A Beautiful Time That Has Been Lost

Suddenly the feeling came, and pounced on the lonely that had been plagued. I sat in the living room, looking at whatever was visible outside the house window. The road was quiet, the heat rose, and the wind passed without permission. So this atmosphere I think is very different from the last few years. but the children who ran after the kite, pedaled the bicycle to and fro, shouting to other friends, now I rarely meet. And I don't know if I have returned to this village very rarely, or indeed everything has changed without my noticing.

I remember and I remember, when I was a child. I have many friends, who every day play together under the heat of the sun. Playing gobak sodor, pantek, market, hide and seek, and many more. And the lands stretch so far that they can be used as a field for us, the lack of motorized vehicles makes us free to play on the road ahead of the rice fields, now everything is gone, and longing is getting worse.

And now I find children in this village silent, with friends who have bought. The friend who ensnared him mercilessly, made him opium to forget the commandments of God. Do you know who echoed the call to prayer? It is the same voice, shuffling, slow and sometimes hoarse. They are mostly old people. Whereas when children used to fight to sing it, they even took turns holding a microphone when the praises to God were sung. But now, where are they going? It's rare for me to find the voice of the adzan that is funny again.

And Surau in this village still stands firm, even every year before the holy month of Ramadhan there is always a consecration to clean the musholla. The rugs are washed, the walls are painted, the pile of the qur'an is cleaned, the dust is expelled. But the surau remained quiet, only a handful of people would come and surrender themselves as weak servants. But where are the villagers? Or do they have surau in their own house?

And children, they always prefer to stay in front of their friends who are always loyal to accompany him. Parents no longer care, the important thing is that they don't act and cause a noisy atmosphere at home. But it is precisely that which is disastrous, the generation of the nation is left addicted to drugs-like objects. Since childhood, since his hand can touch tiny objects.

When the maghrib call to prayer is echoed, the children remain silent in the house. Solemn facing objects created by humans, really sad isn't it? They should be led to the house of God, respond to that sweet call or follow the praise of Javanese praise so that they can inherit it later. then Surau becomes crowded, religion can be felt. And the villagers will be more prosperous.

But irony, the atmosphere I once found began to erode over time. And longing felt even more intense, climbing every recorded event. Look at the child who is in grade 5 elementary school, he rarely pedals his small bicycle because his favorite motorbike is much more interesting. When you look at the child who is still in kindergarten, the toy is no longer a ball, a doll, a flower, or any other bad thing, but an object that really can't speak. So I was only able to rub my chest and shake my head. Hopefully someday God won't be angry with me.