It was scorching hot one afternoon, a call from the police station asking me to come.
My mind mess.
I went straight to the police station as informed. After being asked about the purpose and objectives, the officer led me into a narrow, stuffy room. Prison room.
I could hardly believe the sight before me.
Dressed in a white singlet and shorts, I barely recognized the man in front of me. The closest person in my life just like strangers I've never met. Like a pickpocket that has just been caught in the market. Sitting on the floor helplessly.
So sad.
I didn't say anything, just held back tears in my eyes. A large boulder felt stifled in my chest. I couldn't stand to see the man in such a miserable condition any longer, so I walked out of the room.
***
I never imagined in my life dealing with Hotel Prodeo. He's my Bintang. The father of my child. Huddled alone in there, the cold and damp prison room.
Bintang reportedly unfulfilled the scope of work according to the contract. He never completed the project accordingly. Under the cooperation agreement, he was required to pay a fine of 50 million. The prosecutor will withdraw his claim upon the penalty being compensated.
I don't know how he always had problems with his finance; inevitably, I was involved. He was always in bondage for debt and not keeping his promise; covering it up on and on is challenging. It's like taking many steps back, sometimes drowning.
Without thinking, I put all my strength into looking for loans for several friends. In a short time, I could collect the amount of money needed to free Bintang from captivity.
"What are you doing, Bu... the person like that is defended?" The officer at the police station regretted it when I signed all the case files.
I'm silent. Not knowing the answer, all I feel is pity and pity.
That night Bintang was released from prison after a week of languishing there. His status is still under house arrest, and I am the protector.
No hugs or thanks, as usual. As if it was my duty, his wife. Or maybe Bintang doesn't know how it's supposed to be.
Again I feel lost...
***
The other week,
I had just picked up Bright from swimming when I saw a lot of people gathered on the terrace. I heard a hysterical woman cursing at the man in front of her, shouting, "Due! Due date!".
To my surprise, the man was my husband, Bintang, again shouting back at the woman even more loudly while raising a hand to her face. Then it was seen that the head of the village came to intervene. The neighbor came out of the house.
I postpone to park the car but passed the house slowly. I didn't want Bright and friends to see that sight. I circled the compound a few times until the crowd disperse.
I can only be silent. Don't want to know what the problem is. Or maybe it's too obvious. I just feel sorry for the woman, but I am powerless.
Shame not to ask. I can imagine how the whole complex would talk about it. Maybe some people judge me as a wife who demands a lot to plunge the husband into debt. I felt like I was thrown into the deepest abyss.
Crushed.
But at home later, I know, everything will go as usual. Like nothing ever happened. Bintang won't say anything. And I'm not going to ask anything. Incidents like this were never discussed.
Tired.
There is always something new to disappoint every day. Disappointment that was never channeled into anger. Hidden silence.
Bintang is never physical, but the effects of the negative energy they emit are more devastating than physical violence. And there is no evidence of violence. Invisible. The negative energy has a poison-like effect that causes all the work I do to be messy and deadly.
I know my life is stuck, one step back, two steps back, back and forth, round and round, because of the same problem.
We need to change our habits and mindsets to improve the situation, but unfortunately, Bintang never realize there was something to change. Bintang felt that nothing was wrong.
A marriage involves two people. It takes two to tango. Otherwise, you will inevitably become a victim. And I don't want to be a victim.
Victim of unconsciousness.
***