November, 11th 2011, I was having Field-Lab in a Community Health Centre Gantiwarno in somewhere around Klaten, near to Prambanan Temple. Unluckily I didn't get a chance for my first trip to the infamous ancient Hindu Temple. My groupmates said it would cost a lof of money for unworthy 2 hours looking at old ruins which already had been unoriginally restored after a destructive earthquake had years ago happened in the greater Yogyakarta. Still, I don't think spending 2 hours on the way reaching to a restaurant of mushrooms for only 1 hour of filling our stomachs was worthier than. Plus, the price of food was also competitive towards the money we might have had to spend if we had had our precious time used to learn about the old herritage from Sanjaya Dynasty.
The schedule for the Field-Lab on the day was to visit a village in which there was a man suspected to suffer from an infectious disease so called Tuberculosis. We would have to interview the other villagers around the man's domicile about their health condition, in regard they might have had a contact with and probably been transmitted by the infected man.
long short, we arrived at the Community Health Centre as early as we were
obligated (you should give me a standing ovation to have been able to wake up and take a bath earlier than usual), a staff there led the way to our not-near-destination, we arrived in the village, and we looked carefully at how the staff did her investigation to the villagers.
It took about more than 1 hour for our bodies got boiled by the heat of sunshine and covered by water of our own sweat, aggravated by nothing to drink (no way we would drink our own stinky sweat!). By then my brain started to be confused if we probably had been in the middle of dessert in Africa due to my inability to distinguish the difference. The only maintained my conscience was the language people around me were using, and the fact that my surrounding was still a village where the houses built with bricks but cave nor hay. Hard to remember, but I believe I was about to saw a mirage of oasis that I desperately wanted to swim in. Speaking of which, the sky had been so bright since around 5.30 AM. It's something that even now I'm still wondering if Indonesia has become a country that should consider summer holiday to be included into the school's schedule. Global Warming -- or supposedly called Global Helling -- must have had something to do with the free sauna I had that day; good thing I didn't get dehydrated.
In the middle of the TB active tracing, we happened to meet an old man; he's about 80s, bold, tanned, got wrinkles on his face and body, barely could walk normally as in medical criteria, but he was carrying a ton of farm's loads on his both shoulders telling us that he was healthy enough to be infected by Mycobacterium tuberculosis. Nothing impressive I could sense from this man. He was supposed to be an ordinary villager growing old, but still had to fulfill his primary needs by working hard as a farmer. He surely seemed to still remember his age by answering the related question confidently without the second thought, something I didn't expect though. But still I told myself "Senility cannot be generalized to all old people. Some may just escape from one of the aging signs. But hey, wait! Look at his feet, he put on a wrong couple of sandals. Different colors! He must have just randomly guessed his age".
However, as the proverb says "Don't judge the book by its cover", my first not-impressed impression was merely a subjective opinion without data at all. It would yet to be proven wrong as the conversation went on. This was one in my lifetime I was let down by my instinct because my vanity talked louder. Another lesson learnt.
Apparently the old man talked a lot more than what the staff interviewed him. He started to share the story of his younger days when he had used to live his life in the coloniazation era (of Netherlands or Japan, I can't remember. Damn! I'm the one who is senile here!). It had taken miles for him to walk on his own feet to reach school. He, after all, had strived for it and then become a teacher. He had taught English when Indonesia was still under colonialization. I was a half ignoring -- as in my opinion -- his common story, by talking to a friend about the frying weather until he suddenly talked something in English that I could barely get it. I was surprised when I paid my attention carefully as he was saying "I seat here, you seat there" giving an example of English sentence -- that I swore it was in British accent.
I was dazzled and speechless. "How can a smart old man like him be spending his remaining lifetime in this small far village? He could be much more productive and contributive to at least this country by using his English skill than most of people I know -- that has been learning English since at least in Elementary school but still are unable to use it properly and productively", I thought. At the time I believed I could not be any more amazed, the old man started to serve us by his advices and personal wisdom performing that he indeed was old enough in his life, showing me that only God knew how many times already I was wrong again about him. I just didn't know anymore what to expect and what not to expect from this old man.
There was something that bothered my mind at the moment afterthought. Why did the old man choose to be a farmer instead of an English teacher in many informal schools that could just give him a ton of bucks? Why did he choose to live deep in the rural area that as for me it was like living in the middle of nowhere?
Well said, he answered by his story that he had been a non-paid teacher voluntarily; being a farmer had been becoming his only way to stay alive. He also didn't seem to have any reason and will to live outside his village just for money and luxury of the world. As for me now, He has been proving to the world until today that he's still alive and happy by living in a modesty. Unlike myself and most of people I've ever met, not much greed he has in this crazy world. I don't think we can find many teachers like him today.
The old man has taught me that aging doesn't consume your memory. He has taught me somewhere far from the place we are living there are incredible people that are worthy enough for this world to sustain. He has taught me that underestimating others just because of any reason will only bring us to the bottom of our pride. He has taught me that being old is not that bad nor scary; we can gain wisdom and more knowledge of life, in fact. He also has reminded me that simplicity is the happiness itself.
Dear old man, thank you that you were still alive until I was able to meet you learning a lot of live values. Thank you to have shown me that idealism can still survive until the end of our old days. Thank you to have shown me that even time cannot defeat you and your strong sincerity.
Words just can't be enough to describe your minor but very much important existence to this universe.
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