Hello, I am Madeline -- A True Story (part 3)

HOW NAÏVE YOU WERE, MADELINE

Some of you might wonder, was I one of those rich Chinese girls?

Or was I a poor?

I sounded like poor.

You might prefer me being poor. It certainly fit the theme.

The truth is, I was both.

I had been a rich little girl who always wore matching dresses and socks and shoes.

But I had also been very poor that I had to tape my backpack because my mother couldn’t afford buying me a new bag.

My father was a very hardworking man, but at the same time, he’s a very big spender, and was lousy in bookkeeping. We were going from filthy rich family to piss poor in a blink of an eye.

My father was the one who built one of Surabaya’s iconic buildings. He also built several other malls such as that are now being reserved by the government.

Life was peachy and a fine form of perfection. Only in the eyes of the outsiders.

You know what they say about how money can’t buy happiness?

Well, darlings, it’s true.

My father went bankrupt when my little brother was born. He lost his construction job and we went downhill so fast before we had time to recover from the shock.

I was in the middle of Junior High School at that time. My brother was under scholarship so we had no problem with his, but we’re struggling with my school tuition.

My monthly school payment was always late, sometimes to the point where they asked me to leave the classroom because I wasn’t “eligible” to study.

Then my mother would come to the head of the school, begging for some time allowance. For help. For anything to get me back into the class.

My dad, as tough as he was to us, he was a coward to public.

He never came to the school. Too embarrassed. Too arrogant.

When it was the graduation time, we couldn’t afford the end of school year party fee.

They called my parents and my mother came, bringing a pair of shoes with her.

My father worked at a shoes factory at that time, and he stole a pair of woman pumps and gave them to my mother.

She went to the school, met with the head of the institution, and begged for “discount”.

She offered the shoes. She unwrapped the plastic bag she carried, took out the box, opened the lid and put the shoes on the desk.

The shoes were dark grey, chunky heels, formal style.

The head of the institution, Syenna, didn’t even blink an eye to them. Not even a glance to the pair of grey poor shoes lying hopelessly on her desk, begging to be accepted.

She shook her head and said, “How many times have you come here asking for discount, for time extension, for help? How long do I have to endure you and your rebellious daughter?”

My mother cried. Syenna didn’t even twitch an eye.

Didn’t even offer tissue. She just sat on her swivel chair, round and round. Like a teacup in a fair.

I hated her.

And she knew I hated her.

She looked at me and said, “Why can’t you be like your brother?”

I answered her. “Because I am not him.”

“Yes, that’s exactly the problem. Your mother would not have to come here if you were like your brother.”

I really hated her.

She shooed my mother away like a fly, gave us a two week time extension to pay off. Sent back the shoes with her. Told her to, “sell the shoes to pay off some of the party ticket fee.”

We went out and in the becak that took us home, I said to my mother.

“Never again will you go to her. Never. I’d rather stop going to school then to see you begging to her like that. Promise me you will never do it again.”

My mother cried but didn’t answer.

This should have made me the perfect target for bullying.

When I was young, I was a total nerd.

Glasses, curly big hair, acnes, kinda of fat, bookworm. Poor.

Every time a teacher came over to our class and called me out, the other students gossiped.

They knew what it was for.

I ticked every box for “how to identify a bully target”.

They made fun of me, of my poorness, of my appearance.

But always behind my back.

Because I didn’t give them the chance to speak in front of me.

I had witnessed enough bullying in my own house and I would not tolerate anymore outside the house.

I’ve got a big man bullying my mother, my sister, and my brother. Some junior high school adolescent boys with acnes and fake muscles didn’t scare me.

The positive note from having an abusive father is that you have somehow lost your tolerance for bullshit.

You are not scared of anything.

Plus the fact that the richest boy in school was in love with me and we dated on and off for two years.

So either they all befriended me because of this fact, or because of being intimidated by me.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t have many friends. I only had one best friend, whom I spent almost my every afternoon sitting on the floor of her room, reading books, listening to music, talking, or sometimes just napping.

She was the only one who looked at me for who I was.

She only cared for Madeline.

She was my best friend for a very long time.

Her mother was aware of my struggling. She offered money. She gave me food.

But I was a pride girl.

I swore to myself, no one, NO ONE, would ever make me beg like my mother did.

Not for money, not for help, not for anything.

I swore that I would stand by myself, and I would not need anyone else.

That I would survive on my own if I had to.

That I’d rather end up alone than having to live under someone else’ mercy.

Oh, how naïve you were, Madeline.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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Mungkin, beberapa dari kalian bertanya-tanya. Apakah aku salah satu gadis keturunan Tionghoa yang kaya raya?

Atau, aku ini orang miskin?

Aku terdengar seperti orang miskin.

Kalian mungkin lebih memilih aku sebagai orang miskin. Cocok dengan temanya.

Kenyataannya, aku ini keduanya. Ya kaya, ya miskin.

Aku pernah menjadi gadis cilik yang kaya, yang selalu memakai gaun yang serasi dengan kaos kaki dan sepatuku.

Tapi, aku juga pernah amat miskin. Aku pernah harus melakban tasku, karena Mama tidak sanggup membelikan tas baru untukku.

Ayahku adalah seorang pekerja keras, tapi di saat yang sama, dia juga pemboros dan malas mencatat pengeluarannya.

Kami sekonyong-konyong berubah, dari keluarga kaya, menjadi keluarga miskin hanya dalam satu kedipan saja.

Ayahku adalah orang yang membangun salah satu bangunan terkenal di Surabaya. Dia juga membangun beberapa mal yang sekarang sudah dipugar oleh pemerintah.

Kehidupan kami terlihat benar dan sempurna saat itu, terutama bagi orang luar.

Pernahkah kamu mendengar bahwa uang tidak bisa membeli kebahagiaan?

Itu benar, Sayang.

Ayahku bangkrut ketika adik laki-lakiku lahir. Dia kehilangan pekerjaan konstruksinya, dan kami pun terpuruk dengan cepat, bahkan sebelum kami sadar dari keterkejutan kami.

Saat itu, aku masih SMP.

Kakak laki-lakiku yang sekolahnya dibiayai beasiswa, tentu tak masalah. Berbeda denganku yang harus berjuang, agar bisa membayar SPP.

Aku selalu terlambat membayar SPP. Kadang, aku sampai diusir dari kelas karena aku dianggap tak mampu sekolah di sana.

Kalau sudah begitu, Mama akan datang ke sekolah dan memohon pada kepala sekolah agar memberi kami waktu lagi. Pokoknya, aku harus terus sekolah.

Bagaimana dengan Papa?

Dia pengecut. Dia tak pernah datang ke sekolahku. Terlalu malu, terlalu sombong.

Ketika saatnya kelulusan, kami tidak dapat membayar uang pesta perpisahan.

Sekolah memanggil orangtuaku, dan seperti biasa Mama yang datang.

Saat itu, Papa bekerja di sebuah pabrik sepatu. Papa mencuri sepasang sepatu wanita, dan memberikannya pada Mama.

Sepatu itu dibawa Mama ke sekolah.

Mama menawarkan sepatu itu pada ketua yayasan, agar aku diberikan diskon pembayaran uang pesta perpisahan.

Mama membuka tas kresek yang dia bawa, mengeluarkan kotak sepatu, membukanya, dan menaruh sepatu itu di meja.

Sepatu itu bewarna abu, berhak tebal, sepatu resmi lah.

Ketua yayasan, Bu Syenna, sama sekali tidak melirik sepatu itu. Sepatu itu terpaku begitu saja di atas meja, seolah memohon agar Bu Syenna menerimanya.

Bu Syenna menggelengkan kepala, “Berapa kali sudah kamu datang ke sini dan meminta diskon, perpanjangan waktu dan lain-lain? Berapa lama saya harus melakukan ini terus, untukmu dan untuk anakmu yang sulit diatur itu?”

Mama menangis. Bu Syenna, bergeming.

Dia bahkan tidak menawarkan tisu. Dia hanya duduk dan memutar-mutar kursinya. Seperti wahana di pasar malam yang berbentuk cangkir teh. Berputar-putar.

Aku benci Bu Syenna.

Dan dia tahu itu.

Dia memandangku dan berkata, “Kenapa sih, kamu nggak bisa kayak kakakmu?”

Aku menjawab, “Karena aku bukan dia,”

“Ya! Itulah masalahnya. Mamamu tidak perlu datang dan seperti ini, jika kamu bisa seperti kakakmu!”

Aku benar-benar benci dia.

Dia lalu mengibaskan tangan, mengusir Mama seperti orang mengusir lalat. Dia memberi kami waktu dua minggu lagi untuk membayar.

“Jual saja sepatu itu untuk membayar sebagian uang perpisahan.”

Dalam perjalanan pulang naik becak, aku berkata pada Mama.

“Jangan pernah lagi Mama menghadap dia. Lebih baik aku berhenti sekolah saja, daripada melihat Mama memohon  padanya seperti itu. Ma, janji ya. Jangan lakukan itu lagi,”

Mama menangis, namun tidak menjawab.

Hal ini membuatku target yang sempurna untuk dirisak.

Di masa itu, aku amat culun.

Berkacamata, rambut ikal, jerawat di mana-mana, gemuk, dan selalu membaca buku. Kasihan.

Setiap kali seoran guru datang ke kelasku dan memanggilku untuk keluar, murid yang lain pun bergosip.

Mereka tahu, mengapa aku dipanggil.

Aku adalah target perisakan yang sempurna.

Teman-temanku menertawakan kemiskinanku, juga penampilanku yang culun.

Tentu, mereka hanya berani di belakangku.

Aku tidak akan pernah memberi mereka kesempatan untuk bicara seperti itu di hadapanku.

Aku sudah cukup menyaksikan perisakan di rumahku, dan aku tidak akan menerima adanya perisakan di luar rumah.

Aku sudah punya pria dewasa yang merisak Mama, aku, dan kakak-kakakku. Segerombolan remaja cowok dengan jerawat dan otot palsu, tak membuatku takut.

Salah satu hal postitif yang kudapat dari memiliki Papa seperti itu adalah, kamu tidak akan mentolerir hal-hal omong kosong.

Kamu tidak akan takut apapun.

Oya, saat itu aku punya pacar. Dan pacarku adalah murid terkaya di sekolah. Akhirnya, teman-teman yang lain pun mau berteman denganku. Entah karena pengaruh pacarku, entah karena takut padaku.

Aku tak peduli.

Aku tak punya banyak teman. Aku hanya punya satu teman baik. Aku sering menghabiskan waktu bersamanya, duduk di lantai kamarnya, membaca buku, mendengarkan lagu, ngobrol, dan kadang ya hanya tidur siang.

Dia satu-satunya teman yang memandangku apa adanya/

Dia peduli padaku.

Kami bersahabat cukup lama.

Ibunya pun baik. Dia paham kondisiku. Dia menawariku uang, dan memberi makanan.

Tapi, aku gadis jumawa.

Aku bersumpah pada diriku sendiri, TIDAK ADA SIAPAPUN, yang bisa membuatku memohon seperti yang Mama lakukan.

Tidak untuk uang, tidak untuk bantuan, tidak untuk apapun.

Aku bersumpah, aku akan berdiri di kakiku sendiri.

Aku tidak butuh siapapun.

Aku akan berjuang untuk hidupku sendiri.

Aku lebih memilih berakhir sendirian, daripada harus hidup di bawah belaskasihan orang lain.

Oh, betapa naifnya kamu, Madeline.