5 - my precious pearl

In the early chapters of my life, my first two girl best friends were Teteh and Mama. 

And the third spot was reserved for someone with no blood ties. 

Her name was Mutiara. 

It means Pearl in English. 

We first met during our kindergarten days. 

Our shared love for Sailormoon was what brought us closer. 

Our school days were inseparable. 

We had our favorite, secret spot in the backyard, away from the hustle and bustle of other kids.

We would play swings there and talked and laughed and talked again and laughed again. 

Once, at recess, there were twins who kicked me in the stomach just because they didn’t want to wait for their turn.

Mutiara came to my rescue, checking on me.

Then she ran to Bu Yani to report it while I still remained frozen in shock.

She then declared that she no longer wanted to play with the troublesome twins ever again. 

How could I not love her?

Our friendship extended beyond the school gates. 

Living just 500 meters apart, we’d visit each other’s house at least twice a week.

Our playdates were filled with showing off our collections of hologram Sailormoon cards.

Whenever I visited Mutiara’s house, we’d always turn her bak mandi into our make-believe bathtub.

We’d soak there and wouldn’t get out, not until our fingers got all wrinkly. 

Then with those temporary wrinkled skin, we’d talk as if we were toothless grandmas.

Our bathroom creativity also included the soap sledding on the bathroom floor.

We would spread the liquid soap all over the floor and add some splash of water. 

If the floor had been slippery, falling was a must.

We'd both laugh when one of us took a tumble.

Post-bath, it was Sailormoon time.

In the late '90s, Sailormoon aired on TV.

And our afternoons were always dedicated to watching it.

We couldn't miss an episode. 

Following the show, we’d engage in activities like coloring or reading magazines.

Mutiara subscribed to Ina, while I was a loyal reader of Bobo. 

Beyond playtime, Mutiara and I shared similar interests, including participating in traditional dance classes.

We practiced together in the school auditorium, gearing up for our first performance at Taman Mini Indonesia Indah.

On the big day, Mutiara looked so stunning with makeup.

I, too, had makeup on. But I had shed some tears earlier because I felt like a walking ondel-ondel with my red lipstick.

I remember Teteh laughing at my makeup as well.

Although Mama & Ayah insisted otherwise, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were just being kind.

Ayah had been reminding me since morning to look in his direction & to smile while dancing because he had his camera ready.

A directive I completely forgot in the middle of the crowd.

When the dance finally started,

Mama gestured for me to smile and pointed to her own lips, showing me how.

I didn't realize that I had a frown on my face throughout the dance.

Well, I was sweating bullets!

The heat and the uncomfortable traditional attire had caused rashes on my skin. 

My eczema had flared up on my neck, arms, hands, legs, and feet.

And to make matters worse, the eczema ointment was in Mama's bag.

She couldn't come backstage before the show. 

Another reason for my frown was the overwhelming number of audience. 

Maybe there were thousands of them. I’m not kidding. It was so crowded. 

During rehearsals at school, only a few boys in the class watched us, never more than ten.

After the dance, I took a photo with my group of dancers. 

I stood next to Mutiara, and we held each other’s hands, but it wasn't visible in the picture. 

Time flew. 

After graduating from kindergarten, Mutiara and I entered the same elementary school but found ourselves in different classes. 

Unfortunately, her time at the school was brief, not lasting more than one Caturwulan.

Mutiara’s family moved far away to Jogja, or some other places they called Jawa. 

We promised to keep in touch, and for a while, we did.

But, life took over.

Our calls slowly faded away. 

No more long phone calls. 

Not even quick stroll-by hellos.

Several years later, when I was 10 and armed with a new handphone, I attempted to reconnect.

I dialed her home phone number, only to find out Mutiara had moved again… leaving me with no way to reach her. 

Now, the idea of reconnecting with Mutiara via social media crossed my mind. 

Should I tweet, “Twitter, please do your magic”?

Is there really a chance for magic to bring us back together?

4 - the sour school

It turns out school was not as lovely as Teteh's stories made it sound.

When it was my turn to be a kindergarten student, I wasn't that thrilled.

The excitement was nowhere to be found. 

Too many strangers.

Too many unfamiliar faces.

The school building itself was different.

I didn't end up to the school my sister attended a year before.

We moved to a new house. Consequently, we enrolled in a school close to our new home.

My excitement about going to school quickly faded.

Sure, my sister was around as my senior, but everything was still new.

And being in a completely foreign place made me feel all jittery inside. 

The only thing I liked about this new school was my compassionate teacher, Bu Yani.

She was exceptionally pretty, with long black hair and always wearing dark red lipstick.

What I loved most was that she wore boots, just like me!

And this reminded me of the first time I experienced bullying.

I recall playing alone on the swings during recess when a classmate dropped a bomb in front of me:

"Ena, your shoes are weird.”

Spicing things up, my 2 other friends were laughing at her comment while pointing at my boots. 

I was stunned and hurt.

I didn't know it was a form of bullying.

Teteh had never shared stories about friends saying hurtful things.

No one had ever told me how painful it could be when something I loved was ridiculed in front of me.

I nearly burst into tears.

The boots actually belonged to Teteh. I borrowed them that morning.

Teteh and I shared a pair of dark purple suede boots since our feet were the same size, allowing us to exchange shoes.

Lost in thought about Teteh, I wondered how she would react if she knew this. 

And why having friends at school wasn't as fun as Teteh said it would be?

Had someone ever been this mean to her?

Had she ever kept some secret from me?

Had she ever been bullied?

Was this normal?

I wanted to scream my lungs out.

But silence won the battle inside me. 

--

When the bell rang, Mama picked us up at the front gate.

In front of the kindergarten, a vendor was selling Indonesian traditional snacks.

We made it a daily stop. No kidding. 

Every day after school, Mama would get me my all-time fave sponge cake, Bolu Pelangi!!!

It was the highlight of my day. 

That sweet treat made the bullying nonsense vanish into thin air. 

At least for a little while.

--

I never spoke to anyone about the incident with the boots.

Not until some weeks later when Mama asked why I never wore them again.

Well, I didn't say what happened to Mama because Teteh was there and I didn’t want to upset Teteh.

She wore the boots more frequently than I did. 

That morning, Mama convinced me that my outfit, if styled with the boots, would be fantastic. 

I agreed with her.

So... After a long time, I wore them again.

But seriously, going to school with something my friends hated??? It felt like torture. 

So the unspoken social rule was:

Your love for your favorite things doesn't matter one bit. 

No one cares about your preferences. 

If your friends (or even just a friend, --singular) find your stuff irritating, you need to pretend that you don't like it either... to please them.

To be liked.

To be accepted. 

To fit in. 

It was downright pathetic. 

Those bullies were not even my close friends.

But my tiny 4-year-old heart was still desperate for their nod of approval.

I was scared all the way to school.

I was on the verge of tears. 

School sucked. 

After arriving in front of the class, Mama left us.

Did I mention that Teteh was in the same school as me, but we didn't play together at school?

She preferred spending time with her classmates.

And that was one of the major reasons why school wasn’t fun for me. 

On that day, my teacher, the very kind Bu Yani, leaned toward me and said,

"Ena, I like your boots. I wear boots, too! Look at mine! The only difference is that mine is black, and yours is dark purple. But yours is cooler. Is that suede???"

Wow...

I loved her.

So much.

She had always been my absolute favorite.

And the fact that Bu Yani complimented my boots, the ones my friends had mocked, made me smile from ear to ear.

Cherry on top: she didn't just whisper it to me!!!

She said it loud and clear enough for the whole class to hear.

My friends couldn't miss it.

Neither could those 3 bullies.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

And just like that... I fell in love with school and with my boots... all over again.