From Behind the Train Window
You sit nicely after the porter puts your small suitcase on the seat, and you give him some money and say thank you. Once again you check your seat, whether it really matches the number written on the ticket, and it turns out it is. Several passengers who boarded the carriage were still taking care of their belongings. Not long after that the train continued its journey.
You are relieved that you have sat comfortably in the train seat next to the window, and there are no passengers next to you. Your child has told you via WhatsApp that you don't need to rush to see your grandson if no one is taking you to Jakarta. Even your daughter-in-law has also sent a photo of your grandson, your first grandchild, a cute baby boy. But you force yourself to go. Taken to the city station by your neighbor's child who has liked to play at your house since he was little.
"I only need to sit for about eight hours and I will arrive at Gambir station. You can pick me up there, then... it's done," you said to your child. He reluctantly agreed. "Mom, you don't need to bring anything. Just bring the clothes you need. One small suitcase is enough. So that Mother won’t be bothered on the journey.” You obeyed your son’s words. A small suitcase and a bag that you hung on your shoulder. That’s all.
Now you are free to look out the window. The expanse of green rice fields. Sometimes interspersed with slum houses along the edge of the railroad tracks. Or the graves in the rice fields. Then the blue sky at that time. Your mind wanders everywhere, to the past. But I only want to take a piece of your wanderings. A piece that has a little connection to trains.
That afternoon you took the train from Solo to return to your village. Once a month you return to your village to ask your parents for living expenses for the next month. Even though it is difficult, you are determined to finish your studies because with just a piece of diploma that you will get, you will depend on your luck to get a job. “Father will not differentiate between boys and girls. Everyone must go to school so that later they can find their own livelihood. Father cannot give any inheritance.”
On campus, you do have feelings of inferiority. You see your female friends always being superior to you. Whether it's prettier, more colorful in appearance, or smarter in various subjects. Then you feel that there will be no male friends who are interested in you. You yourself are very interested in a male friend. He is a student on study assignment. But anxiously you bury your feelings deep in your heart. You are afraid of being disappointed. Who am I to expect that man to be interested in me? That's what you thought at that time.
You even secretly pay attention to the clothes he wears. His trousers are always dark. Blackish, that is. His shirts, short-sleeved shirts. Some are white, pink, light blue, and there are also large checkered ones. Large checkered shirts that were trendy at that time. In your eyes, those shirts seem to have light. The color is so pleasing to the eye. The pink or pink shirt doesn't feel tacky, but soft, like smiling. Then the light blue is also not sky blue, nor is it sea blue. Duck eggshell blue? Not either. Duck egg shells look dull. But the blue of Sunardi's shirt is a sparkling light blue. Secretly you also interpret his name. That simple name. Sunar you interpret as light. Di, you interpret as adi or beautiful. Beautiful light. Then secretly you smile in your heart.
He is quite a tall man. You imagine the top of your head will only be level with his shoulders if you stand next to him. His skin is clean yellow, unlike your skin which is brownish and maybe not smooth because you usually bathe with washing soap. You also really admire his slender hands and long fingers. You then look at your own fingers which are short and sturdy, even though you want supple and fragile-looking fingers.
You were very happy when he borrowed your notebook. Sometimes he did not go to class. You heard it was because he had business with his work. "You can borrow it from another friend. My notes are usually incomplete." "That's it, I borrowed your book because I wanted to complete it," he said with a smile and took the book you had thrust onto his desk. You were happy with his words, but also grumbling in your heart. Happy because you thought your notes were valuable enough to be borrowed. Grumbling because your guess was wrong. And when he returned your book, you saw the additions with his good, neat, comfortable-to-read writing.
And that afternoon, when you were fighting to get into the train door, one of your feet that had reached the step almost slipped off the step because the other foot was pressing yours. But the outstretched hand immediately pulled you into the carriage so that you were safe, while the whistle had sounded as a sign that the train was about to continue its journey. Your train at that time was very different from the train you were riding now. Each passenger on the current train already had their own seat. No need to fight. The train will also only depart again after all the doors are closed. Your previous train did not close its doors when continuing the journey. Even the carriage connections were used by passengers to stand. There was no guarantee and number to get a seat.
“Widya, that was very dangerous.” You turned to the owner of the voice, who had reached out his hand for you. The voice was familiar to your ears. You finally saw that the owner of the hand and voice was Sunardi. He immediately pulled you to two empty seats. You were still silent because you imagined the accident that could have happened to you. You fell and who knows how it would have continued, if there was no hand to pull you. A drop of water fell from the corner of your eye. Then another drop, again and again. Sunardi gave you a handkerchief. “Use it, it’s still clean. I haven’t used it yet.” You accepted the handkerchief and wiped your tears. You never brought a handkerchief because you didn’t have one. You cried because you felt like there were so many things you had to endure in order to finish your studies. “If only I still had money to take a pedicab. Surely I won't be late to this station," you thought, and you held back your sobs.
“Come on, don’t cry. Smile. You’re so cute when you smile.” Sunardi whispered those words in your ear. You were stunned, shocked, and embarrassed. Especially when he grabbed your shoulders for a moment, looked at you, and smiled. “Where are you going?” You asked him to hide your nervousness. “Going back to your hometown,” he replied. “Where are you going yourself?” “Same here, I’m going back to my hometown too.” You filled your time together in the carriage with light conversation. Suddenly the city of Klaten was near. You would soon get off, and Sunardi continued his journey to Yogya.
Since then, your days on campus felt full of flowers, full of color. You knew that someone was paying attention to you. Although the situation was still the same. You never had enough money. Even for your daily food expenses. But time kept turning, passing. Happiness and joy kept approaching you. Until your lectures were over. And Sunardi simply asked you: “Widya, will you be my wife?” You also answered simply: “Yes, I want to.”
Seven years of marriage, still no visit from your child. You feel lonely even though you are grateful for the love in your household. In the eighth year, your first child was born. A baby boy who erased your loneliness, and brought joy into your life. The happiness of caring for, accompanying, educating, day by day, year by year your only child. Until he became a teenager, a third year of junior high school. The grief was like a storm that came without warning. Your husband died beside you without you knowing. Only when you woke up from sleep, the night felt so quiet. You didn't hear any sound. Not even the sound of your husband's breathing. Or his body movements. Your husband was lying neatly with both hands clasped on his chest. You woke him up, but he remained silent. Nervously, you knocked on your neighbor's door. Asked for help calling a doctor. When the doctor came and examined him, your husband was declared dead of a heart attack. You mourned for quite a long time. You often played back the image of your togetherness with Sunardi when you were on campus.
But you realize to rise from your sorrow. Facing the future, not mourning the past. Especially for your child. With enthusiasm you work on his education. Until he succeeds, until he gets a promising job. You embrace happiness again. After a few years later you are overcome with anxiety. Your beloved young man still hasn't gotten married. But that time finally comes. A sweet girl becomes your daughter-in-law. You hope to have grandchildren soon. But you have to be patient, five years later the grandson you've been waiting for will arrive, bringing a happy sparkle to your heart.
You hear the announcement that the train will soon enter Gambir station.
The day is getting dusk. The train is getting slower, until it stops perfectly. A porter approaches you. You show him your belongings. Only one small suitcase. He then holds your hand because he sees you walking a little unsteadily. What's more, many people are walking back and forth pursuing their respective needs. And... you see your child who is picking you up. You feel like you are again at the peak of happiness. With a smile you hold out money and thank the porter.
“Come on, Mom… the car is over there,” your son said. He lifted your small suitcase with his right hand, while his left hand held yours. You kept smiling. Absorbing the happiness you were currently experiencing. While deep in your heart, you were still prepared to accept sorrow, if it came to visit again in your life.