“[The story of Islami] Love Along the Way”
In the subway station in Tokyo, I pressed my heavy wool coat tightly. At 5 am. A great winter. The air was frozen bite. This January it was colder than previous years. Outside the snow is still falling heavily since yesterday. Tokyo blanketed with snow this year, whiten all the scene.
The station is always crowded because it was still rather quiet morning. There was an old man at the edge of his chair, looked sleepy. I walked slowly toward the vending machine. Shortly after I insert a coin, a can of warm capucino move into my hand. The coffee was momentarily warmed my body, but not long because when my hand touched the postcard in his coat pocket, I was pounding again.
Three days ago this postcard arrived in my apartment. Not much news, just a short message sent by my sister, “My mother was seriously ill and dying to meet you brother. If brother did not want to regret it, go home even though briefly, brother?? C “. I regret throwing complain slowly accumulated in the chest. The postcard was sent Mercy after some time he called me but I do not really ignore the story. Maybe he was bored, until finally only this card is sent. Ah, time like moving slow, I wanted to get home, I suddenly missed the mother was restrained. Lord, give me time, I do not want to regret?? C
Actually I still do not have time to go home. Busyness I worked in a private company in the Yokohama area, plus take care of two teenage daughters, makes me like drowning in busyness in the country this cherry. This also I got home yesterday after completing a bit on business in Tokyo. Again business.
It’s almost twenty years I lived in Japan. Basically since I was married to Emura, Japanese men who I knew in Jogjakarta, my hometown. At that time Emura itself is currently in Yogya his affairs in order. A year after that introduction, we were married.
Still imprinted in my memory the face of the mother who became depressed when I reveal that the wedding plans. Mother later married a doubt the happiness of this strange man. Because of course so many cultural differences that exist among us, and of course the mother sad because I had to part with the family to follow Emura. When I insisted, and not too ignored the mother’s concern.
In the end it’s true mother said, not easy to be the wife of a stranger. At the beginning of the wedding so many sacrifices must I spend in the framework of adaptation, for the sake of the integrity of the household. Big Dipper almost household can not we maintain. When all is almost sank, she helped us with his orders. Finally we can indeed go together. Emura also basically good and loving, not demanding.
But there is one inevitable maternal anxiety, separation. Since getting married I followed Emura to his country. I myself am very lonely at the beginning of time away from family, especially mothers, but busy household divert my feelings. When the children was a teenager, I also began to work to kill time.
I flinched when I heard the train Narita Expres notice that I’m waiting for will soon arrive. Time as it continues to hunt, while the cold made me shiver. Shortly after jumping onto the train I breathe easier. Warm air melt a little cold in my cart. Not all seats are filled on the train and almost all the passengers looked asleep. After finding the number of seats and loosen the ties a scarf wrapped around his thick neck, I lay a tired body and wish I could sleep for a while as they were. But it was not, memories of the past which had been suddenly interrupted again spinning in my memory.
Mother .. yes I realize how much has been almost four years now I do not see him. In the midst of busy, time was rapidly spinning. Finally when I came home to accompany my daughter, Rikako and Yuka, a summer vacation. Only two weeks there, and even then I was still busy with the affairs of the branch office in Jakarta. So far I think the mother is quite happy with my regular remittances every month. During this time I thought the material enough to replace everything. Suddenly my eyes feel hot, there is a stifling sore chest. “I’m going home Mommy, please forgive me for this ignorance?? C” I whispered softly.
Morning light bumps. Train sped past like a bullet for me it still feels sluggish. How far the distance is stretched. I looked out. Just down the snow is still blocking my view. Piles of snow whiten all directions. Suddenly I remembered Yuka my eldest daughter who was in high school second grade. You could say he is no different from other teenagers in Japan. Although not fall entirely on the lives of teens free big city, but Yuka is very expressive and at will. Quite often we disagreed about many things, about the social norms or how good manners towards parents.
I often protest when Yuka go long with his friends without the permission of me or her daddy. Because I was made to suffer and the restless abysmally made. Frankly lives of Japanese teenagers are increasingly free to worry me at all. But according to Yuka it always, always say goodbye or to report to me where he is, he just makes it stressful. He wanted me to trust him and give him freedom. He said he would keep himself well. To avoid the more intense fights, I finally relented though often harbored restless.
Riko too, often he ignored my advice, preoccupied with school and friends. Her father was a lot of comments. He had said maybe it’s my fault too poor to provide time for them because of busy work. They do not need to be like her mother. But I quibble I worked precisely because it quiet at home due to children leaving adults and rarely at home. I also used to work when the youngest Rico had completed his elementary school. But it is in my heart to admit, I’m less able to divide their time between work and family.
Seeing the kids who tend to be arbitrary, I’m frustrated too, but I finally switch to the more immersed themselves in busy work. It reminded me of my teen years. What I remember now, among the mothers of five children, only I most often do not follow his advice. I’m sorry. Now I can feel how mothers feel when I ignore the words, certainly equal to sadness that I feel when Yuka or Riko too often ignored. Now I realize and regret so much. Certainly the attitude of my second daughter was a warning that God gave of my ignorance in the past. I want to kiss the hands of the mother ….
Outside the snow getting thicker, the more I can not see the scenery, all become blurred covered in a white snowflakes. Rinai also increasingly blurred by my tears. Illustrated again in my mind, as every evening the mother reminds us that the Koran does not go to the mosque. Mother’s own very obedient worship. Seeing the mother khusyu ‘tahajud in the middle of the night or many times would complete Quran is unusual sight for me. Ah .. can not stand the thought of the mother bear me nostalgic. I do not know how many times I look at the watch on the wrist.
Finally after completing all the affairs of boarding-pass at Narita airport, I had to be back on the plane. Seven-hour trip rather than a short time for the time being hunted like me. Followed me like a mother’s smile. Thankfully, the window-seat, no smoking area, makes me a little breath of relief, at least to cover up insecurities on other passengers and to meet the dhikr remove the chest tightness. Hovering over the ocean while making dhikr fasifik begging His forgiveness makes me a little quiet. White clouds on the outside like the clumps of longing in the mother.
Yogya has not changed much. Everything remains as it was when last I left him. Back to Yogya like going back to the past. The city is harbored all of my memories. Through streets that had always been I’ve been through, like pulling into times past it. This city had raised me, so countless memories in it. Especially fond memories with her mother who always colored all my days. Remembering that, I became very impatient to meet her.
The house was like a big leafs are not weathered by time, it was like when I was little and run around among the plants, of course, because during the mother’s diligent care. But there is one that is changed, the mother …
Mother’s face was still calm and wise as ever, although age was dusk but the mother did not look old, it’s just a weak mother lay helpless, not as fresh as usual. I knelt down side of his bed, “Mother came … Rini, mam ..”, calling my lips trembling. My mother’s hands slowly reach and hold it didadaku. When I kissed her hand, tears wet granules. Slowly open the eyes of mothers and mothers smile, a smile that I miss it, carved on his face. After that, God knows how long we held each other up to do. Mother stroked my hair, her cheeks wet with tears. From her eyes I know the mother is also suffering the same store, longing for her child who has not seen for so long. “Forgive Rini, Mrs. ..” I said many times, how now I realize all my mistake all along.