Tahfidz graduation that I dreamed of | Tebuireng Online

I have been the graduation committee for five times in this cottage. Five times composing chairs, preparing the stage, arranging food, welcoming parents who came with a proud face. Five times I also stood in the corner, hugging my own Manuscripts. Staring at my classmates on the stage, accepting the charter, kissing Kiai’s hand, with a big smile on their faces.

I smile. But in my heart, I crushed. I asked myself, when did I? When was my name called between them? I’m not lazy. I’m not playing games. I’m just slow. Memorizing just one page requires many times murojaah. Every verse, I repeat from the beginning again. And behind my smile at the event, I knew … I struggled harder than the people see. My parents were never really proud.

“Mrs. Rani’s son has memorized 30 juz in grade 3 junior high school, you know,” said the mother one afternoon, when I returned home.

I just nodded, holding back the words that block in my throat. But I was silent. I believe, God is not blind. That day, finally arrived after years, I was khatam. My hands trembled when completing the last verse. I bowed in gratitude while crying, holding my small little manuscripts.

Kiai called me with a warm smile.

“Thank God, finally yes, son. You’re finished.” I nodded when I rub my tears. “Yes, yai …”

My name is on the graduation list this year. I picked my father and mother at the airport to go to the loset that I had ordered. On the way, I drove a rental car while occasionally glancing back, making sure they were comfortable.

“Are you happy?” I asked softly. Mother just smiled a little.

“Later you don’t be shy, when kissing Kiai’s hand. Finally you can also be like the others.”

I agreed, even in my heart, I just wanted them to say: we are proud of you, not because you graduated, but because you survive.

But fate said differently. In the narrow corner, a truck drove from the opposite direction. I only had time to see the spotlight, before the dark world.

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Graduation Day, not me who stood on the stage was not me who kissed Kiai’s hand. Not me who lifted the Manuscripts while smiling proudly. There is only an empty chair with my name that is written neatly on it. Mother cried silently. Father looked down deeply. I’m not there.

The one who rose to the stage was my parents. With unsteady steps, they received my charter from Kiai’s hand. Silent atmosphere. Even the air feels heavy. Kiai holds the microphone. His voice trembled.

“Ananda,” he said, pointing to the charter, “is one of the most special santri for me.” He paused for a moment, took a deep breath.

“He is not fast. He is not easy. But from every verse he has … I as his teacher can give a gift.

Every difficulty … adds a blessing to this cottage. He is a trial for me as a kiai, am I patient in educating, or do I just want to educate children who are easy. ” Tears fell from Kiai’s eyes.

“This child … not a failure. He was the winner. He did not run fast like the others, but he never gave up. And that made God love him more.” Mother sobbed loudly on the guest bench. Father closed his eyes, holding the charter tightly in my hand. They just found out how big my struggle. Just realized, that this slow child … has struggled more than just speed.

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A letter that has never been conveyed

For father and mother,

If this letter reaches your hands, maybe I can no longer hug you. I just want to say … I never got angry. I know, all the words that used to hurt me … maybe you say because you want me to be the best.

But if time can be played, I really want you to know: every page of the Manuscripts that I read, I also read for your happiness. Every verse that I memorized while crying, I intend so that one day we can gather again in heaven.

Not a matter of who is the fastest. Not a matter of who the most charter gets. I just want to be enough child, even though my path is full and wake up. I want you to be proud, not on my greatness … but to my fortitude.

Mother father,

If today you hold my charter, it’s not because I’m great. That’s because God knew I tried as strong as I could. And now, I’m calm.

I finished struggling. Only you all left for my prayer, may Allah strengthen your heart, just like I was struggling to strengthen my heart, quietly, alone.

If later you miss, read one verse from the Manuscripts. That’s enough for me. Because among those verses … there is me.

With love,

Your son never stops trying.

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Writer: Wan Nurlaila Putri
Editor: Rara Zaryry