Di kampung orang-orang menyebutku Si Ayu Waria, tapi seiring waktu Ayu bisa membuktikan bahwa, walaupun Ayu sering dikatai bencong, Ayu tetap bisa sukses dan membantu keluarga. Bahkan sempat menjadi panutan di kampung, karena Ayu seorang yang bekerja keras.
Dari kecil Ayu sudah merasa perempuan. Sejak kelas satu SD, Ayu tidak mau sekolah kalau tidak pakai rok. Ayu minta telinga ditindik, seperti anak-anak perempuan lainnya. Ayu pun suka nyolong baju anak-anak perempuan tetangga, sehingga kalau ada baju-baju anak perempuan yang hilang, mereka mencarinya pasti ke rumah Ayu. Pada 2011, saat usia Ayu sembilan belas tahun, Ayu terpaksa lari meninggalkan sekolah karena Ayu tertangkap basah bersama seorang laki-laki, dan kami dianggap pembawa virus percintaan sejenis di asrama.
Ayu lari ke Banda Aceh, ke tempat Mak Sherly, seorang pemilik salon yang juga transpuan. Ayu pertama kali tahu tentang Mak Sherly dari iklan salonnya di koran. Dia transpuan pertama yang Ayu kenal. Ayu simpan nomor telepon yang tertera di iklan itu, Ayu memberanikan diri menelepon dan akhirnya Ayu jadi sering curhat dengan Mak Sherly. Waktu libur sekolah, Ayu naik angkutan satu jam dari kampung ke Banda Aceh untuk main ke salonnya. Melihat Mak Sherly, Ayu bertekad sekuat tenaga suatu hari Ayu akan bebas menjadi perempuan.
Setelah Ayu pindah ke Banda Aceh, Ayu bekerja menyapu dan mengepel lantai di salon itu, juga mencuci handuk, sambil pelan-pelan belajar ilmu kecantikan, mulai dari cara mengeramas rambut hingga akhirnya Ayu pandai memangkas rambut.
Sebelum bekerja di salon, Ayu bersama beberapa teman transpuan lainnya—Irma, Dede, Ayu Asni, dan Sonia—mencari tamu di pinggir jalan. Irma berbadan putih dan montok—ia senang bongkar-pasang rambut sendiri dan nonton drama Korea. Ayu Asni bertubuh tinggi dan paling jago merayu tamu. Tiap malam kami bercanda bareng dan ketawa bareng. Tapi, taman tempat kami mangkal kerap didatangi Satpol PP dan WH. Sering kami sampai nyemplung sungai demi lari dari kejaran mereka—sering pula kami tertangkap. Entah kenapa, kami yang di jalanan selalu dituduh orang-orang yang membawa bencana, orang-orang pendosa, dan sampah masyarakat.
Semua uang yang Ayu punya, sebagian Ayu berikan kepada keluarga—terutama untuk pengobatan Ibu dan pendidikan adik—sebagian lagi Ayu tabung untuk buka usaha supaya teman-teman tak perlu lagi mangkal di jalanan. Apalagi, setelah kabar tentang Ayu tersebar di kampung, Ibu semakin parah sakitnya dan keluarga menyalahkan Ayu. Sejak saat itu, Ayu berjanji akan terus bekerja keras demi membantu keluarga. Ayu berpikir, kalau nanti Ayu punya duit, lambat laun Ayu akan diterima.
Pada 2014, yang Ayu impikan menjadi nyata: Ayu membuka salon sendiri. Namanya Salon Ayu Saree. Walaupun ia tidak mewah, hanya di sebuah ruko biasa, Ayu merasa sangat bangga—segala kerja keras Ayu selama ini tidak sia-sia. Apalagi, salon ini bukan cuma tempat bekerja, tapi juga rumah aman bagi teman-teman transpuan. Di lantai atas ruko Ayu bikin empat kamar, masing-masing dihuni oleh dua orang teman.
Dinding salon Ayu cat warna pink yang manis sekali, dan Ayu banyak menanam bunga-bunga di depan salon. Ada empat cermin di dalam, masing-masing untuk Irma, Dede, Sonia, dan satu lagi untuk Mak Egi, yang paling tua di antara kita. Musik gamelan Bali membuat suasana di salon menjadi sangat sejuk dan rileks, apalagi ditambah harum pewangi ruangan bunga cempaka. Para pelanggan merasa sangat puas setelah rambutnya dipangkas atau di-smoothing. Bahkan, Ayu sempat punya banyak pelanggan ibu-ibu Bhayangkari yang tinggal di perumahan dekat salon Ayu—mereka sering datang ke salon mencari Ayu untuk pangkas rambut model bob. Kalau tidak dipegang langsung oleh Ayu, mereka merasa tidak cocok.
Di salon Ayu tidak ada bos-bosan—kita sama-sama cari makan, kita sama-sama jaga. Alhamdulillah, selalu ada saja rezeki di salon, selalu ada saja pelanggan yang datang.
Awalnya, orang-orang yang tinggal di sekitar salon Ayu sangat ramah. Ayu pun sering mendekatkan diri ke masyarakat. Setiap hari kami memakai pakaian yang sopan, dan tiap keluar salon selalu berhijab. Ayu sering bertukar makanan dengan tetangga, bergotong royong, dan mengikuti acara-acara di masjid, seperti menyantuni anak yatim, menyumbang untuk acara maulidan, dan memberi makanan dan minuman untuk anak-anak pengajian. Ayu juga membayar pemuda setempat untuk menjaga salon. Para tetangga pun kadang nongkrong di salon Ayu, mengobrol sampai lama membahas masalah rambut rontok atau muka berflek.
Sayangnya, dari tahun ke tahun isu LGBT semakin deras diembuskan di Aceh, dari Qanun Jinayat yang menyamakan hubungan sejenis dengan kejahatan seksual hingga aparat pemerintah dan orang-orang sok suci yang semakin gemar memanas-manasi masyarakat dengan mengatakan orang-orang seperti kami itu haram. Suatu hari pada 2017, semua kepala desa di Banda Aceh dipanggil ke balai kota. Di sana, wali kota mengimbau untuk memberantas kemaksiatan dan orang-orang seperti Ayu. Mereka juga mendirikan organisasi anti-LGBT. Di Aceh Utara, teman-teman transpuan diangkut paksa dan “dibina” di kepolisian—itu kata yang mereka gunakan di masyarakat dan di media, walau sebenarnya teman-teman Ayu itu disiksa; mereka digunduli, ditendangi, disuruh guling-guling di lapangan, dan ditelanjangi sampai tinggal celana.
Awal 2018, masyarakat sekitar mulai menuduh salon Ayu sebagai hotspot tempat perkumpulan waria dan sarang maksiat. Suatu hari jam sembilan malam, kepala kelompok pemuda dan serombongan warga datang ke salon. Dengan suara menggelegar, sambil mengacung-acungkan tangan, mereka menegaskan bahwa salon harus ditutup karena mereka “tidak bisa menerima” kehadiran kami, karena kami “berlainan” dengan mereka dan “melenceng dari kebiasaan masyarakat”. Ayu dan teman-teman diberi waktu satu minggu untuk mengosongkan ruko. Kalau tidak bubar setelah jangka waktu itu, mereka akan datang dengan membawa lebih banyak orang lagi.
Saat itu Ayu sudah bayar sewa ruko selama setahun dan masih ada delapan bulan lagi masa sewanya. Ayu minta uang kembali, tapi tidak dikasih. “Orang mana mau tinggal lagi di sini, bekas banci!” kata si pemilik ruko. Padahal, tempat itu kami rawat seperti rumah sendiri, kami cat yang segar, kami bersih-bersihkan setiap hari, satu sawang pun tidak ada di sana, masak tidak ada yang mau sewa? Ayu merasa stres luar biasa—semua uang Ayu sudah dituang ke sana.
Salon pun bubar. Dede dan Sonia pulang ke Langsa, Irma tetap di Banda dan mencari kerja di tempat lain. Ayu kembali ke kampung dan bekerja sebagai perias pengantin di sana. Ayu masih bekerja keras, walau tak seperti di salon dulu penghasilannya. Ke mana-mana Ayu berhijab panjang demi menghindari ocehan orang.
Setelah Ayu kehilangan salon dan tidak bisa lagi membantu mencukupi kebutuhan keluarga, Ayu merasa ditolak, terutama oleh abang ipar. “Pergi ajalah dari rumah,” katanya, “pergi merantau ke mana gitu.”
Apa lagi yang bisa Ayu lakukan? Di kampung dan di Banda Aceh Ayu sudah tidak bebas berekspresi, tidak ada pemasukan lagi, dan tiap kali Ayu melihat WH Ayu merasa ketakutan walaupun Ayu tidak ada salah. Keluarga Ayu juga tidak bisa lagi diharapkan.
Karena itulah, ketika Ayu mendengar dari teman-teman tentang Transchool Swara, sebuah sekolah dan komunitas untuk transpuan muda di Jakarta, Ayu segera mendaftarkan diri—dengan harapan Ayu bisa hijrah ke Jakarta.
Ternyata Ayu diterima! Dan mendapat tiket pesawat ke Jakarta! Dengan rambut panjang terurai, anting-anting menjuntai dari telinga, dan bibir merona pink semanis dinding salon dulu, Ayu berangkat—menjepit tas berwarna putih dan menenteng dua koper. Dalam perjalanan terselip sedikit ragu, karena terbayang betapa kerasnya Ayu mesti berjuang agar dapat bertahan hidup di ibu kota, tapi tidak ada rasa sesal. Terbang tinggi di atas segala trauma dan keperihan, Ayu menatap lurus ke depan—tak sabar berkumpul dengan teman-teman transpuan di Jakarta, kembali menabung untuk buka usaha, dan akhirnya mencapai cita-cita: menjadi bebas sebagai perempuan.
Aku belum pernah merasakan tinggal dengan ibu tiri…
Sekarang aku tenggelam dalam arus kejamnya ibu kota.
Tapi apalah daya.
Serambiku menolak orang-orang seperti aku.
Dan akan lambat laun dibumihanguskan manusia seperti aku.
Itu tanah kelahiranku.
Alam itu yang menjadi saksi bisu getaran langkah kakiku.
Dengan hati teriris.
Suara gemuruh mereka seakan tanpa dosa.
Mendorongku pergi dari kamarku sendiri.
Dengan berlinangan air mata.
Aku transpuan Indonesia
Sekarang berjuang di pangkuan ibu kota Jakarta.
© Ayu Saree
AYU TO JAKARTA
Ayu Saree
English translation by Madina Malahayati Chumaera
Back in my hometown, people called me Ayu the Waria, but as time went on, Ayu proved that even though she was constantly called a bencong, Ayu could still be successful and help support her family. In fact, I even became a role model in my hometown, because Ayu is somebody who works hard.
Since childhood, Ayu has always felt herself to be a woman. Starting from first grade, Ayu didn’t want to go to school if the skirt wasn’t part of the uniform. Ayu asked for ear piercings, just like the other girls. Ayu even often stole the neighborhood girls’ clothes, so that when there were any missing, they would immediately go searching for them at Ayu’s house. In 2011, when Ayu was nineteen years old, Ayu was forced to drop out of school because Ayu was caught red-handed with a man, and they thought we’d infect other students in the dorms with our “same-sex-love disease”.
Ayu ran away to Banda Aceh, to Mak Sherly’s place. Mak Sherly is a salon owner who is also a trans woman. Ayu first found out about Mak Sherly from a newspaper ad for her salon. She was the first trans woman that Ayu knew about. Ayu saved the phone number printed in the ad, then gathered the courage to call, and eventually started confiding a lot to Mak Sherly. During school breaks, Ayu rode public transport for one hour from home to Banda Aceh to visit the salon. Seeing Mak Sherly, Ayu summoned all her strength and resolved that one day, Ayu would live freely as a woman.
After Ayu moved to Banda Aceh, Ayu got a job in the salon sweeping and mopping the floor, and also washing the towels. In the meantime, she slowly learned beautician skills, starting with hair-washing, until finally, Ayu was skilled in hairdressing.
Before working at the salon, Ayu, along with other trans women friends—Irma, Dede,
Ayu Asni, and Sonia—looked for clients on the roadside. Irma’s body was fair-skinned and plump—she liked trying out different hairstyles on herself and watching Korean dramas. Ayu Asni was tall and the most skilled at enticing clients. Each night we joked and laughed together. But the park where we usually hung out was frequently inspected by both the state and religious police. Oftentimes we had to dive into the river so we could run away from them—and a lot of times we’d get caught. Somehow, we who were on the streets were always accused of being harbingers of disaster, sinners, the scum of society.
Of all the money Ayu had, she gave some to the family—most of all for Mom’s medical treatments and her younger sibling’s schooling—and the rest Ayu saved to open a business so that her friends wouldn’t need to frequent the streets. Moreover, after the news about Ayu spread in her hometown, Mom’s illness worsened and the family blamed Ayu. After that, Ayu promised to continue working hard to help the family. Ayu thought that once she had the money, sooner or later she would be accepted by them.
In 2014, Ayu’s dream became reality: she opened her own shop. Salon Ayu Saree was its name. Even though it wasn’t grand, just situated in a regular shophouse, Ayu felt extremely proud—all her hard work didn’t go to waste. And what’s more, this salon wasn’t just a place to work, but also a safe space for trans women. Ayu put four rooms on the top floor of the salon, each inhabited by two of her friends.
The salon walls were painted a very lovely pink by Ayu, and she planted flowers in front of the salon. There were four mirrors inside, one each for Irma, Dede, and Sonia—and one more for Mak Egi, the oldest among us. Balinese gamelan music made the atmosphere in the salon serene and relaxed, even more so with the scent of frangipani flowers in the air. The customers were very satisfied after getting their hair cut or straightened. Moreover, at one point, Ayu had a lot of customers who were police officers’ wives living in the complex near Ayu’s salon. They often came in wanting Ayu to cut their hair into a bob. If the hairdresser wasn’t Ayu, they felt the style wouldn’t be right.
In Ayu’s salon there was no hierarchy—we all worked for food, we all protected each other. Alhamdulillah, the salon always turned a profit, for there were always customers who came.
At first, the people who lived near Ayu’s salon were very friendly. Ayu even tried to strengthen her ties to the community. Every day she and her friends wore modest clothes, and put on our hijabs every time we went out of the salon. Ayu exchanged food with the neighbors, participated in mutual aid efforts, and attended activities held by the mosque, like helping the orphans, donating to the Prophet’s Birthday celebrations, and providing refreshments for the Quran recitation classes. Ayu also paid the neighborhood boys to guard the salon. The neighbors even sometimes hung out in Ayu’s salon, chatting for a long time to discuss things like hair loss or dark spots on their faces.
Unfortunately, as the years went by, the “LGBT issue” became blown more and more out of proportion in Aceh by the Qanun Jinayat, which equated same-sex relationships with sexual assault, so that the government officials and holier-than-thous who liked to stir up the masses began calling people like us haram. One day in 2017, all the village heads were called to the town hall. There, the mayor instructed everyone to eradicate immorality and people like Ayu. They also established an anti-LGBT organization. In North Aceh, fellow trans women were transported by force and “educated” at the police station—that was the word they used in public and in the media, even though the reality was that Ayu’s friends were tormented; their heads were shaved, bodies kicked, and they were forced to roll around on the field, and stripped down to their pants.
At the beginning of 2018, the local community started to accuse Ayu’s salon of being a hotspot for waria and a den of immorality. One night at nine o’clock, the head of the youth community and a bunch of neighbors came to the salon. With booming voices, they brandished their fingers, stating that the salon had to be closed because they “couldn’t accept” our existence, because we were “different” from them and “deviated from the norm”. Ayu and the rest were given one week to desert the salon. If we didn’t scram before then, they would come again with more in tow.
At that point Ayu had already paid the rent for the year, and there were eight more months left of the lease. Ayu asked for a refund, but it wasn’t given. “What kind of person would want to live here now that it’s been inhabited by a banci!” said the owner. But we had cared for that place like it was our own home. We had given it fresh paint, we had cleaned it every day, and there wasn’t even a single cobweb in sight! How could no one want to rent it? Ayu felt a great deal of stress—every cent of Ayu’s savings had been poured into that place.
The salon was done for. Dede and Sonia returned to Langsa, and Irma stayed in Banda and looked for work elsewhere. Ayu went back home and worked as a bridal makeup artist there. Ayu still worked hard, even though the earnings weren’t as much as what she made with the salon. Ayu went everywhere with a long hijab to avoid people’s prattling.
After Ayu lost the salon and couldn’t help fulfill the family’s needs anymore, she felt rejected, especially by Ayu’s brother-in-law. “Just get out of this house,” he said, “leave and find work elsewhere.”
What else could Ayu do? She couldn’t freely express herself in Banda Aceh or even at home, there was no other income, and every time she saw the religious police, Ayu felt scared, even though she’d done nothing wrong. Ayu couldn’t expect anything from her family either.
And so, when Ayu’s friend told her about Transchool Swara, a school and community for young trans women in Jakarta, Ayu hurried to register—in the hope that she could move to Jakarta.
As it turned out, Ayu was accepted! And got plane tickets to Jakarta! With her long, flowing hair, dangly earrings, and lips as lovely pink as the old salon walls, Ayu set out—clutching a white purse and carrying two suitcases. Doubt slipped in during the journey because of how hard Ayu would have to struggle in order to survive in the capital city. But the feeling of regret didn’t exist. Soaring high above all the trauma and pain, Ayu kept her gaze straight ahead. She couldn’t wait to be together with fellow trans women in Jakarta, saving up again to open a new business, and finally achieving that dream: to be a woman, freely.
I’ve never felt what it’s like to live with a stepmother…
Yet now I drown in the violent current of the mother city.
Yet I have no other choice.
My home denies those like me.
And oh so slowly they will lay waste to humans like me.
This land I was born in.
Nature will be the silent witness of my trembling footsteps.
With this slitted heart.
Their thundering voices as if without sin.
Driving me out from my own haven.
With my tears streaming down.
I am an Indonesian trans woman
Now striving to survive in the lap of this mother city, Jakarta.
© Ayu Saree
English translation © Madina Malahayati Chumaera
Ayu Saree is a make-up artist and comedian. Her hobbies are singing, acting, and making jokes on TikTok @ayusaree02. Aside from that, she can be found busy on her other social media platforms (Instagram @ayuu_sareeofficial, and on Facebook as Ayu Sabrina). She loves classical Indian films. Ayu hopes people will be entertained and moved when reading the stories in CERITRANS and that they will learn something valuable from the stories of trans women.
Madina Malahayati Chumaera is a 20-year-old computer science undergraduate in Jakarta, Indonesia. Her interests lie in the intersection between the humanities, the sciences, and everything in between. She can be found on Twitter at @falsecatch and other places at malahayati.carrd.co/
Cindy Saja is a freelance graphic designer and illustrator. Her works are mostly about social issues in Indonesian society. She has been drawing since childhood, and after completing her fine arts degree in 2011 she started working as an illustrator. She has collaborated with writers and artists such as Gouri Mirpuri, Butet Manurung, Erikar Lebang, Rene Suhardono, Rani Pramesti, and many more. Currently, Cindy is freelancing at the book publisher Kompas, and is preparing a personal project.
Story-writing mentor: Eliza Vitri Handayani
Poetry-writing mentor: Khairani Barokka
