Travel Stories
My name is Cyclone

My name is Typhoon, just Typhoon. There is no abbreviation or last name. Just a Typhoon. I never knew my parents. According to the mother who raised me, I found her in the head of a store, where she used to sell every night. And without the consent of the Social Service, the mother who missed a child, picked me up and took care of me. Call me a Typhoon, because the day I was found, the wind ** ferocious pickaxe came and blew every stall along the row of shops. Destroying so many things leaving a cardboard box with a red baby in a shawl, I.

"You're a special kid, Pan. Even the forces of nature are reluctant to touch you"

It was my favorite phrase, which always resonated if I came home to play crying.

"If you want to be great, give them back. Never be oppressed by injustice, Pan. I know, someday, you're gonna be a person."

That was the continuation of his words. If you want to know her, I'm a great woman, strong and very tough. Alone, he keeps trying to give his best for me. His passion for life is so strong, which often means lightning-fast cleaning up his wares and running away from the fierce Kamtibmas, to then re-enact it after the curbs have passed. Although the results are often small, but rice and side dishes with a variety of menus that you can never meet or feel in a seven-star restaurant though. As strong as his energy, he always set aside the proceeds of income selling brewed coffee, fried pennies of neighbors and cigarettes in his simple lap for my school fees. For him, education is the way to a more decent life, and it is undeniable.

"School, Pan. Only higher education can change your life. All sorts of Karate, Pencak and hiat-hiat are useless if you want to succeed and become even greater." he said when I refused to go to school with so much ridicule from other children.

"Why are you ashamed to wear old clothes? or because your shoes are butut? or are you ashamed to have this mother?"

I just sat there sulking with tears flowing even though the sound of sobbing could not get out of my throat. Don't judge, I was still in 1st grade when this conversation happened. And indeed all the items I was wearing came from the second-hand items Mom bought from various flea markets around, including the textbooks, shoes, bags and uniforms I was wearing. This often makes me the subject of ridicule from classmates, even one school.

"Let's see Mom, son." she said gently as she crouched down in front of me. The aroma of the mixture between the rest of the coffee, the sweat and the rigors of life always calms me. Her strong hand that never receded the slightest bit from the challenges of life gently grabbed me.

"Shirt and all the things you wear can be blind, son, but your deeds and thoughts cannot be second-hand. You have a bright brain that you can wear well. Silence the ridicule of your friends with your brain. Be smart, be strong and never embarrass yourself by regretting what you don't have. Be great as your name!"

That's mommy. With his strong personality he educated me, taught me that life is not easy at all, especially if I do not have a higher education. He kept reminding me that everything has consequences, and life is about how willing you are to challenge risk for the desired outcome. And every word he said proved in action every day, no matter even if he had to meet my principal every few weeks because I was fighting with another child.

Mother's love so strong, made me reluctant to look weak in her eyes. I, who really likes various types of martial arts, started to study very seriously. And when I started to get proficient, I removed all the taunts from the roommates and school with jotosan and kicks. Every challenge that arises from an enemy of any size, does not recede my steps. Even if Mom's pinch and blow will be waiting at home later, I won't let anyone reproach her in the least. Mom is everything I have and everything I've defended.

That's my mother to me. The steel-hearted angel with the nerves of the strongest titanium fiber that poured out every drop of her affection and life, guided, and violently whipped me as the path turned me. Until finally he was no longer able to stand. His old age and the forced demolition of his lap, left him heartbroken. And that's compounded by my delinquencies that he thinks no longer know the rules.

"Why are you fighting again, Pan?"

Shakes of anguish jerked and gagged my throat, strangling the repulsed answers that were swallowed back. His voice had never been this weak before. I could only wait for him in the dull and old rickety amben, the centa of the body lying on it. His heavy breath, frail fingers, and the old body I loved with all my soul terrified me, more than the thugs and arbitrary Pamongpaja Police Force who had just barfed up blood before.

"Pan, don't you have the courage to answer Mom, son?"

"Sorry, Mom. Wrong opinion. Opan didn't accept that the stall was dismantled - it was!"

And my tears flowed in emotional pressure as the old hand shakes, drifting slowly in its attempt to slap me, as it usually does when my sock explodes. The attempt was thwarted by a series of dry coughs that shook his entire existence.

"Mother, Opan asked for mercy. Mom just rest. Opan promised not to fight again. Mother healed yes.." my sobs while resting on the foot of the rickety amben. Lost all the ferocity and cruelty that arose when I faced the mouthful of Kamtibmas members who desperately damaged the lapak of an old mother in an attempt to bring order to the merchant who thought he did not know the human language. Lost all the energy that I had previously used to break the 3 bones in his body easily when the 3 Bashai-dai strokes that I had struck him. I'm afraid to see him, so weak like this.

The rush of his breath that was hunting after that devastating cough sucked all my attention. I don't care about the bag of money that's out of my lap. The money I collected from my honest sweat to redeem the Mother's merchandise they confiscated.

"Sit down, son."

"Mother, Opan won't be me.."

"Yes, Mommy. But.."

"Stop arguing with your mom!"

The application that had almost jumped from the lips, had to be swallowed again. The flame of life I knew of him appeared and silenced me, as when my mischief peaked and dragged before his steel fingers.

"Listen to this old lady now. My life won't be long. Sshhh, listen" his his hiss cut my whine.

"My life won't be long. And I want you out of here. Look at the world, and conquer it. Be as big as possible, so that maybe you can embarrass the two parents who left you to die, first. And never stand idly by, if you see injustice before your eyes..."

His heavy breathing weakened as every word of advice flowed from his old dry lips. My tears that poured out were unable to stop every word that flowed, slowly and plunged deep into the very core of my being. I felt life growing thinner, flowing from her frail hands.

"I know you're gonna be a great man, son... And may He always light your way.."

As the prayers were said, my cries burst out in agonizing sadness. His frail chest softened in the rest of his exhaled breath. Mother's tired face melted in an eternal smile. Leave the stinging, deep and sick.

Mother had gone away from me, and it was because of those uniformed thugs, I thought in a wrath of grief.

And I'll make sure they pay him the full amount with every penny of interest...

The overcast rolled in a deep black grey shade overshadowed the sky. Along with a gentle drizzling blanket that politely kissed the earth, Mother was ushered to her final resting place. My sympathetic neighbors, his field subscriptions, even to the abandoned children, those who often think of me as Big Brother, waited until the wet red dirt covered perfectly. Just a simple ceremony, just a story that ends with an old woman who has nothing, with the relics of a rogue fighting hero and troublemaker.

But my feet are unable to leave this place. When the last mourner patted the shoulder and uttered a murmur of cliche in a whisper, I still sobbed and camouflaged tears amidst the loud drizzle.

I want to spend all my tears right now. Because after this, I will no longer cry...

The twilight had darkened in the depths when my tears stopped flowing, replaced by the lust of vengeance and the desire to leave here. The chest cavity that was previously tightened by the pain began to be churned by anger. And apparently, even nature is willing to support me. Samar saw 4 shadows of men disguised by the dark and drizzling, cautious on the muddy ground, walking closer to where I stood. I recognize one of them... The sneak who escaped from the fight when his friend was lying on the road with 3 broken bones.

"Well, how come anyone died, boy?"

"You came here for life. I really appreciate your courage. It turns out cockroaches have guts too." I said coldly.

When the four began to move shut me down, a prayer was spoken slowly in my heart, which again stoned bitterly...

Forgive the disobedient Opan, ma'am. This is the last time Opan lustered. Sorry Opan ya Ma'am, after this, Opan said goodbye...

Tears began to flow again, blurring my eyes. But I don't need that. My feet move quickly in an octagonal order and my hands have formed powerful, deep-power moves, which my teacher forbids to use on humans, regardless of their condition, but I was no longer able to hold back...

It didn't take long for them to fall into the muddy ground, facing mom's wet grave. The rain was falling more and more in the darkness of the aging night. I turned and left the burial ground and with him, buried my heart in rain and sorrow, though with all my might I endured every desire to turn.

Pamit opan, ma'am...