ONE LOVE, TWO CONTINENTS
Diligent Capital
The anticipated day never arrived, Syahrel savings inventory thin, kiosk he had left, no more income that could cover his daily needs. Shahrel tried to contact some places he had given his manuscripts. The answers vary, some can not answer, or wait for the editorial decision. Others contacted gave no answer. Syahrel sighed, but he did not despair. He tried to contact Mbak Nurul, maybe he had a different answer.
“Sorry Rel, our editor has not been able to accept the writing. Still flat the story you wrote. If you have time to take your writing in the office?”
“Iya Mba!”, Syahrel listens to Mbak Nurul's answer.
Syahrel pondered, corrected some of the writing and digested Mba Nurul's speech.
“What is called ‘datar’?”
Syahrel reread some of the writings he has given to several publishers. Every word, meaning and storyline is re-examined again. Many times he read, observed and evaluated.
“Mmm..This is called flat!”
Syahrel found the weak point of writing, Syahrel changed the storyline.
“Need to be added a little mystery.”
Start it change all and more carefully, “here I give the reader a touch of emotion," Syahrel redefined the variety and style of language.
“Alright, now I go to Mas Anto's place and copy back these writings.”
c OoO
For the umpteenth time Syahrel returned to the rental, the atmosphere was already increasingly familiar, between Syahrel and Mas Anto.
“Mas Syarel, how has the writing been accepted by the publisher?” Mas Anto welcomed Syahrel with a polite greeting and awaited the good news was also for Syahrel.
“Anu Mas, there is still something to change.”
“Oh please, use the room at the end only Mas.”
“Thanks Mas Anto.”
Two hours of Shahrel twitching in front of the monitor, his fingers dancing on the keyboard while still being seen spelling. Understandably, the last time he touched a computer a few months ago, it was only familiar with the cyber world. So engrossed Syahrel playing with imagination that he poured in writing. Two short stories are done, just reread, afraid there is a typo. And suddenly, Jpreeet., the electric current at the rental place is cut off.
“God...” Syahrel was stunned and regretted, the results of typing that he had done forgot to save.
“Aduh, Mas Syahrel sorry the electricity is cut off from the center.”
“Masya Allah I have not saved the data. Missing not Mas?”
“Possibility of missing Mas Syahrel. But hopefully there's recovery.”
“What is recovery?”
“Data still to back up by system.”
“Thank God, hopefully the data I have made is still there.”
Forced Syahrel had to wait until the electricity was alive, while reading the handwriting he had made during
this, he chose a title and a storyline that was not flat. An hour passed, Syahrel could not wait.
“Mas Syahrel, it's on power," cried Mas Anto from the cashier's desk.
“Alhamdulillah.”
But Syahrel's cheerfulness is disturbed, some data is not stored.
“Mas Anto, do not save my data, there are some missing posts.”
“Begin only, if Mas Syahrel deigns please retype with a free rental fee of two hours.
Because the last data usage has been two hours.”
“Thanks Mas Anto.”
“Sama-sama. It is precisely me who is not good with Mas.”
Forced Syahrel retyped some of the lost writing, even though the eyes were no longer able to look at the computer monitor screen. The target this time is at least six short stories that can be printed, and the novel, the last ten or fifteen pages.
“Alhamdulillah.rampung too,”.
More than four hours Syahrel did not move from the chair, finally had finished a few short stories and novels that he had previously tasted to complete all.
“Mas, if you print more than fifty pages what?”
“If it is not colored two hundred and fifty rupiah only and if colored I give to Mas Syahrel five hundred rupiah. Means fifty percent” piece
“Ah normal price alone is okay!”
“Do not reject my offer Mas!” Mas Anto said a little forcefully.
“Thank you Mas Anto. I will remember all your kindness.”
“Hopefully Mas Syahrel's dream becomes a reality.”
The fat man looked good and understood the situation of Shahrel.
“Amien”
c OoO
Shahrel was getting ready to leave, as usual after dawn he was running a routine as if he was still struggling with the business that had been supporting the family.
“Nak, rice at home is no more. Do you have a deposit of money?”
“There's Mother.”
Syahrel tried to hide his current situation, he also forced himself to give the rest of the money he still saved.
“I have to go back to the publisher's place, and the money I have is only seventy thousand/" Syahrel is confused to see some remaining money, he calculates the producer.
“Mother, the rest of the money I have Seventy thousand, this I give to mother fifty thousand and the rest for my transport.”
Shahrel gave him a piece of money Fifty Thousand.
“Loh, where are you going?”
“Mmm..for to newspaper agent.” Syahrel had to lie, fearing that mother was disappointed with Syahrel's decision to stop trading, even though mother can accept but surely later he thought with the difficulties faced Syahrel.
“Mother I leave first..Assalamu’alaikum.”.
“Wa’alaikum greetings. Be careful on the road nak.”
“Iya Bunda”
On the way Syahrel continues to calculate his expenses today, “hopefully with twenty thousand can get to the destination..Bismillah..”.
c OoO
“Mas, wait a minute. Dad again there was a morning” meeting, the beautiful receptionist who wore a pink blezer invited Syahrel to wait.
The figure of a man with glasses and mustache appeared from the room where the meeting took place, if guessed about forty years old. The man approached Syahrel.
“Mas Syahrel? His index finger confirmed the name of the waiting guest was named Syahrel.
“Iya, I'm Pak.”
“There can I help?”
“It's there are some examples of written works that I made, hopefully acceptable to the father and the team," Syahrel directly to the topic of conversation.
The man wearing the ID card is known as Rismawan. He read Syahrel's writing.
“This novel you dedicate to whom?”
Mr. Rismawan read the title of the novel that Syahrel made, ‘Sebait Doa’.
“For Mothers.”
“What's with a Prayer?”
Syahrel slightly nervously replied,“There is a mother's hope for her children.”
“Why should prayer, not advice?”
Whether what Mr. Risamawan wants, Syahrel only answers what is the question of the man, who later Syahrel knows from the id card he is an editor.
“Because of the human resourcefulness when tired of trying and trying to go where else if not to God they send complaints, doubts and hopes. Likewise with a mother when she does not know where else she hopes if not to God and his child.”
Mr. Rismawan restrained and reviewed Syhrel's speech.
“Alright, your script I received and I try to discuss with colleagues.”
“How long do I get certainty of my writing Sir?”
“Standard in us, every incoming manuscript is included in the queue of writers who from the beginning have given the manuscript to the editor yes, twenty to forty days usually you can confirm. But remember this manuscript that you have given, the ethics should not be given to other publishers, Ok?”
“Ok Sir.”
“Happy richness Mas Syahrel”, Mr. Rismawan closed the meeting by providing support.
Do not know where else Syahrel should step foot, just a few short stories that must reach the hands of the publisher. He also checked the remaining money to ensure that with the money available, able to deliver Syahrel to several more places. Syahrel also read the editorial address and magazine that he had summarized in his notes.
“From Depok to Palmerah hopefully up to existing fare.”
In Palmerah there is a youth magazine publishing office and media office that is quite large and many print new writers.
“Bismillahi tawakaltu ‘allah,"by rubbing sweat Syharel back running.
Just as Syahrel left the gate of the office, a female voice called out his name, Syahrel looked for the source of the voice.
“Mas..Mas.”
“I?” Syahrel made sure that the woman was not mispronounced. He looked around, no one.
“ Yes...anda...”.
Syahrel.
“What's up Ma'am?.”
“Hurry highly. Your ID is left behind.”
“Oh Only KTP.”
Syahrel turned around and continued his journey.
“Mas, not finished.”
“What else is Ma'am?”
“Pak Rismawan call you.”
Syahrel went back into the room, before long he waited.
“Mas Syahrel, I just briefly read the writing you made and read some titles at the end of the novel you made. Incidentally, our magazine needs several writers as well as journalists for one column of community coverage and regional tours. So the segment we hope is coverage of remote village tourism with a variety of cultures and uniqueness in the area. Are you up to it?”
“Insya Allah.”
“In addition to the novel that you gave us, we will make the story connected, not the whole novel. Can you accept?”
“For big magazines and publishers like my company, my novel to be read is enough to represent my feelings, especially you want to publish it, it is an invaluable award for me.”
“So you agree?”
“I accept offer Mr.”
“For honor issues, we can't give much first. Can you also accept this?”
“I accept sir.”
“Ok. First honor for your writing let my admin take care of.”
“Siap Pak.”
Whether Syahrel dreamed of last night, the manuscript he made was accepted by the publisher who initially gave vulnerable forty working days for Syahrel could receive certainty, whether the manuscript was loaded or not.
“Thank you I give to You God, you are the owner of the mystery of this life,"Syahrel gave thanks and his heart was touched. Perhaps Syahrel's struggle to become a writer, not the same as other writers who really incite the sagas and rejections of various media. For this reason, Shahrel thanked God for the blessing that touched his life.
“Mas Syahrel, please sign here and here are some letters of cooperation agreement and listed nominal rupiah that the second party received," the administration that Mr. Rismawan promised is true in fact.
Listed in the agreement, the money that Syahrel received for each issuance of Three Hundred Thousand Rupiah, multiplied by the number of publications, as much as fourteen times published.
“After being calculated by the editor and marketing team, the total that Mas received was Four Million Two Hundred Thousand Rupiahs, and the first payment we gave was One Million Two Hundred Thousand Rupiahs first, for four times of rising.”
“Thank you Bu.”
“Sama-sama. Continue not to forget tomorrow bring a job application letter requested by Mr. Hermawan!”
“Iya Bu.”
“Alhamdulillah,"Syahrel also left the room.
With hope and a smile coloring the journey of the man who soon wrestled with the world of characters and language, he unceasingly chanted kaliamat puja and praise.
“O my life's owner, my life's holder and O Lord in His hands the fate of the son of man is written neatly, I thank you, say," After the Ashar prayer at a prayer hall not far from the editorial office while Syahrel unwinded, he rested his body on the wall, his legs extended and his head looked up at the fragile ceiling of the musholah.
“If this is my path, hopefully my hopes and ideals unravel in that place.”
Soon the sun will set at a thirty-five degree angle on the west end, a cloudy streak slapping like a tapestry pattern in the Balqis and Majusi kingdoms. Shahrel stood inside the city bus, along with dozens of others who looked jaded after their routine, scavenging for a living. The smell of the body is contaminated with sweat with dust and other smells that are quite concentrated in the nose. The noise of vehicle exhaust blends with hundreds or even thousands of heads that are crammed in their minds will calculate and speculation crochet tomorrow with the remnants of their sweat.
Syahrel smiled to see the look on the passenger's face on the bus, some were grim, some were downcast as if the burden of thought was so heavy, some were seen the look of his face flat, flat, not emotional and not tired. The sound of the salesman also adapted to be a symbol of the face of the capital. Complete all, the portrait of the capital that has hypnotized thousands of workers, employees and not to miss the buskers and peddlers, for survival, for the sake of children and also the wife on whom they lean hope.
Syahrel miris when looking back at the corner portrait of Jakarta, under a luxury building that stands firm, complete with luxurious facilities as well. But around it there are houses far from the criteria of habitability, the walls are torn and so worn out, what an ironic sight.