"TONIGHT WILL BE THE NIGHT OF HIS HUMILIATION."
My body, which was shivering from the extreme cold in Camp Ranca Upas, Ciwidey, West Java, suddenly disappeared when I heard the words of a man dressed all in black, sitting haughtily to my left with his arms crossed over his chest.
I myself did not understand the purpose of the game that the Familiarization Night Committee was playing in front of us, hundreds of students majoring in SAPPK [1]Architecture. We were all asked to sit in a circle on the lawn in the middle of the night, in the middle of the cold and windy pine forest mountain weather, with only HPI-T lamps connected to generators for lighting. Unlike the previous nights, there was no campfire. Intentionally or not, we were all left out in the cold. Rumour has it that this was a game of showmanship and a moment of peak opportunity to become a famous student in the department. A great opportunity for new students to exist.
A game consisting of two people standing opposite each other, accompanied by a referee. The two palms of each participant's hand form a handshake, meet, and the referee's task is to ask questions about basic architectural knowledge. The questions must be answered by a scramble between the contestants and quickly, with a loud clap on the back of the opponent's hand instead of a bell. The winner is the one who collects the fastest three points, as the loser is doused with a bucket of water and forced to do whatever the winner asks. Anything, even life. Oh, no. I made that part up, really.
"So far, no one can beat the class of 2013, even if you're an older class." The man's mouth made another sound and his voice was condescending, he realised I was watching him. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he looked at me and continued to chuckle, getting louder and louder.
"Who knows?" I said in reply. "Even though he's a freshman, if it turns out that his knowledge of architecture is very high - whether his opponent is a student with a GPA of three or a dropout - he can definitely win this game." I spoke without looking at his face, my eyes fixed on the small stage ten metres in front of me.
"Drop out?" The man with the buckled teeth laughed as he adjusted the green checkered sarong around his neck. "How can a dropout be clever? Nonsense!"
"It's also called 'who knows', what's the point of this game anyway?"
"Bro, are you a freshman?"
"No, I'm a transfer student."
His eyeballs were rolling. "No wonder. Don't talk too much. I'll bet if you stand in front, your brain will go blank immediately. I'll give you some advice: if someone challenges you to go up there, you'd better run. Instead of being embarrassed.
"All I know is that I'm not the kind of person who gets stage fright. So it's fine if someone wants to test my knowledge and architectural skills.
The big man in the batik sack finally won, he was the Class of 2013 the person next to me was talking about.
"Banjur... banjur... banjur..." all the students chanted the word together with euphoria. Banjur means flush in Sundanese. I understood because I am Sundanese and I immediately understood that this game has existed in this department for generations, after hearing the Banjur Yel sung in a distinctive singing tone, it seems to have become a culture.
Two students wearing the shirts of the organising committee were seen approaching the stage with a large red bucket filled with cold water, lifting it together and immediately pouring the entire contents over the defeated student. Immediately, the defeated man's body was drenched and he shivered from the cold without waiting long.
I grimaced at the thought of what the defeated student must have felt, as I myself was wearing a super thick jacket filled with poultry feathers, gloves, headgear, socks and a scarf, and could still feel the bone-chilling cold of the Ciwidey mountains. Not to mention the one being doused with cold water. This game is crazy. So, what does this man mean by "humiliated"?
"What's the punishment, huh?" The victor nodded his chin. "Take off your clothes, leaving only your underwear. Then sing Potong Bebek Angsa while you dance around all the tents here three times. Watch out, you have to dance. If you don't look like you're dancing, you'll have to start all over again." His finger pointed to the ground where the lost man's feet were.
My eyes widened. I can't imagine how humiliated and tormented she must be. This is social punishment, indirect group bullying. What good is this game? Rubbish! I have witnessed with my own eyes the bullying of a group of people and, unfortunately, I couldn't do anything about it because this kind of bullying took place in the name of a campus event and, of course, the target was the new students. This is considered normal and has become a culture. Damn it! In addition, hundreds of pairs of eyes will continue to remember this incident, remembering the face of the one who lost. Especially the one who became the target, for life will never forget.
People often forget that pain in the heart, in the mind, and especially in the soul, is very difficult to heal. Unlike the perpetrator who has scratched the wound, it's easy. Very... easy.
Shivering and chattering with cold, the loser had to take off his clothes one by one on the stage, leaving only his dark blue briefs. All the students laughed, except me. The raucous laughter intensified after the referee pointed to the small torn hole in Lose's panties at his bottom and made fun of it in a joke that was not funny in my eyes.
The mounting embarrassment overwhelmed the chill that seeped into the defeated man's pores, then he sang Potong Bebek Angsa, wiggled his hips and began to walk around.
I covered my eyes with my scarf, my brain seething, unable to bear such an embarrassing scene where I could do nothing for her.
"I want to challenge that transfer student sitting over there. The guy with the grey scarf over there."
Did I recognise that voice? I pulled back the scarf covering my eyes and looked at the source of the voice. Shit, the guy sitting next to me was now standing on the podium pointing his finger at me.
"Me?" I asked, pretending not to understand. Every pair of eyes turned to me.
"Yes, you, bag of bones! Who else?"
Cih, bag of bones. Calls that I'm used to hearing, at least I'm not as skinny as people think I am. I only looked and felt skinny because I always wore clothes that were one or two sizes bigger than my body size. The reason for this is very simple, because then I don't have to buy more clothes when my body starts to fill up with muscles. Yes, I know. My self-confidence is too high when in fact the action of going to the gym is much less than the self-motivation to fill the spare time in the bedroom snoring or playing console games.
The sound of applause and boisterous voices accompanied my steps to the stage. I stood straight in front of him and shone my retinas into his narrow eyes.
"Cha, you have the nerve to bring a new kid here. Why not find a worthy opponent?" The long-haired, untidy student who served as referee spoke to the man who had challenged me.
"Whatever, don't interfere. I have to teach him a lesson." He bent his thin back and took off his gloves.
I took off my gloves and put them in my jacket pocket. "So," I teased him, "your name is Chacha? How sweet."
"Bloody hell! My cave name is Alrescha, remember that!" he prepared by roughly pulling my left hand and flanking it. Our palms were now together.
The referee blew his whistle to signal the start of the match. All the students watching were silent, approaching silence, only the sound of the loser's singing could be heard faintly in the distance. A forced chant, his voice trembling, inhabited by the chatter of teeth clashing in the cold. My heart raged at the sound and wanted to do something about it.
"First question. Please listen carefully."
My eyes locked with Alrescha's, the air of competition fighting between us. A smile spread across her thin, dismissive mouth.
"When did the modern, paradigm-shifting design paradigm of religious and state power in architecture begin?"
Suddenly, Alrescha slapped me hard on the back of the hand, making me scream in pain. What should have been a slap, instead of a bell like before, turned into a hard slap. As if it was an opportunity for him to hurt me. How annoying.
"Yes, Rescha!"
"Renaissance."
"One point for Alrescha!"
A roar of applause greeted Alrescha's first victory. I nodded slowly, beginning to understand how the game was going. I hadn't paid much attention in the previous game. And I took the torture he gave me as a challenge to take him more seriously, even though I wasn't really interested in taking part in this petty game.
"Next question. The element of architecture according to Vitruvius is...'
Not to be outdone, my hand slapped the back of Alrescha's hand as hard as he had slapped mine. My slap made the loud sound of two human skins meeting, while Alrescha's little scream sounded rather spoilt to my ears.
"Venustas, Firmitas and Utilities," I replied.
"One point for?"
"Kale."
"One point for Kale!"
I smiled and nodded.
"Point one is the same. Okay, next question." He paused, "How much does an architect charge to renovate a house?"
"What kind of question is that?" Alrescha protested to the referee, "the fee depends on the experience of the architect, it can be high or low."
"Is that your answer?"
"No, change the question. It's not clear!"
"What ... you can't do that, Cha. The rules are clear..."
Again I slapped the back of Alrescha's hand hard.
"Aaaw... don't you hear me? I want to change the question, you idiot."
Without listening to what Alrescha had to say, I answered the referee's question. "There are three types of payment for services, the first is based on a percentage of the total construction cost, usually between 5% and 10%. For interiors, the fee can be as high as 20%. The higher the value of the construction, the lower the percentage".
"The second method is based on design per square metre, where the value of the service per square metre is different for architects, interior designers or landscape architects. In the third way, the client can buy the architect's drawings by the sheet".
"Two points for Kale! One more point and Kale wins. Be careful, Cha."
Alrescha shouted and hit the referee's arm, feeling that the question asked was unfair. I don't know... it seemed that he didn't understand the direction of the question asked by this boisterous man.
The atmosphere returned to silence, enveloped by the singing of the Lost One, whose voice grew fainter and fainter. The man still seemed to be singing, cruelly.
"What concept was used to build the temple of Borobudur?"
"The concept of building a pyramid!" Alrescha answered the question without hitting my hand first.
"Can you elaborate?"
"Yes, that's what it means-"
I quickly slapped his hand, cutting off the words of the spoilt boy in front of me, "The concept of fractal geometry!" I removed my hand from Alrescha's grasp and stood up straight, staring deep into his eyes.
Alrescha protested, "Didn't you hear me? I'm the one who answered first, don't be an idiot!"
"What? Who's nagging? Don't you have to ring the bell before you answer? You didn't hit my hand at all, you just answered as you pleased. So who's the nagger?" I asked, not wanting to be outdone. "You can't just be a senior and do whatever you want to a junior."
"What do you mean, huh?" He pointed his finger straight at my head.
The referee stepped between us and tried to stop the fight, "That's enough, that's enough, man. Do you want to continue?"
"How dare you with me?" Alrescha's hand tried to grab my body, which kept its distance and was blocked by the referee's body.
Seeing two people fighting on a small stage made the crowd even more excited and cheered, making the atmosphere even hotter and more exciting, but still under control.
I gave my argument to the referee, "As a referee you should be fair, I clearly followed the rules of this game. How the hell?"
"You talk a lot, don't be sorry if your long hair gets slippery when you leave here." Alrescha looked furious.
"Cha, that's enough! That means you don't respect me as a referee. Shame on you as a senior, instead of setting an example you're making a scene."
The applause from the crowd and the sound of whistles sounded like they were in a stadium for a prestigious match.
The referee spoke again, "Since you didn't follow the rules when answering the question, Kale will be allowed to answer."
"Fuck!" Alrescha growled.
The referee tugged at Alrescha's collar, as if he himself were angry at his friend's behaviour. "Aing wasit di dieu, hargaan aing. Jaga eta sungut tong neupi belel balik! [I'm the referee here, be respectful. Take care of your mouth so it doesn't get fucked up when you go home! *Rough Sundanese language]"
I was silent as I heard the whisper, which was clearly audible to my ears.
"This is the deciding round, two points equal. If you act up again, I will not hesitate to disqualify you and declare Kale the winner."
The crowd was boisterous, but after a while it quietened down and the atmosphere was controlled by the referee, who began to dominate and regulate the game.
"Let me rephrase the question. What was the concept behind the construction of the Borobudur temple? And you answered?"
"The concept of fractal geometry."
"Okay, so-"
I interrupted the referee's words by continuing the explanation. "Fractals are geometric shapes that have elements that are similar to their overall shape. The Borobudur building has an order that fulfils the element of the ratio 9:6:4. The ratio is present in the comparison of the height of the three parts of the temple.
"They are the Arupadhatu or Formless World - the main stupa and the stupas that form a circle, the Rupadhatu or Formless World - the parts that include the stupas on the square platform, and the Kamadhatu or Pleasurable World - the feet.
"Using computational cellular automata[2] modelling, it was found that Candi Borobudur obeys the rules of 816 2-dimensional cellular automata in a 3-dimensional space system. This modelling was used by our ancestors when they built Borobudur by stacking stone blocks with a stone stacking pattern of 6, 7, 9, 10".
There was no more singing from the man in the blue underwear, everyone was quiet, calm, listening to my explanation. Including the referee who had asked this difficult question, he thought I would answer his question briefly, not in so much detail.
"Who would have thought that people who lived thousands or even hundreds of thousands of years ago could be so much more intelligent, civilised and modern than those of us who claim to be more advanced in civilisation?" I smiled triumphantly.
Suddenly, one by one, the applause began, my victory was absolute. Alrescha was still frozen in place, unable to believe her defeat. I had assumed that Alrescha would win this game every year, it was obvious from the arrogance she had shown since our first conversation.
Two punishment men approached, carrying buckets of water, ready to pour them all over Alrescha's body. I immediately refused, "No! I don't want him punished for losing this cheap game."
"Th-that's your request?" The referee stammered.
"Yes. But can I replace it with something else?"
Both eyebrows rose, granting my request.
"I'd like the chastised man to get dressed, he's cold. And don't forget to give him a warm drink so he doesn't get hypothermia. It's the organisers's responsibility, not ours."
He agreed and asked the Punishment Team to bring him in from the cold.
Alrescha approached me quietly, leaning forward and speaking in a half-whisper, not wanting to be overheard by the other students. "I'm sorry if I spoke harshly to you earlier. Actually... I still can't believe that the student with the highest IP in the faculty, namely me, can lose to a transfer student like you." Again, there was arrogance at the end of his apology.
"Take it easy, you don't have to apologise and be embarrassed. After all, the one who beat you was a transfer student from the University of Indonesia with an IP of 4. I'm sure you mean 'highest IP'. It's not 4, is it?" I patted him twice on the shoulder and walked away, joining the rest of the students who were dispersing to their respective tents.
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"History is written by Winners.
So, most history books are about people who win."
-Harold S. Kushner-
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"Fiksi adalah cara terbaik untuk mengungkap Fakta."
(Fiction is the best way to reveal facts)
-Andrea Hirata-
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[1] "SAPPK (Sekolah Arsitektur, Perencanaan, dan Pengembangan Kebijakan)", School of Architecture, Planning and Policy Development.
[2] A cellular automaton may be defined as a mathematical model of a physical system in which the space and time of the system are made discrete.