Siang itu, ditemani perut yang mulai terasa lapar, aku terbangun. Di kosan kecil nan pengap aku tinggal, keringat bercucuran di pelipis, kaus merah muda yang kukenakan lembap karena keringat. Kipas angin kecil di pojok menyerah kalah pada panasnya cuaca Cibitung, Bekasi, salah satu pusat industri terbesar di Indonesia. Kuikat rambutku yang penuh dengan kawat sambungan waktu itu.
Sahabatku Ari masih mendengkur di depan teve, ia bertelanjang dada, memperlihatkan badannya yang penuh tato. Ia sudah kuanggap adik kandungku sendiri, ke mana-mana kami selalu berdua.
Aku mengecek HP yang ku-charge semalaman, ternyata sudah hampir jam dua. Kugoyang-goyangkan pundak Ari. “Neng, ayo bangun!” Itu panggilan akrabku untuknya. Ia menggeliat dan mengusap bagian mulutnya yang basah karena iler.
“Cuss, ayo cari makan!”
“Emang Teteh dah laper?” gumamnya dengan nada lemas.
“Lapangan banteng!”
Akhirnya kami pun berangkat ke warteg. Kami memilih menu favorit—ayam kecap, plus kepala ayam, sambal dan sayur kacang—dan membungkusnya untuk disantap di kosan. Perut sangat lapar seperti tidak sabar menerima makanan masuk. Alhamdulillah, setelah makan, perut terasa kenyang.
Ari langsung menyulut sebatang rokok. Tak lama kemudian, ada telepon masuk—dari Teh Fika, salah satu senior di klinik tempatku bekerja dahulu.
“Re, ibumu ada di sini!” katanya. “Dia datang dari Jawa. Sepertinya sakit, pucat mukanya!”
Pikiranku melayang, bibirku seperti terkunci. Badanku gemetar—rasa takut, sedih, khawatir, bingung, semua menjadi satu.
“Teteh ga bohong, kan?”
“Kamu datang langsung ya ke klinik sekarang.”
Aku terdiam, airmataku menetes.
“Kenapa, Teh?” tanya Ari.
“Ibuku datang, Neng!”
Perasaanku semakin tak keruan. Aku tak tahu harus melakukan apa.
Pikiranku terserap ke dalam labirin-labirin ingatan yang menyedihkan. Beberapa bulan yang lalu aku pulang ke Purbalingga untuk menemui kedua orangtuaku dan menceritakan siapa aku sebenarnya. Ya, aku seorang transpuan. Aku tidak mau hidup dalam kebohongan, aku ingin menjadi diriku sendiri dan menceritakan segala yang aku rasakan. Aku menghubungi Mas Eko, kakak kandungku, sebelum datang ke rumah orangtua, dengan harapan ia akan mendukungku. Ternyata, ia menemuiku di sebuah pom bensin dan malah mengusirku. Ia melarangku menemui orangtua, bahkan titipanku pun dia tidak mau terima. Karena itu, aku memutuskan untuk kembali ke Bekasi dan tidak mengirim kabar selama berbulan-bulan.
“Ya udah, ayo, Teh, ketemu Mama,” kata Ari.
Bibirku gemetar ketika menjawab, “Aku minta tolong kamu jemput mamaku ya, Neng.”
Sembari menunggu Ari kembali bersama Mama, aku merenungi keputusan yang sudah kuambil. Terakhir aku bertemu ibuku, aku belum mengubah penampilan fisikku—rambutku masih pendek dan aku masih menggunakan pakaian laki-laki, walau aku tidak bisa menutupi gaya femininku.
Dari kecil aku sudah nampak berbeda dari kebanyakan anak laki-laki—aku senang bermain boneka dan masak-masakan, dan suka sekali memakai sepatu tinggi kepunyaan ibuku. Aku selalu tidak nyaman menjadi seorang laki-laki.
Tak selang berapa lama, terdengar suara motor Ari. Jantungku semakin berdetak kencang. Ketakutan, kebingungan, kesedihan—semua bergejolak menjadi satu.
Di depan kaca kecil yang sudah retak ujungnya, aku merapikan kaus merah muda yang kukenakan, takut ada yang salah atau dianggap kurang sopan. Aku menyisir rambut panjangku sepinggang dan meluruskan rambut sambunganku yang sering kusut.
Kemudian, aku melihat dari jendela kos, ibuku turun dari motor Ari, mengenakan baju gamis panjang. Mukanya pucat, badannya terlihat lemas. Ia pun tampak sedikit lebih kurus.
Aku tidak berani membuka pintu—hingga akhirnya Ari masuk dan aku keluar dari kamar.
Mama menangis tersedak dan berteriak, “Astagfirullahaladzim! Astagfirullahaladzim!”
Aku hendak bersalim kepada Mama, tetapi ia menjauhkan diri—mungkin ia merasa jijik melihatku, tak sudi ia untuk bersentuhan dengan anak kandungnya sendiri. Tangisnya semakin menjadi.
Aku memintanya masuk ke dalam kamar, karena aku takut nanti ada tetangga yang merasa terganggu atau justru menjadi penasaran.
Mamaku pun masuk, sambil terus menangis dan mengucapkan selawat. “Ya Allah, kenapa anakku jadi begini? Apa salahku?” Napasnya tersendak-sendak karena menahan emosi.
Aku tak berani berkata apa pun, hanya mencoba memegang erat tangannya. Aku memintanya duduk di kursi di depan teve.
Mamaku pingsan. Aku dan Ari panik seketika. Aku bingung dan khawatir sebab ibuku punya riwayat darah tinggi. Kami mencoba untuk membangunkan ibuku. Kubaluri hidungnya dengan minyak kayu putih. Kupijit jemari kakinya. Kubuka jilbab panjangnya agar ia tidak kegerahan di kamar yang sangat panas. Kuelus kepalanya sambil menatap mukanya yang terlihat lelah. Rambutnya sudah memutih dan matanya lembap akibat menangis. Napasnya hangat keluar dari mulut dan hidung. Aku pun turut meneteskan airmata. Kupikir, semua ini kesalahanku.
Hampir setengah jam ibuku masih belum sadarkan diri. Aku berniat memanggil ambulans. Saat aku mencari-cari alamat rumah sakit terdekat, alhamdulillah ibuku mulai membuka matanya. Perlahan dia mulai sadar. Sungguh lega rasanya melihat ibuku bisa kembali menyebut nama-nama Allah. Badannya masih terlihat sangat lunglai, tangis masih membekas di mukanya yang lesu. Aku bergegas membuatkan teh manis untuknya, supaya ia segar kembali.
“Ma, tehnya dimimi disit,” kataku dalam bahasa daerahku.
“Iya,” katanya, masih melihatku dengan tatapan aneh.
Aku memulai obrolan yang ringan demi mencairkan suasana yang masih terasa tegang. Hampir empat bulan aku tak berkomunikasi dengan keluarga.
“Ma, gimana keadaan di rumah? Bapak dan yang lain pada sehat semua, kan?”
“Bapak sehat. Dia mengkhawatirkan kamu karena lama gak ada kabar. Dia melarang Mama untuk pergi ke Bekasi, tapi Mama nekat. Mama dah gak tahan pingin ketemu kamu, Andri. Mama pingin tahu kabarmu. Mama udah gak bisa membendung rasa kangen sekaligus penasaran.”
“Ma, Andri minta maaf ya, Ma, kalau Andri ada salah sama Mama dan keluarga. Andri siap terima resikonya, Ma. Andri udah siap jika memang gak diterima di keluarga.”
“Kok tadi di klinik pada manggil Rere?”
“Iya, Ma. Namaku sekarang Rere.”
“Kamu kenapa kok bisa jadi begini sekarang? Mama kaget lihat kamu, rambut dah panjang, pakai baju perempuan, dandan.”
“Aku pingin cerita, Ma, bahwa aku itu gini, aku perempuan. Aku pingin banget terbuka ke keluarga biar gak ada yang ditutup-tutupi. Aku tahu keluarga pasti ada yang gak bisa nerima keadaan aku yang sekarang, tapi mau gimana lagi, Ma? Aku gak bisa ngebohongin diriku sendiri.”
“Kamu salah pergaulan apa gimana? Ya Allah, kok bisa kamu berubah banget?”
“Ma, aku kayak gini bukan karena siapa pun, bukan karena pengaruh pergaulan, bukan karena orang lain. Ini aku yang sebenarnya, Ma, yang Mama lihat sekarang. Aku sudah bahagia sebagai perempuan. Aku gak nyaman dengan diriku yang dulu. Mama pasti merasa aku dari kecil udah kemayu, aku gak senang mainan kayak anak-anak cowok.”
“Mama sebenarnya beberapa kali dengar selentingan dari orang-orang yang ngomong ke Mama. Anake kok jadi perempuan? Tetangga-tetangga suka gosip, katanya lihat di Facebook atau apalah, Mama gak ngerti.”
“Emang siapa, Ma, yang ngomong? Terus mereka ngomong apa lagi?”
“Ya ada lah orang, tetangga. Gosip-gosip ini-itu. Katanya, anake sekarang berubah, anake sekarang jadi waria. Mama suka sakit dengarnya, makanya Mama ke sini nemui kamu. Mama mau mastiin keadaan kamu. Eh, ternyata benar apa yang orang-orang bilang tentang kamu. Mama bingung harus gimana. Mama sedih kalau nanti jelasin ke bapakmu, ke keluargamu.”
“Kalau memang Mama mau jelasin ke keluarga, silakan, tapi kalau Mama masih malu ya jangan. Nunggu proses aja dulu. Cepat atau lambat mereka pasti akan tahu. Aku gak pingin orang-orang pada nyalahin Bapak atau Mama.”
“Terus, apa aja yang diubah? Itu susunya gimana?”
“Aku belum operasi apa pun, Ma. Belum ada yang diubah. Susu ya belum diapa-apain.”
“Itu rambut kok udah panjang aja, diapain?”
“Rambut aku disambung, Mama, biar cantik.”
Mama tersenyum dengan berat.
Aku memintanya untuk meminum tehnya supaya dia merasa sedikit santai.
“Rere kangen banget Bapak, Ma. Rere kangen semua, tapi mau gimana lagi? Rere sedih, tapi Rere tahu keadaannya. Rere udah siap dengan hal terburuk pun, Ma. Rere waktu itu sempat pulang, Ma, sama teman-teman juga. Ari, Dika, Hendra, Indra ikut ke kampung nemenin Rere buat ketemu Mama. Tapi Mas Eko mungkin belum siap ketemu Rere, mungkin masih berpikiran Rere adalah aib, makanya dia larang Rere ketemu Mama dan Bapak. Jujur, Rere sedih banget Mas Eko bisa lakuin itu ke adik kandungnya sendiri. Tapi, sekali lagi, Rere harus ikhlas. Rere juga minta maaf atas semua yang udah Rere lakuin, yang katanya bikin aib keluarga lah, bikin malu lah. Tapi Rere percaya semua yang orang bilang itu salah. Rere bukan aib. Rere akan buktiin ke semua!”
Mama menarik napas dalam-dalam. “Mama bingung harus ngomong apa ke bapakmu, tapi Mama akan bilang dengan jujur tentang semua ini.” Ia mengelus-elus dadanya. “Bagaimanapun, kamu ini anak Mama.”
“Terima kasih ya, Ma. Maaf, Rere belum bisa bikin Mama bahagia. Rere janji Rere akan membahagiakan kalian.”
Aku dan Mama berpelukan. Aku merasakan bahagia yang luar biasa, bisa memeluk mamaku yang sudah lama tidak bertemu.
Aku meminta Mama untuk istirahat sejenak, demi memulihkan tubuhnya yang terlihat sangat lemah akibat sakit dan menempuh perjalanan jauh.
Mama merebahkan diri di kasur, mengatur napas, tubuhnya mulai rileks. Ketegangan di wajahnya mulai mengendur. Memandangnya, harapan pun timbul di hatiku, pertemuan ini bisa menjadi awal bagiku untuk diterima oleh keluarga.
AKU ADALAH PEMENANG
Cercaan
Hinaan
Sumpah serapah
Bertubi-tubi aku terima
Bukan hanya dari orang awam saja,
Bahkan itu semua keluar dari orang yang kucinta
Semangatku membara
Jiwaku bergelora
Menentang dan melawan derita
Karena aku yakin
Akan ada bahagia
Aku berbahagia menjadi diriku
Diriku yang seutuhnya
Yang seringkali banyak dianggap beda
Yang sering kali dianggap cela
Bukankah di mata Tuhan dan semesta kita itu sama
Tak ada yang berbeda
Yang membedakan hanya otak kalian saja
Kalianlah yang mengotak-kotakkannya
Perlawananku tak akan pernah padam
Bersinar bak api abadi
Bahagiaku tak pernah pudar
Merdekalah ragaku
Bebaslah jiwaku
Aku adalah pemenang
© Restya
COMING OUT INTO MAMA’S ARMS
Restya
English translation by Julia Winterflood
One late morning, I woke up, my stomach rumbling. In the small, stuffy boarding-house room where I lived, sweat trickled down my temples and soaked the pink t-shirt I was wearing. The small fan in the corner didn’t stand a chance against the heat in Cibitung, Bekasi—one of the biggest industrial centers in Indonesia. I tied back my hair, which was full of hair extensions at the time.
My close friend Ari was still snoring in front of the TV, shirtless, his body covered in tattoos. I thought of him as my little brother. We went everywhere together.
I checked my phone that I’d charged the night before; it turned out to be almost two. I shook Ari’s shoulder. “Neng, wake up!” Because of how close we were, that’s what I called him. He stretched and wiped the side of his mouth, which was slick with saliva.
“Come on, let’s go and find something to eat!”
“You’re hungry already?” he muttered lazily.
“I’m starving!”
Finally, we left for the warteg. We chose our favorites—chicken in kecap manis, plus chicken heads, sambal, and green beans—and took the paper packages of food back to the boarding house to eat. My stomach couldn’t wait to receive it. Alhamdulillah, after enjoying the food, my stomach was sated.
Ari immediately lit up a cigarette. Moments later, my phone rang—it was Teh Fika, one of the senior staff members at the clinic where I used to work.
“Re, your mother is here!” she said. “She’s come from Java. It looks like she’s sick. Her face is pale!”
My thoughts went flying. It was like my lips were clamped shut. My body trembled—I felt scared, sad, worried, confused, all at once.
“You’re not lying, are you?” I asked.
“Come to the clinic right now.”
I was silent. Tears sprang to my eyes.
“What’s wrong, Teh?” Ari asked me.
“My mother is here, Neng!” My thoughts became even more chaotic. I didn’t know what I should do.
My mind was sucked into a maze of sad memories. A few months ago, I’d returned to Purbalingga to meet my parents and tell them who I really was. Yes, I am a trans woman. I don’t want to live a lie; I want to be myself and express everything I feel. I contacted Mas Eko, my sibling, before going to my parents’ house, hoping that he’d support me. Instead, he said to meet him at a gas station, then told me to never come back. He forbade me from meeting my parents, and even refused to accept the gifts I’d brought for them. As a result, I decided to return to Bekasi and not send news for months.
“Yeah, alright already, Teh. Go see your Mama,” Ari said.
My lips trembled as I replied. “I need your help to bring her here, if that’s okay, Neng.”
While waiting for Ari to return with Mama, I thought over my decision. The last time I’d met my mother, I hadn’t changed my physical appearance yet—my hair had still been short, and I’d still worn men’s clothes, although I could never completely hide my feminine ways.
From a young age I’d already felt different from most of the boys—I’d happily played with dolls and pretended to cook, and really liked wearing my mother’s high heels. I was never comfortable being a boy.
After a while, I heard Ari’s scooter. My heart beat faster. Fear, confusion, sadness—all churned into one.
Standing in front of the small mirror with its cracked edges, I straightened the pink shirt I was wearing, afraid there might be something wrong about my appearance or perceived as rude. I combed my long hair, which fell to my waist, and straightened the extensions, which were often tangled.
Then, from the window, I saw my mother get off Ari’s scooter, wearing a long, loose-fitting dress. Her face was pale, her body looked frail. She also looked a little thinner.
I didn’t dare open the door—until finally, Ari entered, and I came out of the room.
Mama sobbed, yelling, “Astagfirullahaladzim! Astagfirullahaladzim!”
I wanted to press her hand to my lips in greeting, but she drew back—maybe she was disgusted at the sight of me, and unwilling to touch her own child. Her tears flowed.
I asked her to come inside my room, because I was afraid the neighbors would be disturbed or, more likely, get nosy.
Mama entered the room, crying and muttering prayers. “Oh Allah, why has my child become like this? What did I do wrong?” Her breaths were short from trying to contain her emotions.
I didn’t dare say a word, only tried to hold her hand tightly. I asked her to sit on the chair in front of the TV.
My mother fainted. Ari and I panicked. I was flustered because my mother had a history of high blood pressure. We tried to wake her up. I dabbed her nose with eucalyptus oil. I massaged her toes. I took off her long hijab so she wouldn’t overheat in the already sweltering room. I stroked her head while gazing at her face, which seemed exhausted. Her hair was all white now and her eyelids glistened with tears. The breath from her mouth and nose was warm. I too began to cry. This is all my fault, I thought.
Almost half an hour later, my mother still hadn’t woken up. I thought about calling an ambulance. As I searched for the address of the closest hospital, alhamdulillah, she began to open her eyes. Slowly, she came to her senses. I was flooded with relief seeing my mother once again reciting the names of Allah. Her body still looked drained, traces of tears still left on her weary face. I quickly made some hot sweet tea for her so she’d feel refreshed.
“Ma, drink a little of the tea,” I said in our local language.
“Yes,” she said, still staring strangely at me.
I started making small talk to diffuse the unsettling atmosphere. It had almost been four months since I’d spoken to my family.
“Ma, how’re things at home? Dad and the others are all healthy, aren’t they?”
“Your father’s healthy. He’s worried about you because it’s been so long since you’ve been in touch. He wouldn’t allow me to go to Bekasi, but I was determined. I wanted so badly to see you. I wanted to know how you were, Andri. I couldn’t stand missing you any longer, not being able to ask all the questions I had.”
“Ma, I’m asking for your forgiveness, for anything I’ve done wrong to you and the family. I’m ready to accept the consequences, Ma. I’m prepared for my family to be unable to accept me.”
“Why were you called Rere earlier at the clinic?”
“Well, Ma, my name is Rere now.”
“What’s happened to you? I’m shocked looking at you, with long hair, girl’s clothes, makeup…”
“I want to explain, Ma. This is me. I’m a woman. I really want to be open with my family, so that there are no secrets. I know there are things about me that my family won’t be able to accept, but what else can I do, Ma? I can’t lie to myself.”
“Did you mix with the wrong people or something? Oh, Allah! How could you change so much?”
“Ma, I’m not like this because of anyone. Not because of peer pressure, not because of others. This is the real me, Ma, who you’re looking at now. I’ve found happiness as a woman. I wasn’t comfortable with who I was before. Surely you sensed I was girly when I was young. I didn’t act like the boys.”
“Actually, I heard a few rumors from people. ‘Why has your child become a girl?’ The neighbors like to gossip. They said they saw it on Facebook or something. I don’t understand.”
“Ma, who said those things? What else did they say?”
“There’s one neighbor. Always gossiping about this and that. They said, ‘Your child has changed; your child is a waria now.’ It made me sick to hear it, which is why I came here to see you. I wanted to meet with you. To see for myself what’s happening with you. Hmph, it turns out what they said about you is true. I don’t know what I should do. Just the thought of explaining this to your father and the rest of the family pains me.”
“If you really want to explain to our family, go ahead, but if you’re still ashamed, you’d better not. Just wait—sooner or later they’ll find out. I don’t want others to blame you or Dad.”
“So, what else is going to change? What about your boobs?”
“I haven’t had any operations yet, Ma. Nothing has changed so far. I’ve done nothing to my boobs.”
“But your hair is long. What did you do to it?”
“It’s all hair extensions, Mama, to make me beautiful.”
With a heavy sigh, she smiled.
I asked her to drink the tea so she’d relax a little.
“I really miss Dad, Ma. I miss all of you, but what else can I do? It hurts, but I know what the situation is like. My name is Rere now, and I’m prepared for the worst, Ma. That time when I returned home, my friends came too. Ari, Dika, Hendra, Indra, they all came with me to the village when I wanted to see you. But it seems Mas Eko wasn’t ready to see me. Maybe he still thought I was a disgrace, so he didn’t let me meet with you and Dad. Honestly, I was so sad that Mas Eko could bear to do that to his own sibling. But, again, I just have to let it go. I also ask for your forgiveness for everything I’ve done, which you say has disgraced the family, shamed you. But I know everything those people say is wrong. I’m not a disgrace. I’ll prove it to them all!”
Mama took a deep breath. “I’m confused about what I should say to your father, but I’ll tell him the truth about all this.” She rubbed her chest. “Whatever happens, you’re my child.”
“Thank you so much, Ma. I’m sorry I can’t make you happy just yet. I promise I’ll make you all happy one day.”
We hugged. I felt an immense happiness at being able to hug my mother, whom I hadn’t seen for so long.
I asked Mama to rest for a while, to relieve her body, which seemed so depleted from sickness and her long journey.
She lay down on the mattress, steadied her breathing, and her body began to relax. The tension in her face began to fade. As I gazed at her, hope bloomed in my heart—that my family might accept me one day, and that this could be the start.
I WILL TRIUMPH
Insults
Slurs
Curses
Over and over I receive
Not just from ordinary people
They even come from those I love
My spirit is aflame
My soul is raging
Fighting and resisting suffering
Because I am certain
There will be joy
I am happy to be me
The real me
Whom many see as different
Whom many see as a disgrace
Aren’t we all the same in the universe and in God’s eyes?
There is no difference
We’re only separated in your mind
You’re the ones who compartmentalize
The fight in me will never be extinguished
Flashing like eternal fire
My joy will never fade
Grant freedom to my body
Release my soul
I will triumph
© Restya
English translation © Julia Winterflood
Restya hails from Purbalingga, Central Java, and is Miss Transchool 2017. Her hobbies are exercising and cooking. She is very interested in all things that are new and full of challenges.
Julia Winterflood is a freelance writer, editor, and translator who has called Indonesia home since 2014. She edits The Bali Beat newsletter, a daily roundup of the province’s biggest news and Covid-19 info. Previously she managed international media for Ubud Writers & Readers Festival.
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
