2 - Nostalgia, Heaven, and Hell

Chapter 2: Nostalgia, Heaven, and Hell

That morning, Joko Wiryawan was sitting on the tiny porch of his rented house in Kebon Jeruk. The place was one of those 4x9 meter shoebox units stuck to other shoebox units, separated only by thin walls that somehow made the neighbor's TV louder than your own thoughts. The paint was fading, the roof leaked in two spots, and the back drain loved to clog every time the rainy season came around.

But the morning was nice enough. The sky looked soft gray, like a blank sheet of paper nobody bothered to write on. Joko sat on his green plastic chair, legs stretched out, holding his coffee cup - not a fancy ceramic mug, just a thin glass cup he got as a bonus from buying cooking oil.

In his left hand: bitter black coffee.

In his right hand: his old Samsung phone.

He scrolled slowly through Facebook. Status updates, condolences, skincare sellers, and then an old post titled "Signs of Minor Doomsday."

"Wow," he muttered. "So many people dying young these days... What if I'm next?"

He sighed. And then, out of nowhere, a random but deep question popped into his head:

> "If only one out of my 44 elementary school classmates ends up in heaven... who would it be?"

His eyes drifted away as old memories pulled him back to SDN 03 Pagi (State Elementary School 03 Morning Session) - a school that later had to merge with the afternoon school because of low enrollment.

Back then they played gobak sodor, flipped bottle caps, and fought over the front seat because the class fan was broken.

(Gobak sodor is similar to a combination of tag, dodgeball, and strategic defense played on a rectangular court marked with parallel and perpendicular lines).

He chuckled to himself.

> "Maybe Dodi... used to cheat all the time, now he's a TikTok ustaz (religious teacher)?"

> "Or Rina... the straight-A student who works at some online sharia (the moral and religious law of Islam) matchmaking agency now?"

He took another sip.

> "Or Dani... the kid who loved farting in class but swept the mosque every day?"

> "Or Effendi, the invisible kid. Turns out he donates anonymously to the mosque every Friday."

His thoughts kept going.

> "Or the super religious one in class... who later got arrested for scamming umrah pilgrims."

(An Umrah pilgrim is a Muslim traveling to perform the Umrah, a voluntary "minor pilgrimage" to Mecca.)

> "The girl who always brought cake for the teacher... now a parking thug."

> "The quietest one in class... now an influencer who endorses online gambling."

He laughed, but it felt empty.

> "Funny... the older we get, the older our questions get.

In high school we wondered: who's gonna be a minister?

Now we wonder: who's going to heaven?"

He took a long breath. The morning breeze felt cold - not because of the wind but because of his thoughts.

His wife, Ika, walked by sweeping the small yard. Her hair was short now, tied up in a lazy bun. When they got married, her hair was long and neatly done every day.

Joko smiled weakly.

Inside, he whispered to himself:

> "If there's one thing I've learned... don't chase a perfect life.

Don't chase the perfect job, perfect wife, perfect kids.

Life isn't Instagram.

Perfectionism kills happiness."

He texted his buddy Edi:

"Bro... my wife is toxic. Manipulative. Drama queen. But... not materialistic."

Edi replied: "Oo."

(Quick. Emotionless.)

Joko smirked.

> "People use Rexona deodorant... she uses tawas (alum).

She eats pempek with rice.

Martabak with rice.

Siomay with rice.

Everything with rice - like life is never enough unless you add complaints."

Joko then remembered an old dream he once had before getting married. He and Edi were sitting at a small warung (road side stall) near their elementary school field. A short-haired woman sat across from them. In the dream Edi said:

> "She talks harsh, Jok. But she's not materialistic."

For some reason, that dream resurfaced this morning.

Because now Ika - once long-haired - had short hair.

And the one thing she never changed?

She was never materialistic. Not even once.

Joko exhaled.

"Why do women cut their hair shorter the older they get?" he asked his coffee.

Then he recalled a story he once heard from an ustaz (religious teacher)...

A story about a saint who lived in deep poverty. One day, his friend came to visit and asked the saint's wife, "Where's your husband?"

She answered harshly, "In the forest gathering wood. Hopefully a tiger eats him."

Later, the saint returned home carrying wood - brought to him by a tiger.

Time passed. The saint divorced the wife and remarried a kind woman.

One day, the same friend visited again.

"Where's your husband?"

The new wife replied gently, "He's in the forest gathering wood. I pray he returns safely."

And this time, the saint came home carrying the wood himself.

His friend asked, "Why not brought by the tiger anymore?"

The saint smiled and said, "Because ever since I married a righteous woman... my miracles disappeared."

From inside the house, Ika shouted, "Don't forget to take out the trash!"

"Yes," Joko answered softly.

"And maybe I'll take out my past trash too."

He sipped his coffee again.

The bitterness no longer surprised him.

Just like life.

> "Forty-two is weird," he thought.

"Sometimes I feel pious... sometimes I feel like my sins are as big as the national debt - impossible to pay off."

He opened his photo gallery and found an old picture of his kid - back when they were still in elementary school, still clinging to his leg calling him "Dad."

Now they were teenagers who only said, "Hmm" or "No, Dad."

He used to want to be a pilot.

Now he just wanted one thing: not to burden his kids when he gets old.

His only hope...

Just be good kids. Please don't end up in hell.

If they become astronauts someday - great.

If not - also fine.

He scrolled Facebook again and found a status from an old classmate who just became a civil servant:

> "This country isn't ruined by small people.

It's ruined by big people who pretend to be small in front of the law."

Joko smirked.

"Since we were kids, we were taught to follow rules.

The older we get... the more we think rules are for everyone else."

He started thinking:

> "Life isn't about being rich or famous.

It's about what you leave behind after you're gone."

More childhood memories came back:

- Fighting over an eraser like it was family inheritance.

- Getting scolded for messy handwriting.

- Getting a sandal thrown at him by the neighborhood chief for littering.

> "We were taught to throw trash in the bin.

But adults throw corruption everywhere."

He posted a status:

> "Heaven isn't for perfect people.

It's for people who know they're flawed, and keep trying anyway."

Minutes later, comments arrived:

"Amen."

"Deep."

"Bro, you okay?"

"Feeling down?"

Joko smiled small.

Sometimes people only care when you talk softly.

And even then... they don't always listen.

He looked up at the sky.

Cloudy.

But no rain.

> "If life is only about making people smile...

Maybe we forget to make God smile."

He drank the last sip of cold coffee.

Didn't matter.

Life doesn't always need to be warm.

Just don't let it spoil.

He didn't update any more statuses that day.

But inside, he wrote his own note:

> "I'm not sure I'll make it to heaven.

But I want to keep moving toward it.

At least... I won't stand still."

After taking out the trash and giving his wife a short handshake, Joko hopped on his old Honda Beat and rode to school...

---

Teacher, A Look, and the Start of a Movement

The sky was cloudy, but Joko Wiryawan - 5th grade teacher at SDN 07 Semangka Indah (State Elementary School 07 Semangka Indah) in the glorious Republic of Gulali (cotton candy) - felt bright inside. He walked into class wearing a blue batik shirt, khaki slacks, and an old pair of dress shoes patched with Alteco glue.

"Kids, you know something?

Sometimes I'm jealous of the cendol street vendor guy (cendol is kind of ice dessert)

He's happy every day, living simple, doesn't even need to update status every five minutes."

"Sir... you're jealous of a cendol seller?" Raka asked.

"Yes. Because he teaches us something:

Be grateful. Enjoy what you have.

Don't be FOMO.

Trends don't buy peace."

Joko continued, "You all in WhatsApp groups, right?"

The kids replied in unison, "Yes, Sir!"

"I only join one group," Joko said.

"The teachers' group."

A student raised his hand. "Why only one, Sir?"

"Because too many groups make your head noisy.

'Ting ting ting' all day - and most of it is nonsense.

I'm trying to write exam questions, then suddenly I'm reading memes for thirty minutes.

Too many distractions... pointless ones."

Some groups were worse:

People flexing, gossiping, arguing...

"Sometimes I just want peace. Work, pray, rest.

WhatsApp groups? Overstimulating, full of things...

Mostly useless."

The kids fell quiet.

"Once, a friend named Amel added me to the high school alumni group," Joko explained.

"I didn't say anything there, stayed silent.

Then one guy - Romy... now a police chief - wrote:

'Joko is successful but quiet. Must be because his inspiration is Limbad.'"

(Limbad is an Indonesian extreme magician and stunt performer famous for his vow of silence during all public appearances.

He performs dangerous "debus" acts (traditional shows of invulnerability) rather than typical illusions. His distinctive image (long hair, dark clothes, mustache) and silent persona are central to his act. He gained fame on the Indonesian talent show The Master.)

The class laughed.

"But actually... my inspirations are Prophet Muhammad, Michael Jordan, and my uncle Brigadier General Bedjo - the Tiger of Sumatra... Sumatra hero.

They even made a movie character of him in Nagabonar, played by Deddy Mizwar.

There's even a street named after him."

"At that time, I was struggling to find a job.

Barely had money to eat.

My wife had gone back to her father's house.

So I left the group.

Amel added me again.

I left again.

Quietly.

Then I blocked her number for a while - not out of hate, but because... sometimes people don't know when you're hurting."

"As Romy... for the police chief... he probably felt insecure.

People with power sometimes fear losing it.

Funny thing is... I never even talked to him once in high school."

Then he looked at his students warmly.

"You know... even with people we know, we have to be kind.

We don't know what they're going through.

How much more with people we don't know?"

Suddenly, Mamat - also known as Muhammad Matthew, the smart troublemaker - muttered:

"Life shouldn't be too happy, or too sad."

Joko froze for a bit.

> And the student becomes the teacher.

"Some groups," he continued, "are just photos of feet on fancy chairs, wearing Air Jordans... flexing for validation.

Meanwhile I come to school wearing glued shoes.

Sure, I get jealous...

But jealousy is fine.

Envy is not."

"Jealousy says: 'God, I want blessings like that too.'

Envy says: 'Take that blessing away from them.'"

"So now... I choose simplicity.

I don't need to know everything.

I just want peace.

Work, pray, teach you all."

The class went silent except for the rattling fan.

Some kids looked at him with respect.

Others were hungry and waiting for recess.

"And drama happens in groups too," he added.

"Arguments, passive-aggressive comments...

Some people dump their life frustrations there."

"So I stay in one group.

The teachers'.

And sometimes... I don't open that either."

"Sir, how do you know so much?" Raka asked.

Joko paused.

"Because one sign of the end of the world is when people know more about the world... than about their religion."

He ended softly:

"Sometimes life is easier when we know when to stay quiet...

and when to keep our distance."

Some students nodded.

They didn't understand a thing.

But they hoped maybe, just maybe - their grades would go up.

---

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