Seharusnya aku berhati-hati mendeklarasikan kata sahabat bersama seseorang setelah dua kali gagal membina persahabatan dengan orang-orang yang salah, orang-orang yang tidak bisa mempercayaiku dan aku percaya. Seharusnya aku mengenalnya lebih jauh sebelum aku benar-benar terlena oleh semua yang ia ceritakan padaku, tentang kekasihnya, teman-temannya, prestasinya, perjalanannya ke berbagai tempat. Seharusnya aku bisa melihat dengan logis orang macam apa dia sebelum aku mengaguminya dan menganggap bahwa ia adalah orang hebat yang bisa membuat dunia ini jungkir balik. Aku bahkan hampir mati karena iri padanya.

Sekarang ia terbaring di rumah sakit setelah mengalami kecelakaan berat di depan universitas tempat kami kuliah. Keadaannya saat inilah yang membuatku baru membuka mata, bahwa tak ada seorangpun yang datang mengunjunginya atau menanyakan keadaannya pada keluarganya, kecuali teman-teman sekampus kami, itu pun hanya beberapa dari mereka. Di mana teman-temannya di luar negeri yang sering ia ceritakan padaku? Di mana orang-orang institusi swasta yang kelak akan memperkerjakan dia setelah lulus kuliah nanti? Aku membawa ponselnya selama dua hari ini ia dirawat di rumah sakit dan tak ada satu pun yang menghubungi, baik lewat SMS maupun telepon, baik dari dalam maupun luar negeri. Jika memang ia punya banyak teman dan relasi, tahu tidak tahu mereka akan keadaannya, mereka pasti menghubunginya karena itulah yang sering ia ceritakan padaku.

Melihat kondisinya saat ini, aku tidak hanya kasihan, tapi juga merasa aneh. Curiga lebih tepatnya, curiga bahwa semua ini tidaklah nyata. Segala sesuatu yang ia ceritakan padaku selama setahun lebih ini tidaklah nyata. Entah kenapa, aku merasa bahwa semuanya hanya bohong belaka.

Di sisi lain, tiba-tiba saja aku teringat pada mantan kekasihnya yang pernah ia ceritakan padaku. Ia bilang mantan kekasihnya itu adalah seorang pengusaha kaya asal Inggris yang berekspansi ke Indonesia, tepatnya di Jakarta, dan dari situlah ia bertemu dengannya. Ia bercerita padaku, mantan kekasihnya itu meninggal karena tertabrak taksi di sebuah daerah rawan kecelakaan di Barcelona ketika ia sedang mengurus bisnisnya di Spanyol. Aku teringat pada Andrew Jackson karena faktor ‘kecelakaan’ yang sama-sama terjadi pada sahabatku dan mantan kekasihnya itu, betapa mereka sungguh mengalami nasib yang sama.

Ibunya menghampirku di depan pintu kamar inap kelas tiga tempat sahabatku itu dirawat, dan bertanya apakah aku masih belum ingin pulang. Aku mengangguk kecil menandakan keinginanku untuk pulang karena aku sendiri sudah berada di sini sejak tiga jam yang lalu.

Tiba-tiba, tanpa bisa kucegah, mulutku mengucapkan nama Andrew Jackson, “Saya jadi ingat tentang Andrew, Bu.”

“Siapa?” tanya beliau.

“Andrew, Ibu… Andrew Jackson. Kira-kira setengah tahun yang lalu dia meninggal karena kecelakaan di Spanyol. Ya kan, Bu?”

“Kecelakaan? Di Spanyol?” ibunya tampak kebingungan mendengar pernyataanku.

“Iya.” jawabku tegas.

“Innalillahi…Andrew itu siapa, ya? Apa dia pacarnya Mbak Atira?”

Sekejap perasaan curigaku membesar. “Oh, bukan, Bu. Bukan pacar saya. Andrew itu kan, dulu pacarnya Kiera. Pengusaha asal Inggris itu, Ibu ingat?” kataku seakan-akan mengingatkan ibu sahabatku akan mantan calon menantunya dulu karena Kiera, sahabatku itu, pernah bercerita kalau mereka sudah bertunangan.

“Pacarnya Kiera?” beliau mengerutkan dahi karena kebingungan. “Setahu Ibu, Kiera nggak pernah punya pacar. Ibu nggak pernah tahu dia punya pacar.”

Aku terdiam sejenak. Mungkin tidak sopan menginvestigasi sahabat sendiri ketika

ia sedang sekarat di kamar inap, tapi rasa penasaranku sudah tidak bisa ditahan lagi. “Atau mungkin Kiera menyembunyikan sesuatu dari Ibu?” tanyaku nekat.

“Nggak mungkin. Kiera itu anaknya jujur, dia selalu cerita sama ibu kalau ada apa-apa sama dia. Dia juga nggak pernah neko-neko, kalau nggak kuliah, paling-paling pergi sama adiknya.”

“Nggak pernah pergi ke luar kota, Bu? Atau ke luar negeri?”

“Walah…jangankan ke luar kota, jaga diri di dalam kota aja belum becus. Liat aja sekarang, sampai kecelakaan kayak gitu. Kalau mau ke luar negeri pake uangnya siapa? Kami ini kan, orang biasa.”

Aku terdiam sejenak untuk yang kedua kali. Bukankah ia pernah beberapa kali ke luar negeri? Ia pernah cerita, waktu SMA ia pernah unjuk kebolehannya bermain bass bersama teman-teman satu band-nya di Belanda atas rekomendasi sebuah kafe di Bandung. Ia juga pernah bercerita padaku bahwa Andrew sempat mengajaknya jalan-jalan ke London. Ia bahkan sempat meneleponku dari Spanyol tiga bulan yang lalu.

Tiba-tiba aku sadar bahwa ibu Kiera menatapku dengan rasa curiga dan tidak nyaman. Aku pun berusaha memperbaiki situasi. “Oh, maaf, Bu. Mungkin saya yang salah.”

Syila, adik Kiera, datang dari arah toilet menuju tempat kami berdiri. Begitu ia sampai di hadapan ibunya, beliau langsung memberikan perintah. “Nduk, tolong Mbak Atira dianter pulang.”

“Oh, nggak usah, Bu. Saya bisa pulang sendiri, kok.”

“Ga apa-apa. Lagian Mbak Atira sudah mau nungguin Kiera di sini lama, pasti capek.”

“Ayo, Mbak, aku anterin aja.” ajak Syila dengan sikap manis. Aku tak bisa menolak, bukan karena merasa tidak enak dengan ibu sahabatku, tapi karena aku ingin menanyakan sesuatu pada Syila, yang mungkin ibunya tidak tahu.

Di dalam lift, aku berusaha bertanya pada Syila secara tidak langsung. “Syil, ini HP-nya Kiera, kamu aja yang bawa.” kataku.

“Oh, oke.” sahutnya santai.

“Lagian temen-temennya nggak ada yang menghubungi.”

“Lho, bukannya kemaren temen-temennya Mbak Kiera udah pada jenguk semua?” tanya Syila heran.

“Kan, cuma temen-temen kampus.”

“Emang Mbak Kiera punya temen-temen lain selain yang di kampus?”

“Bukannya dia punya banyak temen di luar negeri gitu?” tanyaku, langsung menembak.

“Temen di luar negeri?”

“Iya, yang kenalan lewat situs jejaring itu.”

Syila mengerutkan dahinya dengan kebingungan yang sama yang ditampakkan ibunya tadi ketika aku menanyakan tentang Andrew Jackson. “Mbak Kiera emang ikutan situs kayak gitu sih, tapi temen-temennya paling cuma orang-orang Indo aja, terutama temen-temen SMA sama temen-temen sekampus. Nggak ada tuh yang dari luar negeri. Aku pernah kok, pake account dia buat iseng, nggak ada temennya yang dari luar negeri.”

Aku terdiam lagi untuk yang ketiga kalinya. Aku seperti baru saja terkena setrum yang membuatku terkejut setengah mati. “Terus, nomor HP-nya Kiera itu bisa nggak dibawa ke luar negeri.” tanyaku lagi.

“Buat nelpon gitu?”

“Iya.”

“Ya nggak bisa lah, Mbak. Kalo operator ini kan, belum punya fasilitas roaming international. Mbak ini gimana, sih?” jelas Syila sambil menunjukkan tulisan operator di layar HP Kiera padaku.

“Oh…”

***

Rasa penasaranku makin memuncak. Keesokan harinya aku tidak menjenguknya di rumah sakit. Aku justru pergi ke warnet dengan satu tujuan, mencari tahu sendiri apa yang sebenarnya terjadi. Paling tidak aku bisa mendapatkan dan melihat buktinya dengan mata kepalaku sendiri.

Aku mulai dengan membobol alamat-alamat email teman-temannya di luar negeri yang pernah ia perlihatkan padaku, terutama yang di Inggris dan Belanda. Saat ini yang paling aku syukuri adalah ilmu teknologi informasi yang aku pelajari dari teman SMA-ku. Jahat memang, tapi aku tidak bisa terus-menerus curiga pada sahabatku sendiri dan menganggapnya berbohong tanpa mendapatkan bukti nyata. Hasilnya? Ternyata semua email itu dibuat di salah satu warnet di kota ini, bukan di Inggris atau di Belanda.

Kedua, aku mencoba mencari identitas Andrew Jackson yang sebenarnya di salah satu search engine. Sebagai seorang pengusaha kaya pemilik perusahaan besar yang mampu menjadi sponsor salah satu klub sepak bola Inggris, seharusnya ia cukup terkenal di dunia maya. Paling tidak, ada satu situs yang memuat tentang dirinya. Tapi tak ada satupun situs yang memuat tentang dirinya. Bahkan dalam situs perusahaan yang kata sahabatku ia miliki, bukan nama Andrew Jackson yang tertera sebagai pemilik sebelumnya.

Terakhir, aku membuka situs jejaringnya. Aku melihat daftar teman-temannya, dan karena ada yang private, aku terpaksa menjebol account Kiera agar bisa melihat halaman profil temannya. Aku periksa satu per satu, dan benar, semuanya orang Indonesia dan profil mereka semuanya menggunakan bahasa Indonesia. Aku pun nekat membobol beberapa email mereka, dan semuanya asli dibuat di Indonesia.

Setelah hampir empat jam duduk di depan komputer, tubuhku pun akhirnya lemas karena lelah dan kesal. Lelah karena ‘bekerja’ terus-terusan di depan komputer, kesal karena selama ini aku telah tertipu oleh sahabatku sendiri. Terlebih lagi, aku kesal karena selama ini aku terlena dan percaya begitu saja padanya tanpa berusaha mencari bukti sendiri. Yang aku tahu saat ini adalah, aku marah pada diriku sendiri.

***

Kini aku terduduk lemas di atas kursi di samping tempat tidurnya. Aku memandang tubuhnya yang lemas dan belum sadarkan diri. Aku mencoba melihat dirinya secara realistis. Kiera, seorang gadis biasa berumur dua puluh satu tahun, seorang gadis yang bertubuh cukup tambun dan tidak cantik, dari keluarga pas-pasan, tidak cukup bergaul di kampus, dan bahkan di jurusan kami ia adalah satu dari beberapa mahasiswa yang kemampuan bahasa Inggrisnya bisa dibilang kurang. Bagaimana bisa ia punya banyak teman dari luar negeri? Ia juga tak pernah sedikitpun punya keinginan untuk mengenalkan Andrew Jackson padaku.

Aku tidak mau meremehkan sisi lain dunia, tapi di dunia image seperti ini, sangat kecil kemungkinan seorang gadis seperti Kiera pernah punya kekasih seorang pengusaha kaya asal Inggris yang bisa memilih wanita yang lebih cantik atau lebih pintar darinya. Paling tidak, ia sendiri tak pernah berusaha membuktikannya.

November 2009.

It was the end of the year of his divorce. I didn’t take my vacation trip, I was not in the mood for that. I took my holiday, yes, but I didn’t go anywhere. The weather was so cold that it froze my brain. I could not think, not even one thing. I could only walk on the street to warm up my body, not far from my apartment, but still didn’t know where to go.

I folded my arms tightly, trying to keep my chest but I knew it was useless at all since the wind could still get into my body. Perhaps, the only thing passing my mind was how to handle this cold weather. But then there was something else passing my mind…and eyes… It was him. He stepped out of a café, and when he almost turned through the side walk, he noticed me behind him. I was shocked, he smiled.

“Hi,” he greeted me.

“Hi,” I answered him with a very low voice, and I was sure that he didn’t hear it.

“You work at the end of the year?” he asked.

“No.”

“Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know.”

He kept smiling and looking at me with bright eyes. They weren’t like in the night of our first and last fight. I meant real fight, not merely argument. “I’ve just drunk a cup of hot coffee, do you want some?” he asked me again while pointing out the door of the café beside him with his thumb.

“No, thanks.” I refused it, but stood still without any facial expression, I guess.

“Do you wanna walk with me?” he kept asking and offering me something.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. It’s up to you.”

Eventually, I walked along the main street of the city with him. We didn’t talk at all, even until the first hour of the walk of ours. When we were close to the city park, suddenly, out of my mind, I asked him, “Why did you divorce your wife?”

He seemed to be shocked by my question. However, he still answered me, “I’d told you. We decided it together. You know, my wife apparently also didn’t feel happy being with me.” I was then quiet, but he asked me in turn, “You don’t feel happy? You hang up the phone that night.”

“How am I supposed to be happy? I’m not a weirdo who can feel happy above the agony of other people.”

He smiled, “I know.” He sighed a little, and then said, “Donny told me that there’s some guy.”

“Ha?” I didn’t understand at first.

“You… Finally you have a guy.”

“Hah, bullshit! I have no one.”

“Still?”

“Aha.”

“Then… who’s Ali?”

“Haahh…just a friend. I got some male friends all these three years. He’s nice to me, but…”

“But what?” he cut my sentence fast, it seemed like he wanted to hear something bad about that guy.

I looked at him, I knew what his question meant. And I answered it honestly, “I just don’t want to think in hurry that I need someone to be my boyfriend.” He smiled again, I knew it was his satisfaction of hearing my answer.

“You just don’t wanna be hurry for replacing me.” he said arrogantly.

“Hah, silly! I don’t wanna be hurry not because I can’t replace you, it was because I haven’t known him well! I don’t want to regret it someday.”

“Why? He can’t fulfill your criteria?”

“I just don’t feel that he quite understand me…understand what I want. Okay?!”

“You’re selfish.”

“I’m selfish, yeah I know. But at least I don’t wanna sacrifice someone to be the one that I want him to be.” I argued him. He stopped walking, looking at me like I was despising him. “I am right, aren’t I?” I also stopped walking and tried to defend my argument this time, but his eyes told me that he couldn’t still accept what I have said.

“Why don’t you just say that you don’t and can’t love him?” he asked me, with a hidden anger I guess.

“It’s not about love, Hassan. It’s never about love.”

“Then what?”

“We’re not living in Shakespearean era, Hassan! It’s not about love and romanticism! We live in a reality, in a world. Real world! Many things in the world are so unpredictable and we can’t just write our destiny with love! In relationship, the thing that we can do is just do the best for us and for our spouses.”

He looked at me, but this time, without anger inside his eyes. “Rika…”

“I love you… After a very long time finally I know I love you. And you know that I love you. But love is not enough. It’s never enough.” I was silent for a while, then I continued, “I can never be the woman that you dream of, and so can’t you to me.”

“I love you too, Rika.”

“Love is not enough, Hassan. It’s not, it’s never… We know it. You know it. Your ex-wife knows it.”

I stepped my feet again, continuing my walk to the city park. He stood still for some seconds, but then he followed me. “Will you give me a chance, Rika?”

I turned to him while stepping slowly on the side walk. “You’re the one who’s supposed to give me that chance. You know what I mean.” I said it with smile.

~The End~

When I thought it would end in an awkward way, I was wrong. We didn’t talk for two weeks, yes, although he was all alone in his favorite table. But then he kept calling me on my cell phone. That was even more awkward since I never told him my cell phone number. He often called me at the evening, before he got home. I never said a thing, and he never continued our last argument. He only said one thing, which I didn’t know where the hell he got that sentence, “I miss you.”

I almost got into my apartment that night, but then he stopped me. He said he wanted to say something to me. His eyes were very different at that time, it seemed full of agony. I could not interpret his sad sight.

“Rika, I need to talk to you.” he said.

“What? What does a man like you want from me?” I challenged him with all the pride that I have.

“A man like me??” he tried to smile hearing and repeating the phrase, but eventually he could only giggle. “What do you mean by a man like me?”

“A man who makes his wife a robot and puts her in a cage, while he himself calls a girl he met in a restaurant and says ‘I miss you’ to her???”

“You are too cruel.”

“Thanks very much, I’m so proud of that.” I felt great when my pride helped me saying that.

“Rika, I was serious when I said that.”

“Oh yeah?? Okay, let’s say that you’re serious…and then??”

“I’m going to divorce my wife.”

ENOUGH!! I’d had enough of this and I truly got my eyes out!! “You….you what???!!!” I couldn’t stop my shout.

“I want to divorce my wife.” he repeated that again, and then I was convinced that he was serious.

“What?? Why??”

“I…” he seemed not to be able to say his reason, he stopped at a moment. Then he continued, “I don’t feel happy lately, it’s all wrong for me.”

“Do you think that a 40-years-married couple really feels happy for all the time of their marriage??!! Do you know what marriage is?? Do you know what the point of marriage is?? You cannot break a marriage just because you don’t feel happy!!” I shout…out loud, in my exhaustion.

“I love you, that what actually happens.” he told me in a low voice, but I could catch that, and was shocked.

We were both quiet for a long time. It might be five or six minutes. I could not still

accept that. I eventually said, “Look, I could not accept this. That’s all. It’s totally silly. Fool.”

Say, loving someone just because of his or her physical appearance is all wrong, isn’t it?? First, difference of seeing things. Then…divorcing his wife just because he fell in love with somebody else, that’s….me… I never thought that he could do that, seriously. Behind all of his amazing things and personality that attracted me previously, he could say…”I want to divorce my wife because I love you.”!! STUPID! What THE HELL happened to me??!! How could I really fall in love with him?? Or at least, how could I still ask myself whether I love him or not?? I never thought that I could walk on this path. People might be happy seeing the one they loved did everything for them, sacrificed everything for them, but not me. I was just….NOT.

I tried so hard not to see him. I had my lunch in my own office’s canteen, I rejected all of his callings. More than that, I tried hard to concentrate on my job. Not that I never did that, I only wanted to forget him through this thing which, I believe, everyone knows…being busy.

Perhaps it worked, since after that he never called me again and thank God, there was no news about a famous doctor in the city who divorced his wife. I felt safe…a little bit. I couldn’t feel better, I didn’t understand. That’s why, when my boss offered me to go abroad to make a report on European Union meeting in France, I took it. It was a good job, it was a good escapism.

***

Three years later. My life went on, and I thought so did his. I could enjoy my single status without emptiness, hanging out with friends, taking vacations at the end of the year, seeing and knowing some guys, even though they were not interesting…much. I thought my life would be like this until I got the right man, people called it…what?? Mr. Right??? Yes, that’s what I meant. However, very unfortunately, he called me again. I almost (actually, not really) forgot him, but then he called again and told me this stupid and hurting story, after twenty times of phone rings.

He and his wife were laying on their bed. It was white, cold, and almost dark if not endowed by the lights outside their bedroom’s windows. They were at the peak of their emptiness, of their marriage. Their efforts to preserve their family seemed to be useless. They didn’t often fight, just rarely. But they didn’t often make love, and that’s bad. Every time they did it, there was no feeling, even worse, there was no orgasm…at all. Hassan tried to be a good husband, practicing what I called being a father. His wife was still the good wife and mother whom he had always dreamed of. They took vacations sometimes, but they never cheered up for that. There was no happiness anymore, there was nothing….nothing at all.

That night, when both of them could not sleep for so many times, his wife asked him, “Why didn’t you just divorce me three years ago?”. He could not answer, but I thought he merely didn’t want to answer. I knew it would be hard for him to say, for instance, “I didn’t do that because the other girl that I love didn’t want me to do that, and now she’s gone.” His wife laid straight and looked at the empty wall of their white bedroom, and while he laid to the right side with his back against his wife’s face, she spoke, “It’s been ten years, and is this all that we got?”

“What do you mean?” he asked his wife with a low voice.

“I never wish you to divorce me, but I hope you can understand me.” she answer.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve done what you want, I’ve been what you want, but you never did the same.”

“What do you mean I never did the same? I work, I try to be a father, what else??!!” he

started to put some anger in his sentences.

“But you never care about what I feel.”

“What??”

Then he woke up and turned his face to his wife already sat against the pillows. “I…I…” his wife almost cried, and she could not speak. There was silence for some seconds, they looked at each other with sorrow and hidden anger. “I just never feel happy… Never…”

“Why? You don’t love me?” he asked.

“I love you, Hassan… I love you… I just don’t feel happy being with you, I don’t know why. I myself can’t understand.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I almost told you when you wanted to divorce me because you didn’t feel happy, I wanted to say that perhaps it was the best way for both of us because I felt the same way too! But then you canceled it and said that you would try…you would try… And I couldn’t do anything.”

“Why? There must have been something.” he tried to get to know the reason. She kept silent. “Was there…?”

“If you think there was some other guy, no. No.”

He could only be silent too, didn’t say anything. A week later they decided to divorce, and his wife got the custody of their kids. The end. I hang up the phone.

I knew him, I always knew him. Not that I was his friend, but I simply knew him. I saw him at the first time I came to this place, where all I saw were just people who were eating, drinking, and many of them…kissing. Yes, people were not only so busy with their own activities, but also with convincing others that they were in love. Love! I’d have rather made my stomach full than thinking about it.

There, he always had his lunch with his friends who, I believe, had the same job as his, whatever it was. It didn’t need so much time for me to catch his eyes, his figure. Right, his figure. Damn! I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t like someone just because his physique. You know what? For me, falling in love for only someone’s physical appearance was the stupidest thing in the world since physique would change…it always changed…believe me. However, I couldn’t control myself, I couldn’t stand of it.

I always saw him, everyday, every afternoon, after the praying time. I always tried so hard to hide my own sight so that he wouldn’t catch my eyes chasing after him. I’m embarrassed, yes. No, not that I was a woman, but because I knew that it would be shameful if he didn’t have the same feeling. I think it’s the same for all people, right? Many men I knew also felt shameful if they were rejected by the girls they liked. It’s not about who felt it, it’s about the god-damned pride.

I had spent three months here in this city to work in a newspaper, and finally I knew that he worked in a hospital, a doctor exactly. I didn’t spy on him, we talked. Not much. It’s only a small talk in front of the cashier or of the door. I liked him more and more. I then was not thinking about his physical figure anymore, I had forgotten it (thank God!). I was admiring his character, his aura, his charisma every time he talked to me. Handsome guys would not look good if he didn’t have such charisma, that’s what I thought. And he did look good. After that, I had to try harder and harder to hide my smile every time I talked to him. Not that I was too embarrassed, but because I eventually knew that he had already had a wife. He’d been already married.

I was shocked, yes… I was broken heart, of course. Why not?? It’s natural, right?? Who on earth didn’t feel broken heart when they knew that the ones they loved had had spouses?? Shit! I couldn’t even concentrate in front of my computer! Okay, I was not that drama queen and I could still get some great interviews with public figures, but not in front of my computer. I didn’t know why…

Days after that, we talked more than we had done before. He often invited me to his table if he was alone. Frankly speaking, I often tried to refuse his invitation after knowing that he was married, but more often than not, I couldn’t. Well, I was not that weak. I was just afraid that suddenly he thought I was mean…or…suddenly he knew what I felt on him. Loving and avoiding the same person was hard, ha?

He told me about his wife, that she was beautiful, that she was the woman that he had dreamed of for so long time in his life, that she was a good wife and a good mother. Great!! Then he told me about his two little sons. And I could barely eat my meal, I swore of God! I almost missed my lunch every time I talked to him. I felt like I loved the wrong one…But that’s not until I knew his thought, what he thought to be true about being a woman.

Apparently, he loved his wife so much not only because she was beautiful, but also because she could be the woman that he had dreamed of. Did you catch that?? She COULD BE the woman that he had dreamed of, not that she ACTUALLY WAS. She was previously a radio broadcaster, but then she quitted her job before marrying him just to be the woman that he dreamed of. Oh my God, how many times had I repeated this silly phrase??!! Yes, that was what happened. I might or might not be spurred by my broken-hearted feeling, but after I knew the truth about his wife, we started to argue each other. Almost fought, if we were not careful.

“Why did she quit??” I asked.

“Because I asked her.” he answered.

“Why??” I almost got my eyes out, seriously.

“I wanted her to be the true woman.”

“The true woman??!!” I was totally shocked, “What was the standard of being a true woman anyway??”

“Being a wife, a mother at home who takes care of her children, cooking, and everything.”

“For God’s sake, you can hire a babysitter!”

“But that’s her job as a woman.”

“Hassan, a woman’s job is not being a robot at home!! You’re a father and you’re also supposed to take care of your kids!”

“I’m working, I’m searching for money for them.”

“Oh my God…What the world are we living in??!!” I almost shouted out loud, but I stopped before it happened.

Few seconds later on, I almost giggled. “Cooking….A woman’s job?? Do you know who cooked your meal?? That..in front of you??” then I asked him, pointing at his plate full of beef steak.

He didn’t answer, I thought he was still shocked by my sudden shout and sayings. More than that, he looked disagreed with my sayings.

“The one who cooked your meal is Donny, a man. I know him because he’s my neighbor.” I told him, but he was still quiet. “And if you still don’t know, I tell you. Almost all of cooks in the world’s restaurants and hotels…are men.”

“They’re chefs. That’s they’re job.”

“Great! Now after knowing that they’re chefs, you’re saying that that’s they’re job!! And not you??!!”

“Rika, please… We should end this.”

He seemed to avoid further argument with me and started to eat his man-made beef steak. I ate my meal too, but my heart started to crash inside.

I didn’t know what exactly happened after that little fight. It seemed awkward for me to have such kind of argument with someone new in my life. More awkward was the fact that I had a certain feeling on him. Feeling…I doubted what kind of feeling that was. Love?? I was not so sure. Hatred?? Perhaps… I didn’t know. I wasn’t even convinced if my feeling (which might be love) had shifted to be hatred inside. Not that he had had a wife, a wife he had dreamed of for so long. I could handle that. It might be hatred because of his point of view about being a woman which hit my own belief. I felt…I felt humiliated by his thought, even though I knew that he felt more humiliated by my thought. I might love and hate him at the same time, I didn’t know…I was not sure.

One thing for sure, for two weeks after that argument, we rarely talked.