Yellow today. I won't say when, what day, what date, or even what year. Because I'm not a mother, who will write in detail about what she experienced a few years ago.
What is clear today, is the third week of February. Where the drizzle always greets us every day. Same thing this morning. When the season shoots fresh tea leaves undermining to be picked immediately. But the weather doesn't want to understand just for a moment to show the sun.
This village is no longer the same as it used to be, which Mom and Dad said was very primitive, both in terms of thought and condition. Thanks to the smart house that Mother established, as well as the care of the government, finally several elementary schools were established in Karanganyar. Of course, in junior high school, and high school don't forget to start thinking too.
Also the clothes of those who used to prefer jarik-jarik (Javanese cloth) to be made into a bag, so that the smooth breasts of women are clearly visible. Now, they prefer to wear skirts, otherwise, a negligee is another option. Meanwhile, the ancient kebayas are still held in high esteem by the village elders. According to them, ancestral heritage should not be turned off just like that. We as young people have to preserve it. Honestly, I agree. However, of course, these are positive things. it is also impossible for taboos to be brought up until now. Old fashioned, out of date.
"Earlier you said he asked to be picked up, how come now you are daydreaming on the bench, isn't it, Juna?"
I looked at the source of the voice. Uncle Junet, apparently. He is the son of Grandma Romelah, my mother's aunt.
I remained silent, while watching the street in front of the smart house. Yes, now I'm sitting in the smart house. To just wait for the rain, which at some point will fade away.
Again, I looked at the road ahead, some garden pickers were running home. They shouldn't have come. Due to heavy rain, it is certain that it will fall all day. How anxious they were when they saw it was empty. In fact, such a small cap is expected to protect their bodies from getting wet.
It can be seen clearly, how their heels look smooth running in the rain. In fact, the splash of andosol soil could not cover their beautiful heels.
"What, after all, are you looking at? Those girls running around?" guess uncle Junet is curious.
I was still silent while exhaling my heavy breath. The man standing in front of me seems thick with his father's blood. In fact, Romelah's grandmother was made to cry because of it.
How could it not be, after a month of his marriage to a woman in the next village, Junet's uncle simply said that he didn't love her. Though reportedly, the woman was pregnant young. Barbaric, indeed.
"Instead of daydreaming. After all, no one is picking tea leaves today, how about we go to Mariisah's grandmother's shop? It's cold drinking coffee while eating sticky rice, that's delicious!" he called for an idea.
Then, he immediately grabbed my hand to leave. While on the other hand holding an umbrella that uncle used to umbrella me. He shouldn't be like this. After all, he is my uncle. My family. I'm sure, if mom and dad were here, they'd be furious to see this. Seeing an uncle who ruled over his own nephew.
"You know, uncle. Luckily Mom and Dad don't live in Kemuning. If so, you're dead."
"That's it again, that's again, after all, that's what you're talking about, Juna. I told you, I don't love Yusri. How come you don't believe it either!" he argued.
He really is a bastard. I know the reason he left his wife was for a village widow whose husband just died a week ago. The news has been blowing by word of mouth. In fact, Romelah grandmother was very embarrassed because of it. Yes, only because of that woman, whom Junet's uncle thinks is not a joke. Indeed the male brain will never be separated from the size of the chest and big buttocks.
Bruck!
I was startled when my body suddenly stumbled forward. I saw a woman fall with her hat and throat. The skirt was very shabby, you could even say it was tattered. Who is this shabby, ignorant woman? Are there still people left behind in Kemuning like hrt?
"Sorry, Skipper. I didn't mean to," she said, still in a falling position. She looked in pain, maybe that's why she couldn't stand up.
I cut off my dirty shirt because of the ignorant village woman. Then, I left and was followed by Uncle Junet.
"Why don't you help, Juna? Don't you feel sorry?" asked Uncle Junet.
I looked at him briefly and then I replied, "why should I feel sorry for a beggar like her? In fact, my clothes have been dirty because of it."
"She is not a beggar. Don't be careless, you are," argued Uncle Junet.
What's this? Why am I being blamed for a completely unimportant woman? Whether she is a beggar, whether he is a princess of the palace, obviously has nothing to do with me.
"She's the wife of Muri, the son of the rich Mislan!" he continued.
If the ragged woman was really the wife of the famous rich Muri, how come her clothes are that shabby? I even know her husband well. Wherever, he will always prioritize appearance to look perfect.
***
Arriving at Grandmother Mariisah's stall, Junet and I chose to sit inside. The cot outside was already packed with cows, as well as people who were too lazy to just sit at home waiting for their wife's breakfast to be cooked.
"Coffee and two sticky rice, Grandma," said Uncle Junet as he sat down, then I sat beside him.
Grandmother Mariisah smiled, then she tilted her face and exclaimed, "Arni, two coffees, and two sticky rice, ya!"
"Don't forget to tempe's (Javanese food) fried too," added Uncle Junet.