned.

"You already wake up," said brother before kissing my forehead. I just smiled while rubbing my eyes, which had been rather blurry and felt a little itchy. He extended his hand to me. I know this sign. Surely he invited me to wake up. I greet her hand. Hap! Now I'm in his arms. I rolled my hand to his neck. The warmth that flowed from his body did not completely eliminate my bite.

"Bak, it's cold ..."

"No problem. If you wash your face, the cold must be gone, "his lips suddenly stuck on my cheek.

"Now we wash our faces first !?"

I turned my face to his chest.

"Girls can't be like that. She must get up early, must dare to fight cold, " He carried me to the well and washed my face while teaching me to use a toothbrush. At the well, my older brother is already there. Abak told me to follow my brother's example. Later when I grow up, I'm also good at doing it myself.

Next, my second brother followed to the well. My sister followed number three. Next, brother number four. I haven't taught me about how much I have a brother. We all have five people, as many as one hand. All women. I am the smallest. My brothers have gone to school all. Soon, I'm going to school too. But, I don't know. I prefer playing to the lake, with the fish.

Abak then guided my hand in front of the woman who suddenly appeared from behind my brother.

"Mar, I'm going to the lake first," said brother

"Yes, Da," answered the woman.

"Bak, come along!" I didn't want to be left with the woman. I want to take part in going to the lake, raising trawl. I want to see fish in the trawling eye. He said, the entangled fish were large and could be caught. Whereas small fish have not been caught. If caught, it must be removed again. Let him play freely until big.

"Like you ..." said brother. (At that time he invited me to go up to the midwife) "... still little should not be hurt. If it's big, get ready to be hurt. Because there will be something that will hurt. "

"Can you be friends with the little fish, Bak?"

"May. As long as you are not evil with them. "

"The fish also has mak, huh, Bak?"

"Certain. The makings are always keeping them like they are guarding Idah. "

"But it's often evil to Idah."

"Mak evil to Idah. Hmm, that's not a bad name. That's because you love Idah ... "

Then, I told my brother about the flash of fire that was covering the woman's body. Abak even laughed, not believing. He pinched my cheek and banned me from thinking that was nonsense. But, you can't. When not near abak, the flash of fire was so real that it locked the body of the woman who (must) call the mak. So, every time I go to the lake, I always want to come.

"Where do you want to go? To the lake? Not now huh You are still small. "It will sink and be eaten by fish," said the woman while reaching for me in her arms.

"Yes. Later this afternoon I will bring the kulari fish, huh. We burn for your lunch. We mix the meat with samba lado. Hm, the children are already learning to eat chili. Just at home, with you, "persuaded my brother.

I insisted on releasing the woman's arms and following my brother. He was already wearing thick clothes that were already very worn. Torn cotton pants. Here and there are patches of mud. And a pandanus hat that he also used to bring to the fields.

"Saidah! You can't go! "He snapped at me. I kept silent while still staring at him from behind. If that's the case, I'll stop there. Withered where I was standing.

"Later in the afternoon, if you have time, you will take the boat to the middle of the lake, huh. Now accompany your mate at home, "I nodded with all my insincerity. Abak left. I'm still sitting there.

"Idah, come here. Help me, "although I was still horrified, I just obeyed while hearing his persuasion about me who would soon be attending school following my brother. Also the story is about a girl who shouldn't go to the lake and all the talk about complaining lately about me too often. I understand too.

He said, soon I will have a younger brother. He said again, being married to a lake fisherman was like changing a fish. Life only in water. While children continue to be born. How to explain the price of kitchen items that skyrocketed to him if he kept watching the lake all day long. Many more complaints that I have not been able to understand jumping up and down from his mouth.

He gave me some shallots and a small knife. I didn't really listen to his words because my heart was still pity because it was not allowed to go abak to the lake. He did not know how glad I was to be near my brother, seeing him pull trawl from the water. And on the trawler stick some fish, which are then placed in the black plastic bag that has been provided from the house.

When I was taken to the lake, because the woman who (I had to) call the Amak early in the morning had to go to a place that she said was very unlikely to take me. That's why brother cared for me.

At that time I felt another atmosphere. My body growled to see the fish stuck to the trawl eye. I often squealed with joy. My hand is reaching out to the fish I have taken. This of course makes the brother also scream. Not screaming pleasure, but screaming anxiety. The crook used is not shaken. Every moment he gave me a bite and sat on his lap with his left hand. While the other hand held the trawl so that it did not come loose. Because if it is released it will be difficult to take it again.

Since then, every time I go to the lake, I always want to go. In the morning it is usually not allowed. For whatever reason, I never said that he was afraid I would fall into the lake and he did not want his little girl to be swallowed by a lake and eaten by fish. But I never ignored the reason for the brother. What I always felt in my heart was to allow me to go up in the midwife and lock the ripples and the children of the fish that suckled into the bowels. I like that atmosphere, far more like being nurtured by a woman wrapped in that flame.

Actually, I want to complain to my brother. I did not feel at home for a long time near the woman. But, I can't say it again to my brother. Abak must have been unbelieving and would scold me if I suddenly told him. I want to say, that he is only good in front of his brother. He looked so obedient to his brother, but behind him, he changed. There was a fire wrapped around his body. From his eyes which looked very cruel to me also sprinkled sparks.

I also want to complain about the complaints that I don't understand too often from the thin lips of the woman. I fostered with grunts and pinches that redden the base of my legs. Sometimes with coconut sticks and hair traps near my ears. This one, of course, makes the unbeliever more faithful. Especially if I say to my brother, during my absence at the lake, the woman often leaves me alone at home, until my brothers go home from school.

Sprinkling of foam, and the children of fish that suckle into the belly, every moment waving miss me invites me to swim, sink into the coldest base.

Morning is still black. I saw sleep was so good. I was horrified at the thought of darkness dominating nature. But, I felt the footsteps of the woman who guided me were eager to get to the lake. He said, you can't know. He said again, he would take me to the lake early in the morning, because the fish children swam to the edge of the lake in the morning.

I spread my eyes. Every now and then it still remained swollen in my mouth. I can't wait, I want to see the fish children. We are now at the edge of the lake. My ankles began to touch the lips of the ripples. The woman still guides me. He took me to the midwife and sat me in his lap. Then he paddled the midwife into the middle of the lake.

"Wait, yes. Soon, the fish children will come, "he kissed me. From his eyes sparks sparkled. The flash of fire that wrapped around his body was unable to repel the cold I felt. I resigned, waiting for the fish to come.

The fish invited me to swim here and there. He took me to a place deeper and deeper into the darkness. Every now and then I surface. My body is now so light and no longer feels cold. But, when I reached the surface, suddenly my eyes were fixed on the woman. He roared on the edge of the lake there. He rolled. Then, many people gathered around him. Some people look very busy, wandering around the edge of the lake.

Strange. I don't see brother. However, not long ago, I saw my brother paddling his midwife into the middle of the lake, looking around in all directions while shouting my name. I reply to my brother's call. But my mouth is now full of water. No sound came out. Finally, the fish mothers who are now taking care of me guide my fins to swim to the side, bro. I see my eyes are red and swollen like people are angry. His lips did not stop calling my name. The rower in his hand shivered. If only I hadn't really become a fish child, of course I would go up to the big brother, accompany him to raise trawl while occasionally shouting excitedly. ***

Padang, April 2008I also want to complain about the complaints that I don't understand too often from the thin lips of the woman. I fostered with grunts and pinches that redden the base of my legs. Sometimes with coconut sticks and hair traps near my ears. This one, of course, makes the unbeliever more faithful. Especially if I say to my brother, during my absence at the lake, the woman often leaves me alone at home, until my brothers go home from school.

Sprinkling of foam, and the children of fish that suckle into the belly, every moment waving miss me invites me to swim, sink into the coldest base.

Morning is still black. I saw sleep was so good. I was horrified at the thought of darkness dominating nature. But, I felt the footsteps of the woman who guided me were eager to get to the lake. He said, you can't know. He said again, he would take me to the lake early in the morning, because the fish children swam to the edge of the lake in the morning.

I spread my eyes. Every now and then it still remained swollen in my mouth. I can't wait, I want to see the fish children. We are now at the edge of the lake. My ankles began to touch the lips of the ripples. The woman still guides me. He took me to the midwife and sat me in his lap. Then he paddled the midwife into the middle of the lake.

"Wait, yes. Soon, the fish children will come, "he kissed me. From his eyes sparks sparkled. The flash of fire that wrapped around his body was unable to repel the cold I felt. I resigned, waiting for the fish to come.

The fish invited me to swim here and there. He took me to a place deeper and deeper into the darkness. Every now and then I surface. My body is now so light and no longer feels cold. But, when I reached the surface, suddenly my eyes were fixed on the woman. He roared on the edge of the lake there. He rolled. Then, many people gathered around him. Some people look very busy, wandering around the edge of the lake.

Strange. I don't see brother. However, not long ago, I saw my brother paddling his midwife into the middle of the lake, looking around in all directions while shouting my name. I reply to my brother's call. But my mouth is now full of water. No sound came out. Finally, the fish mothers who are now taking care of me guide my fins to swim to the side, bro. I see my eyes are red and swollen like people are angry. His lips did not stop calling my name. The rower in his hand shivered. If only I hadn't really become a fish child, of course I would go up to the big brother, accompany him to raise trawl while occasionally shouting excitedly. ***

Padang, April 2008

Short Story: Langgam Urbana (The Songs of Urban)

Langgam Urbana (The Songs of Urban)
Beni Setia - 11 Januari 2009

from: Time flows Photoshop Manipulation by Sophia-M

In Jakarta - said *1) Lik War - the clock is everywhere. On the fence, on the courtyard door, on the wall on the left or right side of the entrance near the bell, on the wall and chairs and tables in the living room, in the living room that doubles the living room, on TV screens and computer monitors, at the dining table and especially on drinking plates and cups, at the door, on the wall, on the bed and on the bedroom pillows, in the kitchen, in the tub and in the bathroom dipper. On the streets, in cars, on motorbikes, in traffic lights, and in the mouth, in the tongue and in the throat when people chat and shout.

Clocks are everywhere. Seconds in hearing, glowing in the memory: forcing everyone to move faster and faster so that when gasping and giving up. Say, "do everything you want, I will only be a sign when angels record everything in the daily report sheet to Allah SWT ..." And that's why — said Lik War — Jakarta has turned into a racing arena, where everyone races to get to the finish line without first enter the pit-stop pause, enter the office and start working with a clock ticking in the desk drawer, on the stomach that is only filled with coffee, on a sheet of paper, on the monitor screen, on the cellphone which seems to say that there is another runway as the next race or forced to be ignored, then pause with the clock ticking everywhere, back in the middle of the sea working hours and spurred a beat of thousands of hours of work everywhere, and so apart from the confines of working hours all immediately entered the street race to once again raced home (fast) to the house with millions of hours ticking and glowing along the road, until finally arriving home and ambushed by a clock l bro. Clock everywhere. Everyone is surrounded by hundreds of hours themselves so that they are confined alone, cannot call anyone, ask anyone for help and get help. Stumbling around the clock popping up and coming from anywhere and alighting on everything — the one that was simultaneously glowing and ticking suggested that all keep on racing.

Jakarta - said Lik War - is a big clock with billions of small hours that ticks and glows simultaneously, so that people will not be able to escape the restraints of hours, recommended hours - racing to be more free from being scheduled, when time is forced to become a standard of motion and human work. "But can we be free from hours?" Said Anderwedi, smiling and blushing. Lik War shook his head. Can humans be free of time, from the size made by humans to mark the unseen and invisible, which quietly goes forward, aggressively devouring everything while giving away the losers to run out of time, putting aside the losers from one runway, and while continuing to devour which exists and places everything on the runway that exists and is always there, side by side, contact-touch, convoluted and tangled in a fabric of fate that when traced the thread turns out to be ensnaring one another. Humans are always at the point of interdependence, for help or slashing-cutting instincts - I thought. And after that, I thought. I looked at Lik War: Wearing a black T-shirt with a fine metallic screen printing or something — splattered paint — and writing excited, what ever will be will, a line of words that I can't understand and it also seems to be understood by Lik War, who just said the shirt given the boss's child because when used was laughed at by the boss who said, "What grammar is that?"; with tight black jeans, the word "war war" is just a shot product, so the price is only enough to take a taxi to Ancol coast. Lik War also said, he rode Brantas Bus, the ticket was comparable to the price of the pants, although he couldn't do anything except sit and move your toes.

Yes! But Lik War always says: Jakarta is a big clock with billions of hours, which forces everyone to be Valentino Rossi, Casey Stoner and what else is always racing on the road, who prefer bicycles not because they don't have the money to buy a car— " the items, "said Lik War," can be purchased on credit "—but because the streets in Jakarta are not the right place to race with cars. "There are too many vehicles, so there are special roads that can only be passed by cars if the contents are at least three people, so many people offer to be hired so that the car is free to race for time in 3 in 1 minutes - unfortunately the *2) Satpol PP was even chased and pursued because he considered making rich people free and free to race on the path that no one could enter if they were alone, "said Lik War," and the crowded vehicle made traffic jams everywhere, even to the road the toll road is supposed to be spacious and free of flow for those who want to subdue the hours, so they become defeated by the time the road crawls in congestion and the goal of spending fuel is useless. "We gulped. Imagined Jakarta's smooth streets — unlike the village macadam line, which penetrates fields and fields, and empties into inter-village roads that are bumpy and potholed, and which after 5 km have just arrived on a slightly smoother district road — the road is full of cars who lined up and in between the motorbikes swerved like in the attraction of semi-acrobatic trail competition on TV, and occasionally stagnated and roared gas before the lights on the intersection lit up green, before all jumped like starting a race that would determine who came first compared to the careless pole position.

"It makes me want to go to Jakarta," said Anderwedi - representing our thoughts, all young people who were at the time hanging out at the *3) Kamling substation post at the end of the village, smoked and gulped down wine in the midst of windiness from the swamped rice fields and only a few could planted with crops and watermelons. Lik War smiled. He asked us to contact Saman Bakmi - he went around selling noodles with wheelbarrows, which were rented from bosses who also provided noodles, spices and others, and boarding houses and training - to come with him and learn to go around the alleys in Jakarta villages along night. But competing with wheelbarrows while striking metal sutures on a concave pan in races in village alleys, which may only be decorated with a clock that is already slack: it really doesn't interest our race. We shook our heads. Lik War also made another proposal, we joined Marto Pedrosa — he himself added the name because he was originally named Joko Martono and we always called him No Tit, who always styled on motorbikes who would go back to the village, and who in Jakarta being a motorcycle taxi driver. "OK!" Said Marto Pedrosa, "but you have to go for a walk in Jakarta in a week, I have to look for boarding houses because I only have one room with Neti and those two children, and at the same time I have a million as a guarantee. boss motore. Maybe you have to learn to be a motorcycle taxi first. Or umbrella motorbike taxi? "We looked away — what could be driven by becoming an (motorcycle) motorcycle taxi driver? Lik War laughed. He suggested becoming a kernet, and after six months he became an ojek driver - promising to bring us together with his *4) Batak friends. "Or join Arpan," he said, "macak and beggar acting, filling the sidewalk for change?" We looked away. That means not racing in Jakarta but being a distance stone where dogs straddle and urinate.

And the billions of hours summarized in a giant clock called Jakarta continued to glow in the dark of the night, with heavy winds from the paddy fields being turned and only a small part near the irrigation canal which had been planted with crops and watermelons, sucked sharp cold and tanned in a thorough slice on the whole body: glowing in the starry night sky, becoming a magical moon at the beginning of Shawwal (name of the month in muslim calendar), and therefore guiding us to get up and risk anything. Going to Jakarta, and becoming everything - not only acting randomly beggars but actually becoming beggars and scavengers, just like * 5) Pakde Grana, who for 15 years have never returned to their villages even though every Eid always has two or three hundred thousand for Mbah Rame, his mother; or really racing on the streets by being snatched and chased by the police so that Mburon went everywhere and then shot dead with eight dozen wound holes like Isa who was a kingpin with three other villagers who were still safe, and therefore (said lik War, Marto Pedrosa and Saman Bakmi) in Jakarta no one dared to be insolent to people from the village here, and many people in the district claimed to be native to the village here. While complaining it is not as easy as the women, who easily become helpers such as Warti, Lania, Santik and Kuni, or residents of complexes such as Tri, Sri, Kimi, Nonik, and Tyas, or who are forced to wander on the streets like Nian, Timpah, and Genduk ( protected from others in the desperate terror of the deceased Isa, Kasim, Koral and those who are still at large - so that urbanists in the districts of Jakarta make slametan in Jakarta and in the village here).

And Jakarta is a giant clock that curves and protects billions of small hours simultaneously - never simultaneously because there is always a difference slower and faster in microns - second or second - beating and glowing: all those hours are like calling us to leaving the absence of hope in the drought which always hit the village, to immediately race as anything. Race against time well and not be good, be an office or just a messenger, or fugitive because it's too creative to put the clock on a runway that is tilted staggering to survive with a bite of rice. "So what are you going to leave or not?" - shouted the dry wind that slipped coldly by spraying the hides after a stretch of rice fields that had to be turned into the dry season. Together, arrive at Senen or Kota - then scatter everywhere and become anything, then meet once a year in the village, so that you can go to Jakarta together again, and scatter again in Senen or Kota, as anything anywhere . Yes! Yes! YES! YES - is there another option, besides being a more transmigrant because of having to lay off even though the Head of the Village always claims to be in the speech of the village's halal bi halal event that is full of lies.

"Jakarta, here I am coming!" Shouted Anderwedi — drunk. ***

Note:

1) Lik : short form of Pakcilik (javanese language) : uncle younger than parents

2) Satpol PP : Local Government Security Police

3) Kamling : short form of Keamanan Keliling (self guarding security from villager)

4) Batak : Name of the people from Medan, South Sumatra and their culture

5) Pakde: short form of bapak gede (javanese language) : uncle older than parents