A DUTCHMAN IN A BLACK SUIT

A note from Groningen to Den Haag

Sunday, 19 September 05

A Dutchman seating in front of me. His face is bent over his magazine. His foot steps on the seat next to mine. He got on from Groningen and God knows where he will get off. Hopefully in Den Haag, so I could finish this note on him. He wears black suit and black shoes. It looks like he has been from work, making me wonder what he does as today is Sunday. His black suitcase lying on the empty seat next to his and in front of mine. His other bag is put on the train floor opposite my foot and my shoes almost touch it if I am not careful.

A Dutchman in black, I name him. He is not special. He doesn’t even talk to me. It must be his friendly and reddish face that impresses me which triggers me to kill my boredom by writing a note about him. Once he smiles to me when the ticket checker closes down the window which had been opened since Groningen by someone else before me. It is indeed a hot end of the summer time in Holland. He talks in Dutch to us and closes the window improperly. The Dutchman in black smiles to him and then me. My face is blank as I know no Dutch. The Dutchman in black suit even smiles. Seems like he now smiles at me. Maybe because he finds out that apparently, a foreigner sitting in front of him.

He smiles again to me when another person approaches me to close the window properly. As I do not understand any word, the Dutchman stands up and closes it while his mouth is still smiling. When he sits back, he still smiles and stares at me for a second before reading back his magazine

The window screens a beautiful scenery of windmills and cows. Remaining me of a Dutch milk TV commercial back home. Though my face is bent over my communicator mobile phone which I use to type this note, I still can watch his move. I know that sometimes he opens the pages of his magazine to see what else he can read.

The Dutchman looks at his watch. He turns his head to the other window across the aisle of our seats. It seems like he is trying to look for a signage of a name of a station. He puts his magazine into his black suitcase. He is prepared to leave.

It’s Amersfoort. The train stops. He stands up. His both hands grab his black suitcase and his black bag. Again, that red face smiles to me before he walks to the train door. I still can see him in the platform from the window. The Dutchman in black suit gets on the other train in the next platform taking him to his own destination.

My train moves slowly leaving Amersfoort and the shadow of the Dutchman in black. The seat in front of me is empty. My train moves before his, taking me to Den Haag. Now I do not know what else to write.

WISUDA NO MEGAH

London, 6 September 2005

Melihat berbagai macam pakaian tradisional dari berbagai negara adalah hal yang paling menarik saat menghadiri wisuda. Sayangnya karena berada di negeri orang, saya sendiri tidak berusaha ke salon pagi-pagi untuk berkonde dan bersarung untuk menghadiri wisuda. Bisa dibayangkan repotnya naik turun tangga di kereta bawah tanah dengan sarung. Makasih deh. Hanya saja sense bahwa saya akan menghadiri upacara wisuda, jadi agak berkurang, karena meski berkebaya dari bahan sutra putih yang sudah saya persiapkan sebelum berangkat demi kebanggaan indentitas negara asal, tetapi sarung terpaksa saya ganti dengan celana blue jeans.

Agak sedikit iri melihat wisudawan/wisudawati yang berpakaian tradisional lengkap dari berbagai negara. Ada yang berkimono dari negeri sakura, berbaju cina atau berpakaian afro bak Queen Latifah. Meski beberapa dari mereka, seperti rekan saya seorang pria Jepang, bersusah payah naik ke atas panggung karena khawatir kesrimpet saat melangkah dengan bakiak Jepangnya dan kimono panjang yang membalut tubuh, tetapi hal itu justru memberikan nuansa yang sangat berbeda.

Sayangnya tidak terdengar lagu Gaudeamus Igitur yang dikumandangkan oleh paduan suara. Agak menyedihkan, karena biasanya wisuda di tanah air adalah ajang pamer paduan suara kampus, bahkan sampai niat agar dimasukkan ke dalam musium rekor untuk anggota paduan suara terbanyak. Kali ini cukup dengan recital sederhana.

Yang paling apresiatif bagi saya adalah tangan saya dijabat langsung oleh Maha Guru dan nama saya disebut (meski dengan aksen yang agak lucu) oleh Rektor. Padahal karena masih terserang jetlag, rambut saya masih ngejigrak karena malas menata pagi-pagi dan kaki terbalut celana blue jeans. Lain halnya saat wisuda dengan lulusan yang jumlahnya ratusan di Fakultas dan ribuan di Balairung. Sudah susah-susah berkonde dan berkebaya lengkap dengan sarung, tetapi hanya disalami oleh Dekan Fakultas karena Rektor hanya menjabat tangan para lulusan cum laude (well, frankly I am not that intellectual).

Meski berkali-kali saya menahan senyum karena menurut saya wisuda kali ini terlihat sangat British (baca: kaku), dan tidak semegah wisuda di Indonesia, paling tidak, event ini adalah ajang reuni untuk bertemu teman-teman sekelas dan berfoto dengan toga lengkap dengan papan nama universitas sebagai background. As simple as it is, luv!