I lived in a rural area in Indonesia, an archipelago country where lies on the equator. My house was made of bricks and cement. We only use wood for the framework to support the roof, which is made of clay. We do not use woods to build up our house because the termites can grow so fast at tropical climate and eat the wood like crazy. It’s still a distant memory where there weren’t so many houses in the village, a place where rice fields are everywhere and the water in the river at the back of my house was crystal clear. I used to sneak out of the house and went to the river to swim. I wore a short and a t-shirt with no slipper nor shoes.
I also bring a fishing hook and a net to trap some fishes while I were swimming with my friends. In Indonesia, every day is summer. I could feel the heat of the sun passed through the water and touched my back. I could see the light through the water whenever I splashed the water in front of me. When I went back home, it was time for lunch with rice, chicken soup, tofu, and tempe. Tempe is a source of protein that is made through fermentation of soybean. It’s like tofu, but in tempe you can literally see the soybean seed being crumpled by a fungi called Rhizopus oligosporus. Indonesian eat rice every day, three times a day. We don’t say that we have eaten when we have not eaten any rice.
However, my village changed as I grew up. There were more and more houses in the village. Each of additional houses contributed more pollution and trashes to the environment. There were several cattle farms established not far from the river. They dumped the waste directly into the river, transformed the crystal clear water into a dark brown flowing water. As more people came to the village, there was a significant increase of motorcycles crossing the village road. They polluted the air and made the people sick of the sound of the engines. The place I live is no longer the same as the place I grew up.
Despite the increase of pollution in my village, I can still remember in my distant memory where I helped my parents after school in the field. I was in a hut in the middle of a tomato field to take a rest after helping my parents who, at the time, were farmers. The hut was made of bamboo and the roof was made of coconut tree leaves. It was attached about a meter above the ground. We harvested tons of red-round tomatoes in that hot day. Sweat emerged from the pores in my forehead, down to my cheeks, down to my chin, and fell down to the ground. When the tomatoes plants are growing in the heat of the sun, I smelled an unmistakable tomato follicle. It was much stronger and more pungent than fresh fruits. I was sitting on the edge of the square hut with both my feet hanging above the ground and looking straight at the Semeru Mountain, the highest peak on Java Island. The mountain was so far away, wrapped with a romantic blue color which mesmerized my dull eyes. I saw hills, trying to hide what lies behind them. I saw a bunch of trees that formed a rainforest close to the mountain’s feet. The trees grew so tall competed with each other to get the most sunlight they possibly could. The mountain, the trees, the hills, and the rice field that lied before them built more layers between the earth and the sky as if the clouds were hanging to create an unfathomable surface in the sky.
It was at the middle of July when a dry-refreshing wind blew through the rice field and would move the rice straw in a dancing wave making a buzzing sound periodically. The rice released a grass-smelling chemical into the air and let the wind take it to wherever it wishes. It’s the smell of peace. The dust motes were spinning through a thin shaft in the hut of the afternoon light. I tried to catch them. I got nothing but the wind and a piece of tranquility.
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| Me, standing in the beach in Bali |
I also bring a fishing hook and a net to trap some fishes while I were swimming with my friends. In Indonesia, every day is summer. I could feel the heat of the sun passed through the water and touched my back. I could see the light through the water whenever I splashed the water in front of me. When I went back home, it was time for lunch with rice, chicken soup, tofu, and tempe. Tempe is a source of protein that is made through fermentation of soybean. It’s like tofu, but in tempe you can literally see the soybean seed being crumpled by a fungi called Rhizopus oligosporus. Indonesian eat rice every day, three times a day. We don’t say that we have eaten when we have not eaten any rice.
However, my village changed as I grew up. There were more and more houses in the village. Each of additional houses contributed more pollution and trashes to the environment. There were several cattle farms established not far from the river. They dumped the waste directly into the river, transformed the crystal clear water into a dark brown flowing water. As more people came to the village, there was a significant increase of motorcycles crossing the village road. They polluted the air and made the people sick of the sound of the engines. The place I live is no longer the same as the place I grew up.
Despite the increase of pollution in my village, I can still remember in my distant memory where I helped my parents after school in the field. I was in a hut in the middle of a tomato field to take a rest after helping my parents who, at the time, were farmers. The hut was made of bamboo and the roof was made of coconut tree leaves. It was attached about a meter above the ground. We harvested tons of red-round tomatoes in that hot day. Sweat emerged from the pores in my forehead, down to my cheeks, down to my chin, and fell down to the ground. When the tomatoes plants are growing in the heat of the sun, I smelled an unmistakable tomato follicle. It was much stronger and more pungent than fresh fruits. I was sitting on the edge of the square hut with both my feet hanging above the ground and looking straight at the Semeru Mountain, the highest peak on Java Island. The mountain was so far away, wrapped with a romantic blue color which mesmerized my dull eyes. I saw hills, trying to hide what lies behind them. I saw a bunch of trees that formed a rainforest close to the mountain’s feet. The trees grew so tall competed with each other to get the most sunlight they possibly could. The mountain, the trees, the hills, and the rice field that lied before them built more layers between the earth and the sky as if the clouds were hanging to create an unfathomable surface in the sky.
It was at the middle of July when a dry-refreshing wind blew through the rice field and would move the rice straw in a dancing wave making a buzzing sound periodically. The rice released a grass-smelling chemical into the air and let the wind take it to wherever it wishes. It’s the smell of peace. The dust motes were spinning through a thin shaft in the hut of the afternoon light. I tried to catch them. I got nothing but the wind and a piece of tranquility.
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