Cara pacar agar rela d pegang susunya


  • Cerita Lampau
  • Take Kasih with you. Miranti looked at Kasih, her daughter, sleeping next to her. Unlike her, Kasih was not soaked in perspiration. The air that night was unusually cold for the hot, dry season. Miranti could not fall back asleep. The night had been too restless, and now, she too felt unsettled. For months, numerous search-and-rescue units looked for her husband.

    She was in charge of the welfare of the orangutan population in the park. The deep sorrow of losing her husband made Miranti reluctant to return to Bogor, her hometown. Miranti inherited her knowledge of siloka, a mystical cultural belief, from her Sundanese karuhun, ancestors. Siloka convinced her that Lukman was still alive somewhere in the Kalimantan jungle. Miranti believed that she and their daughter Kasih just needed to wait for the right time. In her dream that night, it was as if she were thrown into the past.

    Indeed, lately she often moved back and forth in time, while Lukman alternated between life and nothing. Miranti wished she would never wake up from her dream, where Lukman was with her. She knew that Lukman was not really ignoring her fear; she knew Lukman was faced with a dilemma. Lukman had stopped his packing to think for a while. She now wondered if he had been remembering then how he and his friends from the Dayak Ngaju tribe had humiliated the palm oil entrepreneurs with evidence of their invasion into the park area.

    Trust me! In the silence that followed, they each held their own worries. That night, Lukman disappeared into the jungle. Environmental activist and forester friends suspected that Lukman had been killed in the midst of the disaster that was sweeping the forest. The foremen considered Lukman the perpetrator in blocking the encroachment of the expanding palm plantations into the Sebangau National Park.

    But they had no proof. Miranti broke out of her daydream. Kashi started to wake up. She looked up when she heard the screeching and screams interspersed with the soulful calling of the orangutans in the forest. The senior orangutans were leading the barzanji, a litany of woe. Orangutans were creatures who shared the fate of the jungle.

    They seemed able to hear the song of the dying jungle. The chorus, which grew fainter and sounded hoarse from time to time. Only orangutans understood that voice. The morning came and presented Miranti with tasks to care for the orangutans in the national park. Many of the rescued orangutans were weak from dehydration and suffered from severe burns. The Penajam Paser Utara region, at the eastern side of the park adjacent to the state capital area in Sepaku, had caught fire, injuring many orangutans and other wild animals.

    Every day, Kasih followed the rangers as they fed the orangutans. Kasih truly enjoyed this daily activity. In fact, she often saved her fruit from lunch for Pongo, her favorite orangutan. They often reached out to each other, as if they had known each other for a long time, and sometimes Pongo exchanged sweet potatoes for bananas.

    Miranti looked out of the window and saw the two orangutans waiting outside, at the edge of the forest.

    Miranti and Kasih went to meet Laksmi and Pongo. Laksmi had lived in the Sebangau National Park for almost twenty years. Amid her fur, her skin was mottled with scars evidence of the cruel plantation foremen who had arrived in the park along with the development of the palm plantations.

    Laksmi quickly became a wary orangutan. Miranti gave her the name Laksmi. One of the resilient survivors in the park, Laksmi remained vigilant of her surroundings. The dry peat, a result of the long drought, was a good conductor of fire.

    The fires did not spread from the tips of green branches, but rather crept uncontrollably along the peat-covered soil. The smell of burning damp wood wafted through the area. A mixture of water vapor and carbonic acid filled the air with thick white smoke, which made it hard for the animals and the village inhabitants at the edge of the forest to breathe.

    Laksmi gave Miranti an unusual look. Her brown eyes seemed to reach out with a deep sorrow. Miranti understood. She felt she and Laksmi shared the same feelings about the fire. It seemed that one question connected the two of them: Would they still be able to find a green forest in the future? Suddenly, the orangutans having breakfast stopped eating and became very noisy. They seemed to answer a call from the jungle. Miranti looked towards the woods.

    Barzanji again? They just did it. Miranti felt goosebumps. Miranti saw that Pongo was reluctant to go with his mother. He was still busy munching on the sweet potato Kasih had just given him. Kasih was still full of curiosity.

    She kept bombarding her mother with questions about the experience at the edge of the forest. He is the one who regulates everything in the jungle. She had only recently began feeling that Lukman was still alive. In her mind, he lived with the Spirit and, lately, had begun visiting her in dreams that bothered her all day long. Food was scarce. Laksmi and Pongo often relied on a few sweet potatoes and bananas from the Sebangau National Park rangers, which was barely enough to keep the hunger pangs away.

    Food rations were given only once a day and left Pongo and his friends still hungry. Starving for the now-scarce tender leaves and sweet fruit of the forest, the orangutans ransacked the palm shoots sprouting from the tree tops at the plantations on the outskirts of Sebangau National Park. The plantation foremen used air guns, hot water, wild boar poison, or acid to get rid of the hungry apes. Miranti knew that during this white, smoke-filled dry season, orangutans often gathered at the Caring Tree across the park.

    Led by the berida, a senior orangutan, they performed a litany of woe: surrendering their starving bodies, suffocated by the smoke and sinched by the fire, to the Spirit, manifested this time as the Caring Tree.

    It was all the manifestation of the Spirit of the jungle. The Caring Tree, where they performed their barzanji, was a buni tree, an offshoot of the bodhi tree family. Its delicious seeds were treats for orangutans, squirrels, and birds. The trunk was large, the branches were stout, the bark contained an effective medicine, and the lush canopy was a home for various animals, including orangutans. Kasih and Sundanese-blooded Miranti, knew this big tree to be the werkodara tree.

    As a veterinarian, Miranti had observed several times how a group of orangutans performed a barzanji to express their anxiety. During the ritual, the elderly orangutans appeared entranced. They swung, screeching, from branch to branch while ripping branches, leaves, and twigs of a big tree which was no ordinary tree. It was the Caring Tree where the orangutans seemed to surrender their entire bodies and souls to the Spirit of the jungle.

    During her eight years of working at the center, Miranti had concluded that orangutans were very spiritual creatures. He is present everywhere, in the good, as well as in the bad. They never accused. Nor did they plead for punishment of the cruel foremen or the greedy palm oil barons. Orangutans were not vengeful. They merely surrendered themselves to the balance of nature.

    Humans, with too many demands and preconceived notions, could not hear the song of the forest. Only innocent creatures could hear that song and the raucous feelings of the trees embedded in the jungle floor. In a healthy forest, the voices would turn into a melodious chorus. The fires occurred at the same time as the plan to develop Kawasan Sepaku, Penajem Paser Utara, as the new capital of Indonesia.

    The old capital had become too outdated. The Indonesian government intended to build a new capital, with the idea to juxtapose humans and nature. However, the implementation of these ideas encountered their own problems: fire was the most economical and easy way to clear forests. The flames were so intense and widespread that they burned the root networks beneath the jungle floor.

    Now, the forest was dying.

    It snows nine months of the year, and hails the other three. I mentioned about the tribe on which Hiccup, the protagonist of this film affiliated with: The Viking. Go browse about them, so… yes… they occupied the northern area of Europe until Greenland… and if I correct, even until the coast of Newfoundland. Sure, they had to be tough, or perished. Now my common question: So what did they eat?? First time I ate here is on April 21st, Front view.

    First floor — Where you stepped your feet in. From the stairway to the seating area in the second floor. The feelings intensify… Dining area. You can feel the atmosphere of a Viking gathering hall or hunting lodge in this room. So I was there for the first time for my lunch. I walked upstairs, a waitress warmly greet me and took me to my seat. She was on a medieval clothing. For lunch, we offered a price of Cep and Chanterelles soup of Northern Forest lunch version First meal of my lunch is a mushroom soup served with archipelago bread.

    Although it mentioned only as mushroom soup, I do believe it is the small version of Cep and Chanterelles soup of Northern Forest which description written in the menu. I believe in the northern cape of Norway or Finland at the time, it covered by forest. Of course, one of forest product is mushroom. Cep Boletus edulis Bull. Cep is a perfect mushroom for soup or risotto. Chanterelle is a yellow trumpet-shaped mushroom, known by chefs for its fragrance that resembles apricot and mild peppery taste.

    Combined as creamy soup, the flavour is just wonderful. The archipelago bread here is made with rye and some malt. Unlike normal dry rye bread, this one is soft, emitting some sweet taste with a bit of bitterness and signature fragrance of rye. Salmon steak for lunch.

    The salmon steak served with creamy sauce, sweet root vegetables and fried potato cylinders. The salmon is really good and the sauce topped the tastes. In the end, I love to wipe the remaining sauce with the potato. Okay… what a perfect lunch! Table for one with some space left in my belly! Finnmark is a county located in the northern most tip of Norway which connected directly to the northern area of Finland.

    Thing that sure, River Tana of this area is renown for the largest place in Europe to catch salmon! So… yeah! I expecting salmon as one of my dish! Anything else, based on the menu, since northern Finland area Lapland is one good place for reindeer, no wonder if that dish is included on the menu.

    And of course, any dishes brought from other Viking region might complement the dishes. I ate that by cracking it into several pieces and dipping it into the butter. You want to make it sweet? Chew it a bit longer and let your enzyme at work! Salmon soup from The Archipelago As it almost emptied… My appetizer is the salmon soup. The salmon has a hint of crispiness, I think the salmon is added last and it prepared by light seasoning and frying in oil.

    We know that salmon is one of commodities that you can found in Nordic region. Other thing inside is a mix of artichoke with Icelandic yoghurt called skyr as mousse and the combination add some fresh-sour taste to the vegetable broth. The basic broth itself has carrot, onion, fresh dill, and I think there is cardamon added.

    In the end, the soup itself is just perfect. Skyr was brought from Norway to Iceland c. Compared to conventional yoghurt, skyr is more solid because rennet is added following the fermentation with Lactobacillus and Streptococcus to separate the whey from the solid protein. Reindeer of Snowy Fells As main course, I ate an awesomely tender and juicy reindeer tenderloin cooked medium. In addition, we have smooth and creamy potato cake you can see it above in the top right, under the creamy thing topped with crusty smoked paprika mousse.

    For the veggies, there are fried kale, soy bean edamame , bell pepper, rye grain, and one that caught my attention: a bit of sour and sweet Gooseberry Ribes uva-crispa L. All I can say: Wow! Pancake from Reval with added Tar Ice Cream To let you know, the pancake here in Europe is a real cake made thin on a pan… not the fluffy one served in most area of US. In my dessert here, the pancake… a bit crispy on the outside and soft inside, poured with raspberry and balsamico syrup.

    The taste is sweet and sour. Actually, there should only one ice cream in here, but I asked with addition of another ice cream with unique taste! The first one bottom is ice cream, flavored with Iceland moss, roasted sugar, and nuts. The second one top is tar flavored ice cream. Icelandic moss is not actually a moss but it is a lichen, scientifically called Cetraria islandica L. It was used for folk medicine and said that it taste a bit bitter. Tar is a result of destructive distillation of organic material.

    It was made from wood by burning. When you eat it, it has a minty taste with a hint of smokey flavor. For the ice cream, I could taste it and it went well! Anyway, Reval is medieval name of town we recently know as Talinn, Estonia. I was leaving the restaurant that night with my belly stuffed… Then I went there again Friday 13th wow Dyflin is what Dublin, Ireland, called during Viking period.

    So probably I expecting something that comes from western area of Europe. The starter is this various… meat and stuff. We have the archipelago rye and malt bread topped with roach mousse.

    No… not that roach the insect from ordo Blattodea but roach the fish in Cyprinidae family, Rutilus rutilus L. I like the bread with the creamy mousse… so yummy! Ah, there are also fried duck heart this is my first time eating it, and somehow the texture and flavor is close to beef , and salad with rye grains in it.

    Fish from Baltic sea like herring is tend to be more plain in flavor than fishes from other seas or ocean, because Baltic see is known for its close-to-fresh water salinity level.

    The beef tenderloin is so tender and juicy as it cooked medium, very nice to be eaten with the sweet a bit sour cranberry and cut brandy sauce. The creamy and cheesy flavor of potato cake baked with paprika mousse on top, making it crusty is really delicious. The veggies, aragula, and root vegetables neutralized your palate. Oh… there is also a thin slice of a bit salty and crusty Maasdam cheese, a Swiss-style Dutch cheese make of cow milk, aged for 4 weeks.

    The cake tastes like heaven for me! There is also raw chocolate ice cream with blackberry jam and star anise-rhubarb sauce I thought it was cloudberry sauce, until I tastes it further. Personal preference: The berry jam is nice with the ice cream, the sauce goes well with the cake and the sugar. This mocktail for example. It feels like you just come back in time and try the Viking-medieval period delicacy here and this experience, although the price for you to pay for the food is considered high, the experience itself is memorable and priceless.

    Price Range:.

    Front view. First floor — Where you stepped your feet in. From the stairway to the seating area in the second floor. The feelings intensify… Dining area. You can feel the atmosphere of a Viking gathering hall or hunting lodge in this room. So I was there for the first time for my lunch. I walked upstairs, a waitress warmly greet me and took me to my seat. She was on a medieval clothing.

    For lunch, we offered a price of Cep and Chanterelles soup of Northern Forest lunch version First meal of my lunch is a mushroom soup served with archipelago bread. Although it mentioned only as mushroom soup, I do believe it is the small version of Cep and Chanterelles soup of Northern Forest which description written in the menu. I believe in the northern cape of Norway or Finland at the time, it covered by forest.

    Of course, one of forest product is mushroom. Cep Boletus edulis Bull. Cep is a perfect mushroom for soup or risotto. Chanterelle is a yellow trumpet-shaped mushroom, known by chefs for its fragrance that resembles apricot and mild peppery taste. Combined as creamy soup, the flavour is just wonderful. The archipelago bread here is made with rye and some malt. Unlike normal dry rye bread, this one is soft, emitting some sweet taste with a bit of bitterness and signature fragrance of rye.

    Salmon steak for lunch. The salmon steak served with creamy sauce, sweet root vegetables and fried potato cylinders. The salmon is really good and the sauce topped the tastes. In the end, I love to wipe the remaining sauce with the potato.

    Okay… what a perfect lunch! Table for one with some space left in my belly! Finnmark is a county located in the northern most tip of Norway which connected directly to the northern area of Finland. Thing that sure, River Tana of this area is renown for the largest place in Europe to catch salmon! So… yeah! I expecting salmon as one of my dish! Anything else, based on the menu, since northern Finland area Lapland is one good place for reindeer, no wonder if that dish is included on the menu.

    And of course, any dishes brought from other Viking region might complement the dishes. I ate that by cracking it into several pieces and dipping it into the butter. You want to make it sweet? Chew it a bit longer and let your enzyme at work! Salmon soup from The Archipelago As it almost emptied… My appetizer is the salmon soup. The salmon has a hint of crispiness, I think the salmon is added last and it prepared by light seasoning and frying in oil.

    We know that salmon is one of commodities that you can found in Nordic region. Other thing inside is a mix of artichoke with Icelandic yoghurt called skyr as mousse and the combination add some fresh-sour taste to the vegetable broth.

    The basic broth itself has carrot, onion, fresh dill, and I think there is cardamon added. In the end, the soup itself is just perfect. Skyr was brought from Norway to Iceland c. Compared to conventional yoghurt, skyr is more solid because rennet is added following the fermentation with Lactobacillus and Streptococcus to separate the whey from the solid protein.

    The Sebangau National Park was dark and dreadfully smoky. The sky was orange, as if it too were on fire. The air was horribly hot. When Miranti and Kasih arrived at the feeding site, the usually busy place was now deserted and gray. There were no happy orangutan sounds. Miranti remained speechless. The wind carried the thickening smoke. Parting the gray air, two limping figures appeared in the distance.

    Pongo and Laksmi were coming closer. She let Kasih chat happily with Pongo, as Laksmi watched from a distance as usual. His scent seemed to envelope her along with the deadly smoke. The scent of Lukman was very strong.

    Cerita Lampau

    It brought Miranti the peace she had been longing for. The air was getting hotter. Miranti staggered. In her confusion, everything seemed to seek its own way of survival.

    Instead, she lulled herself into the notion of peace with Lukman and Kasih in the forest. Meanwhile, her heart and lungs battled oxygen deficiency. Miranti, still stunned at the crossroads of destiny, lumbered along. After they arrived at the Caring Tree, his scent grew stronger, overpowering the smog. As she watched Kasih happily greet Lukman, her sensibilities left her completely. There were no palm oil barons and foremen. The forest was still virgin like the first time the universe made it.

    All living things were spirits in good health, who had left their frail and problem-riddled bodies behind. Lukman bent to pick up Kasih.

    The orange sky turned red. Miranti lay at the base of a large root of the Caring Tree. Lahir di Klaten, 1 Desember Saat ini tinggal di Magelang-Jawa Tengah. Penulis dapat dihubungi melalui surel: ranangajisuryaputra gmail. Kukira, waktuku sudah segera akan tiba. Aku tidak tahu kapan itu terjadi, tapi, cepat atau lambat, malaikat maut itu pasti akan segera datang menjemputku.

    Menyusul para leluhurku untuk berkumpul bersama. Kematian adalah kepastian buat siapa saja, apalagi buat perempuan seusiaku saat ini. Sebelum ajalku, aku hanya ingin merasakan, menyaksikkan dan memberikan berkah pada darah dagingku yang terlahir di bumi ini, agar tumbuh sehat sebagai jiwa terberkati.

    Seperti para leluhurku juga memberkatiku di masa lalu. Dari rahimku ini, telah lahir tujuh anak perempuan dan setiap anak telah melahirkan anak-anaknya, para cucuku yang lucu. Kecuali anak bungsuku, Setyaningsih, dia baru dua tahun menikah dan belum sempat mendapatkan anak. Semua anak dan cucuku mendapat restu dan berkah dari orangtuanya dengan cara yang sama.

    Eka Yuningsih, anak pertamaku, ketika mengandung anak pertamanya, semua menyambutnya dengan bahagia. Ketika usia kandungannya menginjak tujuh bulan, seperti adat Jawa yang terberkati, kami, ayah dan ibunya menggelar acara mitoni.

    Demikian pula dengan anak-anakku yang lain. Dalam setiap hajatan itu, semua kerabat datang, semua tetangga hadir juga anak-anak sekitar yang ceria menonton rangkaian acara.

    Mereka tertawa sembari berdesak-desakan di halaman. Terkadang mereka ikut melihat bagaimana kami mengguyur tubuh anak dan cucuku yang masih di dalam rahimnya, dengan air bunga. Tentu saja aku tahu anak-anak itu menginginkan dawet ayu, dan juga semua makanan yang kami sediakan untuk hajatan ini. Aku membiarkan mereka ribut, gaduh di antara suara gending Jawa yang mengiringi.

    Terkadang, aku berpura-pura marah, meminta mereka agar diam dan menunggu di latar. Sambil aku tanya, sudah bawa kereweng belum. Kereweng adalah pecahan genteng.

    Dalam acara mitoni, biasanya ditukarkan dengan dawet, dan lain-lain. Namun, semua upayaku agar mereka diam, sia-sia belaka. Para mahluk kecil nan berisik itu, selalu tak tertaklukkan oleh siapa saja, kecuali oleh dawet ayu. Perut mereka yang seluas langit dan sedalam lautan, tak juga kunjung puas, meskipun bermangkok-mangkok dawet sudah disiramkan ke dalam perutnya.

    Bahkan ketika perut itu sudah dijejali oleh jajanan yang mereka inginkan. Ah, dasar anak-anak. Semua tampak menjadi sibuk dan repot, memang, namun kerepotan itu membuat kami, para orangtua bahagia.

    Karena, aku dan mereka tahu, bahwa semua kerepotan dan keringat dari para kerabat, tetangga yang berkumpul dalam acara itu, adalah pancaran tangan kami semua yang menjemput cahaya berkah dari langit. Cahaya berkah yang kemudian kami berikan pada anak dan cucuku di dalam kandungan.

    Agar kelak, mereka juga tumbuh dan meneruskan berkah itu pada anak cucu mereka. Juga melalui cara ini, sebagai orang Jawa. Dahulu, di masa kecilku, aku juga seperti mereka anak-anak kampung yang ceria itu ketika ada hajatan, tak kecuali juga ketika ada yang project plan template hajatan bagi seorang calon ibu. Aku bersama kangmasku, setelah mendengar kabar itu, segera berlari gembira di sepanjang jalan kampung, mengumpulkan pecahan genteng, berebut dengan teman-teman yang lain.

    Semua itu nanti kami tukarkan dengan segelas dawet dan makanan lain. Kami juga dizinkan ayah menonton pergelaran wayang orang atau wayang kulit setelahnya. Biasanya, anak-anak punya cara agar mendapatkan lebih dawet ayu. Masak terus menerus berputar seperti itu. Kami sadar, semua itu cara para leluhur, agar kami anak cucunya bersyukur dan menghargai lingkungan.

    Tanah yang menumbuhkan semua kebutuhan kami, dan juga pada Sang Hyang Widi di atas langit. Semua itu, tentu saja, seperti kata bapakku, Mitoni adalah cara orang Jawa mencintai, menghargai kehidupan mereka di muka bumi. Juga tentang persoalan bagaimana kelak seluruh keturunan bisa menjalani kehidupan dengan berkah orangtua mereka yang mengemban amanah menjaga kehidupan hingga anak cucu di masa depan.

    Namun, sayang, Setyaningsih, anak bungsuku, agak berbeda. Ketika hamil pada akhirnya, dia menolak melakukan hajatan mitoni. Katanya, adat itu sudah terlalu kuno — tak lagi mencerminkan lingkungan masyarakat dan pendidikannya. Katanya, negara barat, Amerika, tempatnya bersekolah, tak ada kebiasaan seperti hajatan di Jawa. Dia memang berniat melakukan hajatan, tetapi dengan cara yang berbeda. Cara yang lebih sederhana. Dia sebut hajatan itu dalam bahasa Inggris, baby shower.

    Aku belum pernah mendengar sebelumnya, sampai dia katakan itu. Lagipula kenapa harus seperti teman-temanmu? Semua tempat punya caranya sendiri. Dia perempuan yang cantik. Bahkan lebih cantik dari aku.

    Lebih pintar dariku. Semua yang diidamkan perempuan, ada padanya. Dia bisa membentuk apa yang dia suka dalam wajah dan tubuhnya, dengan uangnya. Begitu cantik dirinya dengan semua perubahan itu, sampai aku tak yakin apakah benar dia anakku, Setyaningsih. Semua agak berubah, dari alisnya, bentuk bibirnya dan hidungnya yang menjadi mancung. Hampir semuanya tak lagi milikku, atau suamiku. Aku mulai sadar, dunia ini memang mudah berubah. Semua akan selalu berubah.

    Tak ada kepastian, selain kematian, bukan? Anakku, Setyaningsih juga tampak jauh berubah. Dia tak lagi seperti anak-anak yang dulu selalu kurawat dan kuberikan pendidikan, agar nantinya dia tumbuh menjadi perempuan Jawa yang ikut merawat miliknya sendiri, dengan percaya diri.

    Tapi, tampaknya dia begitu terpesona dengan dunia yang berbeda dari yang dimilikinya. Setyaningsih juga selalu berbahasa lain, yang saudara-saudaranya tak menggunakannya. Berpakaian seperti noni-noni berambut jerami yang menjadi teman-temannya. Suaminya, sama saja. Pramono, seorang pengusaha berhasil yang lebih banyak hidup di negara asing dan mulai kesulitan melafalkan bahasa-bahasa setempat. Dia nurutin saja semua apa yang dikatakan istrinya. Biar kami sendiri yang menangani. Persis seperti pepatah lama, tak ada yang sempurna dari semua telur milik kita.

    Aku tak menyalahkannya. Dia mendapatkan sekolah yang telah membuatnya berpikir dia lebih pintar dari orang lain. Aku hanya ingin dirinya menjadi diri sendiri, sebagai orang Jawa. Menjalani upacara adat yang sudah menjadi baju masyarakatnya sejak dulu.

    Itu saja. Usiaku mungkin akan selesai dalam hitungan waktu yang tidak terlalu lama. Meskipun usia manusia hanya Tuhan yang tahu akan berapa lama. Aku hanya ingin menjalani sekali lagi merasakan bagaimana indahnya memberikan berkat pada anak cucuku yang masih sempat aku lihat. Memberkati bersama para kerabat, tetangga dan anak-anak yang lucu nan bandel dalam acara mitoni. Eka Yuningsih sudah membantuku menyampaikan semua keinginanku pada Setyaningsih.

    Katanya, aku harus bersabar. Tidak perlu ngotot dan memaksanya yang sudah punya pendapatnya sendiri. Dia ingin membuat acaranya sendiri, seperti semangat zamannya yang ingin seperti bangsa lain. Ibu harus jaga kesehatan Ibu, agar bisa menyaksikkan cucu-cucu tumbuh. Doa terakhir yang tak akan terdengar lagi setelah kematianku nanti?

    Dia hanya diam dan mencium tanganku. Di halaman belakang rumah warisan suamiku ini, aku duduk menatap pohon randu alas yang meranggas — pohon yang tak lagi berdaun di musim kemarau.

    Mendengarkan tembang megatruh yang mengingatkanku agar bersiap dijemput kematian. Di sana, aku merenung dalam sendiriku.

    Mungkin aku salah. Mungkin aku semacam orangtua yang kaku. Mungkin aku terlalu memaksakan keinginanku sendiri pada anak-anakku. Orangtua yang sudah tidak sesuai dengan keinginan zaman. Keinginan anak-anaknya.

    Tidak tahu keinginan anak-anaknya? Hmm …. Sekilas, aku lihat langit yang penuh awan, di antara sela-sela ranting pohon randu alas yang meranggas. Aku bersedih mengingatnya, jika begitu. Namun, kesedihanku bukan semata karena aku tak dituruti keinginanku. Mungkin memang iya. Aku tak boleh berbohong.

    Tapi, kesedihanku juga karena mengingat bahwa kematianku nanti, mungkin berarti juga kematian warisan leluhurku di tanahnya sendiri. Kematian doa-doa yang penuh berkah dari langit. Ah, semoga tidak. Aku masih berharap Setyaningsih, anakku yang cantik itu, sadar — sehingga aku masih bisa memberkati anak cucuku dalam hajatan itu untuk terakhir kali. Sebelum ajal menjemputku. Aku berharap seperti itu. Karya-karyanya dimuat di majalah Si Kuncung, Bobo, dan lembar anak-anak yang dulu tersedia di harian Kompas dan Sinar Harapan sekarang Suara Pembaruan.

    Kecintaannya pada sastra dialihkan dengan menulis artikel jurnal ilmiah tentang sastra dan penerjemahan yang telah diterbitkan secara luas. Cerpen-cerpen yang diterjemahkan dan dimuat di laman Dalang Publishing ini adalah hasil terjemahan sastranya yang pertama.

    Dia dapat dihubungi di alamat surel: novitadewi usd. The Last Mitoni Sitting alone in the backyard of the house I inherited from my husband, I look at the withered tree. I think my time will come soon.

    I do not know when it will be, but, sooner or later, the angel of death shall come to unite me with my ancestors. Death is a certainty for everyone, especially for a woman of my age.

    But, before my time comes, I just want to feel, witness, and bless my children so that they become healthy, honorable souls. I have given birth to seven daughters and six have given birth to my adorable grandchildren. My youngest daughter, Setyaningsih, has been married for two years and has yet to have children. When Eka Yuningsih, my eldest daughter, was pregnant with her first child, everyone was happy.

    When she reached her seventh month of pregnancy, following revered Javanese custom, we, her parents, held a mitoni, a ceremonial celebration to bless the mother and unborn child.

    We did this also for our other children. All of my relatives and neighbors came with their children to every celebration. The children enjoyed the entire affair. They crowded into the yard, laughing. Sometimes they came to watch how we poured water, scented with flower petals, over our daughter and unborn grandchild.

    I knew for sure that the children craved dawet ayu, a Javanese cold drink made of coconut milk and flavored tapioca balls, and all the food we provided for these celebrations. I allowed the children to make a lot of noise while an orchestra played Javanese music. Sometimes, I pretended to be angry and told them to be quiet and wait in the front yard. But all my efforts to quiet them were in vain. Nothing but dawet ayu could quiet these noisy little creatures whose stomachs were as wide as the sky and as deep as the sea.

    And, even though they had poured bowls of dawet ayu into their bellies and stuffed their tummies with snacks, they wanted more. Everyone seemed to be in a frenzy. But the flurry of activities made us parents happy. We all knew that the efforts made by relatives and neighbors who had gathered for the event reflected the light and blessings from the sky — blessings that we then bestowed upon my child and the grandchild inside her womb so that, later, they could pass on these blessing to their children and grandchildren in a similar manner.

    This is the Javanese way. Back then, in my childhood, I also acted like those cheerful village children when there was a celebration. One held for a prospective mother was no exception.


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