She

She stood at that intersection each morning. A 6-foot good looking lady at her 20-ish. Dusts and noise were her daily friends but she stood firm regardless. She looked outstanding in the middle of crazy morning traffic. A young becak driver sitting on a small coffee shop teased her and called her a name. Neglecting the misdemeanor, she did not say any words and just walked away. Looking at her from distant, I wondered about her private life. Perhaps she lives with her parents just like in typical Indonesian family. Or maybe she has a husband and 2 fine daughters who have strong nature like hers. Or could be she lives by herself, thus learns to be independent and protective. There is something unusual in her which is worthy of close attention. She did not see me nor even was she aware that I looked at her. Sometimes I feel guilty of sneaking in one’s life. What if she finds out? But beauty does not pass by that often, my inner voice justified.
This morning she looked very happy. She walked joyfully with a smile on her face. As if all flowers in the garden were blooming and dancing for her. As if the whole universe was on her side. As if poverty would not dare to wear down her spirit. I wonder if she just received news about her brother’s wedding. Or perhaps she was just proposed by a prominent man in town. She smiled again and started paddling her old bicycle. Quite hesitantly, she stopped in front of the mosque, stood still in awe of the scene and pronounced a short prayer. Never had I seen her displaying such lively expression. And without trying to be dishonest, I felt happy too for her.

The lady passed me by few times in a day. Slow pace yet with graceful and confident steps, carrying a heavy torn bag stuffed with different types of cakes, she walked in the market and patiently entered shop-by-shop. Once a while she needed to stop and wipe off sweat on her forehead. Sometimes her face looked pale but every one who saw her would be convinced that indeed beauty and strength dwelled in her. Never was she seen with a man or a friend escorting her, as if nothing in the world would make her afraid. She is really a piece of arts. Too precious to be preserved yet too fragile that it may brittle.

Tonight as stars shining bright above, I agonized over her departure. Upon the bench she laid down her weary body and closed her eyes in peace. There was no solemn funeral or respected people attending the ceremony. Only earth, wind and sky witnessed her breath slowly disappeared and returned to the hands of the Almighty. And a little boy whose eyes resemble hers sitting on the ground and singing a sad song.

The lady who used to stand in that intersection is not there any longer. Nor the little boy is around. She might be unknown and unpopular, yet without realizing it, she is truly a heroine whose life becomes portrait of real beauty, perseverance and genuineness. Thanks to you…

**Dedicated to all women whose love and strength have inspired me**