Fiction Campus
SEQUENCE 2

At my green campus, prospective students and new students are not required to complete the test as a condition of admission. I was even moved the day before, the rector of the green campus, an Australian graduate, proudly accepted a poor beach boy like me. My mother prostrated for a long time and almost forgot to get up. I thought Mom had been called Divine if I hadn't pinched her wrinkled arm.

I still had doubts at the beginning of that reception. Just imagine, the campus that I know is scattering the equatorial earth is all because of intelligence and material support. The strength of conscience from the philosophy of education actually, I began to be able to understand even from the first semester I was in college.

He, Mr. Iwan, I realize as a handful of strong-hearted humans who understand the meaning. All the shortcomings and limitations of his life in his book, “Anak Kusir So Doktor” may be a weapon that facilitates in understanding others. 

Back in September of 2015, I hadn't found the nameplate of my green college. The only name that explains all of that is a brochure. I was even a C package student at one of the High Schools in Utan village. Unacknowledged. But Mr. Iwan doesn't care about that. After the middle of the year, I realized the extraordinary philosophy that he described without having to speak. 

Before that, I'll be half-slowly apart. When later on there was a precious piece of wings crawling my life slowly. A man with his sweet moustache in a neat empty dormitory. He will be the second Plato ever to be engraved on my memory rod. I'm happy that in the days until the end, he was a pink-hearted power ranger with above-average compassion intuition. 

His name is Alen. Not the official name of the Population Identity Card or its precious Birth Certificate. His real name I just got blatantly when he penetrated the skies of Melbourne, Australia. It was the first farewell that gripped my conscience as a learner. 

I know Bang Alen in the men's dorm as a man as cold as the north pole. That was my first assumption about him. Actually no, it's warmer and ducks down more than spring in Norway. 

A class of me who only understood emotional intelligence would not reach out seamlessly to his intelligence. He's like Lintang in the adult version of Laskar Pelangi movie in my opinion. I seriously. Do you think that the usual thing of a rice field child and studying at my newly semi-finished green campus can beat the efficiency of the IQ of Jakarta graduates in the acquisition of TOFL scores? 

You might think I'm overreacting. But if you think my admiration for the second Plato figure is just a whore, then you are excessive. Because the world on my humble green campus really teaches the true meaning of education. More than any elite campus on this earth. I seriously. 

At that time I was a happy-faced and innocent-faced man of knowledge. I'm very bad at my analysis of linguistics. Yes, on my green campus which is a high school, it contains only two courses of study. Although here there are minimal majors for High School, the type is the most terrible choice for all categories of the human brain. My green house offers English and Math. 

Notabene myself a dreamer of the horizon class, I just chose English. Similar to the road taken by Bang Alen. Back then, while I was still starting the semester, I was sitting on a simple swing bench in a Kanak-Kanak Park. Kanak-Kanak Park is located in front of the first dormitory I boarded. 

I explained first the abstract floor plan of my green campus before the emotional story and full of fragments of our romance philosophy began. I say all as a unity of affection and care in education.

Dorm man and daughter face off. On the left side of the male dormitory is the house of Mr. Iwan and his wife Iga Widari which he said means angel. Later I took the context of the struggle of two lecturers as well as the teacher of my life in building my green campus.

I'll continue. To the right of the girls' dormitory is the library. The library is indeed small and not very representative in terms of book collections. When I first nailed myself in dorm number 1 and got acquainted with a ‘Bang Monday’ (nickname), the first thing perched on my pseudo-mind was that little library.

I went in and Bang Monday followed me on my first day together. He was a final semester student at the time. Inside the library, either the village nymph who covers her is so feminine as a guard. I'm sure Bang Monday already knows all the names. Unfortunately I am a layman to understand such a fundamental situation. And the lady just sculpted a smile. That is the ethics of the library. 

I'm not the easy-to-float type. Moreover, I have not targeted anything since the beginning. I just follow curiosity. Early on. I even searched for a book about Melbourne. And meet. Miss named Eka who turned out to be a student majoring in Mathematics did not need verbal language from me. He understands my stressful movements looking for things that are not yet the time for me. I don't give a shit.

Even the first lecture hour I hadn't gotten, a row of unfamiliar sentences gnawed at my cornea. Neither word understood.

But again, I

not confusing misunderstanding.

For me, my dream of Mother being happy and unencumbered with my education, is the greatest ideal. Larger than ‘blackhole’ is billions of times the size of the sun. 

I borrowed the first book during college with readings not as high as I was at the time. Okay, again I don't care. Whether you believe it or not. On the first day I went to college on that simple campus, there was something terbesit in my mind gap.

Name's Mustaqim. A hope for a straight path. Unfortunately no. He will be the first to instill a farewell price for me. Creating a new atmosphere beyond my control when I finally became the only man to approach the sedimentation of the time of judicium. I always start with rain. 

“I don't understand conventional situations like this, Bee!” Mus pointed his grunts at me. Yes, I call him Mus. I was close enough to him on the day of the new student orientation.The problem is the philosophy of the seaweed rope you are looking for yourself. 

“Where are you talking?” lototku smooth.

“On you!” he said he was acting ferocious. “We must change the mindset of the Sumbawa people who do not know the best way to respect time.

“I don't agree with the messy thoughts of you, Mus,” welcome me flat. “I don't like heavy things out of the head.”

Mus changed the eyeball to the right.

“You this, we need to dream of advancing this land of Tambora so as not to lose to those squinty eyes. We even made K.O by the domestic rats themselves.”

Back then, his heroic thoughts and dreams stimulated me to open ideology. It means accepting the thoughts of others to learn. It became the strangest hobby in me. But reincarnating into a passion that drives the legit of my dreams.

From the pleasure of studying others, I became happy to paint stories. Feel myself like a God who controls all human hearts and knows the plot of their lives. Well, being the God of fiction to the fullest. I like to write. A simple arising from the seeds of Mus's deadly sentence about mindset and change.

“Bu Iga coming!” said the sweetest woman in my generation when Mr. Iwan's wife stepped up steadily as a bearer of big small changes.

We simultaneously became pessimistic Indian puppets in each other's chairs. I wonder the difference between school and college. I dreamt of always being able to go to college. And Mr. Iwan incarnated into another wing piece other than Bang Alen who understood the meaning of education. Color I mean is a decent education. The education system in Indonesia is not yet on the right line even though the great teachers are not few in number.

This analysis arises when Bang Alen is a person who has just undergone a colorful struggle in the country of kangaroos. It's not time I told you. He taught me that an educational philosophy would not produce robotic humans. I'll continue this. You can understand what I mean and look at our current education system. 

Iga's mother expressed herself not as a lecturer. The combination of verbal and non-verbal language is clearly felt in the heart as a parent. There is affection flowing implied in the classroom. Special courses on educational issues to the development of learners is his field. Of course as a supporter of an undergraduate education candidate like us in addition to English.

And she will truly be my second mother until the end of time. Love, that is the source of education. You don't believe it? I doubt at first, too. All became convinced when Mus answered Ms. Iga's question with an unusual reflection of the mind like Socrates.

“A proper education is also meaningful in terms of respecting the intelligence of learners. Numbers do not guarantee anything. How much we can teach others science, will not be enough to make us always smarter than they are.

There is always happiness in learning as a source as well as a target of knowledge in the meaning of education. Isn't that the hope of our Father of Education, Ki Hajar Dewantara?” bright elegant Mus. My lips are perplexed to understand his thinking power.

Mus hypnotized everything on the first day. From her, I learned that caring is the greatest condition of success. Not intelligence. He also assumed to me a label of our green campus. Labels don't reflect who you are. 

From that time until the breakup of time, Mus could always be the teenage Socrates who illuminated our dwarfed classroom. Intellectual concentration is accompanied by the light of his thoughts from day to day.

I always felt he was far away even with me until half the struggle. Until the day of the breakup, he always played the best intelligence for me to learn until the beginning of the dream.