Tears in our hearts

He walked proudly, holding one child on his right arm, and big backpack hanging on his strong left shoulder. Walking behind, his woman was following dutifully, along with their other child.

Stepping forward toward us, me and my woman, he asked whether one of us is of Javanese descendant. My wife answered yes, and from there he went talking (in a soft-fluent-high-degree Javanese) about how he ended up right there; dusk, walking up from nearby district with all his family, no money, planning to hitch-hike to his hometown in East Java, some one thousand kilometers away from where he was then, and asking for some drink for his family and himself.

I was flabbergasted; recollection about a seller-- who had said that he had nothing left except his sandals and he offered me “cheap” ones and I bought those ugly things out of pity and later I found out that he was a liar – still freshly remained, news about how “innovative” people are now in trying to get money lingered, the aching chest—one that I always experience when I was in deep sadnees—hit me right there. I asked my maid to get some bottles of water, fresh from fridge plus one big bottle of unsealed mineral water.

My maid came with the things, I handed them over to him, plus few thousand rupiah, just enough to get them to nearest inter-city train station. He walked up the road again, along with his family.

We, me and my woman, stared at each other. “I should have given him more,” “I should have asked you to give them more.” Time passed by … I fetched my car key, hit the accelerator and went after them with extra money. Not even a single sign that they existed. Me and my woman stared at each other, yet again, tears were in our hearts. Have a safe long trip my friend…