Night Prayer
Shofwan
Translated by Sarita Supratman
Illustration by Jayu Juli.
Hot. Very hot. Too hot. Sweat poured down every inch of my body. I faintly heard people screaming in agony. The longer I heard them, the clearer the sounds became. I heard them calling out to God and begging for mercy. How their cries made my heart break.
Slowly I opened my eyes. I looked around. Everything was reddish orange. There were so many people, naked and in a wretched state. There was a woman who had been hanged with her own hair, wrapped around her neck. Her breasts were being nibbled by small snakes. There was a man whose stomach swelled slowly, like a balloon being blown up. He seemed in such pain that finally the stomach exploded and released all of its contents. But then the stomach began to grow back. There were people who were doused with liquids such as magma until their skin and flesh fell off, leaving only the skeleton. There were those whose anuses were pierced with iron skewers until the tips came out of their mouths.
I screamed as the flames licked my nipples. Two chains twisted around my genitals: one at the base of the shaft and one at the base of the testicles. The chains were pulled in two opposite directions. My body was hung upside down. Beneath my head, a sea of turbulent magma was ready to disintegrate me. I hoped my penis and testicles would be able to bear my weight. Shortly thereafter, I felt extreme pain in that favorite part of my body. Damn. They’ve let me down. I closed my eyes and screamed at the top of my lungs.
I woke up drenched in sweat—even though my underwear was the only thing clinging to my body. The clock showed three o'clock in the morning. I’d only slept for two hours. Lately, dreams about torture in hell had often been interfering with my sleep. Will loving a man who loves me in return lead me to hell? I've suffered so much social pressure here—do I have to suffer there too? If so, God isn’t fair! God is evil!
My mother’s alarm went off. It was time for her to do the night prayer, salat tahajjud. I heard her heading to the bathroom to perform her ablution. The bedroom I shared with my brother had no door and was located between a bathroom and a room that was large enough for sleeping, cooking, and other activities. Our house was very small and had only three rooms.
“Kak, are you awake?”
I realized Mother had heard me too.
“Try to do the night prayer. Now that you’re awake, it’s a shame to skip it. Especially since you’re pursuing a scholarship for your master’s degree,” my mother said.
“Don’t feel like it,” I said curtly.
Mother often encouraged me to pray when I was faced with hardship or if I hoped for something. I never obeyed because to me it seemed truly useless. Despite praying, I remained poor, depressed, and would be sent to hell due to my sexuality. I never chose to be born like this. In this small, unbeautiful body. Without anything about myself to be proud of. Without any strength to flaunt. In a poor family in all its impoverishment inside this small square house.
Instead of listening to my mother’s continuous babble, telling me to pray, I’d rather have gone back to sleep. Actually, I liked to sleep naked. It made me feel free and sexy, like Hollywood actors, although my body wasn’t as beautiful as theirs. Unfortunately, I never got to do it at home since I shared my bedroom with my brother.
The morning sun woke me up. It penetrated my room through a window that was stuck shut. At least it was a bright Friday morning. I was a little more enthusiastic than the days before, when I’d felt haunted by the dark clouds and rain. I took my phone, which I’d charged overnight but whose battery still wasn’t full. The clock showed 7:47.
I got out of bed, had breakfast, then showered, not forgetting to masturbate. Masturbation is a very exciting hobby. It’s a heaven on earth. The only thing better is having sex with a partner. The activity refreshed my bored mind. When masturbating, my focus is centered on the pleasure of every stimulus I give to my body. The longer I do it, the closer to orgasm, the less I care about the outside world, until finally, when I ejaculate, and all the negativity, stress, and fatigue burst out. The more the sperm, the stronger the eruption, the more relieved I feel afterward.
After occupying the bathroom for 30 minutes, I came out wearing a towel. Then I put on my underpants and hung the soaking wet towel to dry in front of the house. Maybe it makes me an exhibitionist, but I like going outside wearing only my underwear. As long as it’s not a skimpy one.
Then I went back into the house to get ready. I put on a pink shirt and ivory trousers. I kept the top of my shirt unbuttoned so that my broad chest and short dagger pendant were visible. After that, I applied light foundation to my face, followed by powder, blush, highlighter, eye shadow, mascara, and lip balm. Not forgetting my beauty blender, I used it to perfect each stage. I put on my sunglasses, my watch, and the fuschia bracelet that G, my boyfriend, gave me. Before saying goodbye to my mom, I sprayed on vanilla-and-bubble-gum-scented perfume. As soon as the motorbike taxi I ordered had arrived, I left home.
When I got to work, I greeted every colleague I met with a sweet, cheerful smile, from the security guy in front of the gate, to the receptionist in the office lobby, and the Assistant Director in the corridor —she had just made her coffee. I arrived in my office: there were piles of transaction invoices, payslips, financial reports, and various other documents on my desk. I hadn’t even started working, but I felt tired already. Shortly afterward, a handsome, well-built man passed by in a tight white shirt unable to hide the beauty of his body. His large arms were perfectly formed, his broad chest made the top of his shirt impossible to button, his dark brown nipples were obvious. He was only 28 years old and he was still single. I had liked him at first sight: the Managing Director. I'm sorry, G, I said, apologizing in my head to my boyfriend, I just like looking at him. It’s only for entertainment. My heart is still yours.
He stopped by my desk and showed me his mobile phone screen.
"Just look at this video," he said. "Those LGBTers. Spilling their blood is halal," said a cleric in the video. "They are spreaders of HIV/AIDS,” he added, “deadly diseases that have no cure. Just look at the people in the story of the prophet Lut who were punished by Allah. They were destroyed for their sexual deviance. Even animals aren’t homos, are they? That means homosexuals are inferior to animals."
The Director stopped the video and began chatting, "If you ask me, they’re mentally ill. Crazy. It must be because of trauma or environmental influences. Or it could be that they rarely pray. Fortunately, there are no infidels in this company and we’re all required to attend prayer services. Watch out or you’ll become one too. And is that make up on your face?”
“Um, I’ll be careful, sir,” I replied.
The people at my workplace seem to think of themselves as saints—the holiest of people—and they’re quick to consider others infidels. They often confuse me by promoting peace and love, but voicing hatred out loud. Especially hatred toward me and my friends who are against the norm. Or those who worship different gods.
A few hours later, I heard the lady from marketing speaking in the next cubicle: "For me, whatever religion, the important thing is to not question religious teachings, let alone question God, who sent them. That would lead us to atheism. Imagine your parents knowing you were an atheist. Imagine no religion in the world—what would happen? I believe that immorality is rampant and humans have become less moral than animals. Look at Westerners. They wear clothes, but they might as well be naked. They legalize same-sex marriages and have sex with people outside of marriage. And the worst are those sissies wearing makeup running around everywhere. Imagine the doom that will befall us if the same thing happens in Indonesia.”
I sneered in my heart. I wanted to scream, Yes, I’m indeed a Muslim. But I didn’t choose the religion that was passed down to me. Is it wrong to question the things that I inherited against my will? Anyway, many atheists are more moral than religious folks. For example, what atheist country would ever want to legalize stoning LGBTQ + people to death, like Brunei? But what can I do? I don’t feel safe or supported in this environment.
Instead of arguing, I chose to obey. Religious identity and belief are just a show. Do you want to be seen as a Muslim? Just pray. They’ll definitely think you’re a Muslim. Do you want to look Christian? Attend church services. These days, there’s an even easier way to be seen as a follower of a particular religion: just upload photos of these religious symbols or beliefs onto your social media account.
The clock showed 11:30. No wonder our handsome director was on patrol, inviting all male employees to join Friday prayers.
"You are a man, aren’t you?" he asked me as I kept working.
"Y-yes, sir."
I was forced to hurry to the mosque across from the office.
In the courtyard of the mosque, I relaxed a little before going in, smoking with other young men in order to seem a bit more masculine. Someone approached me. He looked familiar but also foreign. It was X, a dashing man I knew from childhood as a girl named Indah.
"Hey you, where’ve you been?" I said, greeting him. Then I hugged him and kissed his right and left cheeks. "How are you? What are you doing here?"
"I want to join Friday prayers. How are you? It's been a long time, huh?"
I paused for a moment. During our entire friendship, to my knowledge, he’d never joined Friday prayers.
"But you’re..." I said, leaving my sentence unfinished. I didn’t want to hurt him.
He just smiled and I followed X to perform our ablutions and occupy the penultimate row. My officemates were in the very front. He performed the Tahiyat al-Masjid Prayer—(the Prayer of Greeting the Mosque)—while I didn’t. As people slowly filled the mosque, X calmly read the Qur’an on his device. I watched with surprise. Why did he love his religion so much, even though his religion cursed him? Why was he so hopeful about the grace of a God who might be preparing the worst torture for him in hell? Why was he so eager to approach his God, the Almighty Sadist?
The khateeb climbed the minbar. He began his lecture by reading the Qur'anic verses about the torment of the people who were warned by the Prophet Lut. Again!? I felt uncomfortable with this hateful preaching. It was the same discomfort I felt in the office. I felt attacked. Swarmed. Crushed. My ears felt warm at hearing these curses, insults, even justifications of the killing of our community. They compared our actions to the ugly behavior of the Sodomites, for example, gang-raping people who stopped by their hometown, and having sex in public. Even though we couldn’t be more different. We don’t commit such crimes. There are of course some people from the LGBT community who are capable of doing such things, but it has nothing to do with our sexual orientation or gender identity and expression. They’re the same as heterosexuals who rape. When they rape, their sexual orientation is never questioned or cited as a reason. In fact, the victims and their clothing are often blamed. Who is more immoral? I forced myself to fall asleep because the sermon was useless to me. It only made me hate God even more.
After Friday prayers, I saw that X was still solemnly praying. I wondered what he was praying for. But instead of interrupting him, I chose to wait outside the mosque. I didn't leave right away because I wanted to ask him something. I told the people in the office that I was having lunch with an old friend.
After a while, X came out. I took him to lunch at a restaurant next to the office. As it turned out it was one of his favorite places.
We sat down and ordered food and drinks. He opened the conversation. "Earlier, at the mosque, I thought you were watching me. What’s up? Is there something wrong?"
I felt ashamed, but I forced myself to be honest and brave. "First of all, I’m sorry if I sound nosy but I need to ask this. Why do you love God so much even though He curses you because you are considered unnatural?"
X became flustered. His expression changed. He had seemed cheerful and relaxed, but now he looked so serious. Is he offended? It didn’t seem like it. But why did his face change? I felt awkward.
"Hmm, try to remember the first verse in the Koran," X answered just as I was about to open my mouth and retract my question.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
"What is the first verse of the surah, Al-Fatihah?
"Bismillahirrahmanirrahim.”
“Meaning?”
“In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful.”
"You see? God welcomes us by introducing Themself as the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful, not the Curser. God’s curses are not the business of humans. What I mean is, even if the whole world curses you, it doesn’t necessarily mean that God curses you, too. By the same token, even though the whole world blesses you, it doesn’t necessarily mean that God blesses you, too. Allah is All-Knowing of what Their creatures do not know. Let Them alone judge me."
I was stunned to hear his answer. Is what he said true? Is God like that? Ah, no way! Even in my dreams, God throws me into hell; is it possible that there is still a place for me in God’s heaven? I still didn’t see the logic.
"Where is this All-Knowing Allah?” I responded. “If They truly love all Their creatures, why did They let some of us starve to death? Why did They let some of us die tragically? Why did They let Their loyal servants become victims of the savagery of Their rebellious ones? Where are They when we cry out Their name? Where are They when some of us die because of our faith in Them and for the sake of Their defense? And why must we defend Them? Aren’t They capable of easily destroying people if They will? Didn't They once say They didn't need Their creatures? So why do we have to exist? Why did They have to create us?"
The clamor of the restaurant suddenly became faint. How long every millisecond felt. People passing by slowly faded away. All my attention was fixed on X's lips, which remained closed and showed no sign of answering. I was restless. Fidgety.
The earth seemed to stop spinning.
But then X replied. "Wow. You’re very critical. That's good because, in my opinion, we can't fully believe in something without questioning it. We cannot truly find God without seeking Them. Islamic teachings also tell of the Prophet Ibrahim seeking his God before finding Them. He questioned God before finally believing in Them. He had thought that the sun and moon were God. We’re not prophets like him. However, I think we need to find our God so that we know Them better. We have the right to question Them. Maybe then we will love Them more. We have the right to approach Them in our own way."
Throughout the afternoon at the office, I kept thinking about X's words, until it was time to leave. My boyfriend, G, picked me up. His workplace was only a block away from my office. I immediately climbed onto his motorbike and wrapped my arms around his waist. We headed for his apartment. It had become my routine every weekend to stay there because it was the safest place for us to show affection to each other, like all couples in general. My mother already knew G and considered our relationship to be merely friendship. I told her that we’d met during a poetry competition in college and had run into each other again while participating in a literary community. She seemed to believe it. If only she knew the truth—or maybe she knew all along.
Once we arrived at G's apartment, we locked the door. Just the two of us in the room. We stood face to face. Silence.
I looked deep into his sparkling eyes. I saw the glint of my brown eyes in his. I also saw gentleness and sincere love. The deeper I stared, the more I was absorbed in thoughts of the future. I dreamed of my future self with him in our old age—dreams that increasingly obscured the real world around me. My hand, which had held his hand, was now holding his body. The longing that had bothered me the whole week was gradually leaving. The longer we embraced, the tighter we held each other, and the warmer I felt.
My eyes slowly closed. My head was tilted to the right. My face approached his, until finally my lips felt his soft lips. Then he tucked my lower lip between his, which pressed against mine with feeling. The first kiss wet our lips. Then we went on to the second . Then the third.
My hands began to explore his body as his hands began to touch mine. It was stiflingly hot. We then took off each other's clothes so that not a single thread was left on our bodies. He continued to kiss my neck, my Adam's apple. He went further down. Then my nipples were kissed and licked alternately. His lips got lower and lower until they were finally in front of my cock, which had become hard. First, he kissed the tip. Then he licked it like ice cream. His tongue touched every part of my shaft until, finally, it found my two testicles, dangling. Then he sucked them, one by one, so strongly that I felt pain. A beautiful pain.
Slowly, he put the head of my cock into his mouth. He drew my cock further and further into his mouth so that, eventually, I could feel his throat. Warm. Enjoyable. I tugged at his hair to control the speed. Faster and faster. He continued to suck my cock until I came while helping him masturbate.
After the clouds of pleasure faded away, we made out in bed, chatted, and played online games until sunset. We then showered and got ready to go on a date like a normal couple. We visited shopping centers and ate at cafes. At exactly midnight, we were in the bed again. Naked, we cuddled each other under the blanket.
I woke up drenched in sweat. Again the damn dream about the disturbed my sleep. I saw the clock showing three o'clock in the morning. I’d only slept for three hours.
The conversation with X yesterday still rang in my ears. Could it be that God was as he described? Curiosity drove me to the bathroom to perform an ablution. The cold of the water didn’t shake my resolve. Afterwards, I spread out a prayer mat. I chanted the Takbir while trying to absorb its meaning.
How strange! My soul shook. I got goosebumps. I thought maybe it was the cold wind. I continued to read Al-Fatihah. The first verse—Bismillahirrahmanirrahim. Again it made me feel something strange. Something I had never felt before. The intensity of this feeling continued to increase until I reached the end of the surah.
It was time to choose a short surah. And Al-Inshirah, The Expansion, immediately came to mind.
Have We not caused your bosom to expand?
And eased you of the burden which weighed down your back?
Without realizing it, I shed a tear. Yes, that's how I felt. At the peak of the constant turbulence inside of me, it turned out there was relief. The tightness in my chest due to anger, resentment, and life’s pressures disappeared. The burden of my life being a disease of society was lifted by a power that I couldn’t explain.
And exalted your repute?
Yes, it was true. I had now earned a college degree and scored a well-paying job. The economic situation of my family had greatly improved.
But, God, I have many other burdens that are no less heavy, my mind continued. I’m waiting for the announcement of Erasmus Mundus scholarship for the Master’s program in gender studies. What if I’m not admitted? I really want the scholarship. My life would be freer if I were in Europe. I’ll be one step closer toward my dream of working for UN Women. But then again, what if I get accepted? I’ll have to leave G whom I care about. I couldn’t leave him.
I want him to come with me to my destination. I want to marry him and build a family with him in a beautiful house, far away in Europe. Northern Europe, where we are highly valued and respected as humans. Where we can get married and our children can learn to be fully human: human beings. There they’ll understand that a family doesn’t necessarily consist of one father, one mother, and two children as I learned in elementary school. There we can spend old age in love that doesn’t need to be hidden. I long to, one day, show the world that I am happy with him, with Your permission and will, God. I no longer want to live a lie.
And then:
For indeed, with hardship will be ease,
I felt my God offering Their shoulders for me to lean on and cry.
Indeed, with hardship will be ease.
I felt Them caressing my head.
And only to your God direct your longing
My tears were unstoppable. I fell to my knees and burst into tears. My prayer mat was now wet.
Hold me, O my God. Hold me close, even though I have hated you.
© Shofwan
English translation © Sarita Supratman
SALAT DI PENGHUJUNG MALAM
Shofwan
Panas. Sangat Panas. Terlalu Panas. Keringat mengalir deras di sekujur tubuhku. Samar-samar aku mendengar teriakan-teriakan manusia kesakitan. Semakin lama semakin jelas. Aku mendengar mereka menyebut nama Tuhan dan memohon ampun. Jeritan mereka begitu menyayat hati.
Perlahan kubuka kedua mataku. Kulihat sekitar. Semuanya berwarna jingga kemerahan. Banyak sekali manusia telanjang dalam keadaan mengenaskan. Ada perempuan yang digantung dengan rambutnya sendiri yang melilit leher. Payudaranya digigiti ular-ular kecil. Ada laki-laki yang perutnya membengkak perlahan seperti balon yang ditiup. Ia tampak merasa begitu kesakitan hingga akhirnya perut itu meledak dan mengeluarkan seluruh isinya. Namun, lalu perut itu tumbuh lagi. Ada orang-orang yang disiram cairan seperti magma hingga kulit dan dagingnya meluruh, hanya menyisakan rangkanya. Ada yang duburnya ditusuk besi hingga keluar dari mulut.
Aku berteriak saat api menjilat putingku. Dua utas rantai membelit alat kelaminku: satu di pangkal batang dan satu lagi di pangkal buah zakar. Rantai-rantai itu ditarik ke dua arah yang berlawanan. Tubuhku digantung terbalik. Di bawah kepalaku, lautan magma bergejolak siap melumatku. Aku berharap penis dan testisku sanggup menahan berat tubuhku. Tak lama kemudian, kurasakan nyeri yang sangat dahsyat di bagian tubuh favoritku itu. Sial. Mereka mengecewakanku. Aku menutup mata dan menjerit sekencang-kencangnya.
Aku terbangun dalam keadaan bermandi peluh—padahal hanya celana dalam yang menempel pada tubuhku. Kulihat jam dinding menunjukkan pukul tiga dini hari. Baru dua jam aku tidur. Mimpi tentang siksaan di neraka itu sering mengacaukan waktu istirahatku akhir-akhir ini. Apakah mencintai seorang pria yang mencintaiku niscaya akan menggiringku ke gerbang neraka? Aku sudah menderita dengan semua tekanan sosial di sini—apakah aku harus menderita juga di sana? Jika ya, Tuhan tidak adil! Tuhan jahat!
Alarm ponsel Mama berbunyi. Waktunya ia salat tahajud. Aku mendengarnya bangun dan ke kamar mandi untuk mengambil wudu. Kamarku dan adikku yang tidak berpintu terletak di antara sebuah ruangan cukup besar untuk tidur, masak, beraktivitas, dan kamar mandi. Rumah kami sangat kecil dan hanya memiliki tiga ruangan.
“Kak, kamu udah bangun?” Rupanya Ibu juga mendengarku. “Coba tahajud. Sayang udah bangun jam segini tapi nggak tahajud. Kamu kan lagi ngejar beasiswa S2,” ujar ibuku.
“Malas,” jawabku ketus.
Mama sering menganjurkanku untuk salat saat aku diterpa cobaan atau mengharapkan sesuatu. Namun, aku tidak pernah menurut karena bagiku itu sungguh tak berguna. Aku salat pun tetap miskin, tetap gagal, tetap depresi, dan tetap akan masuk neraka akibat seksualitasku. Aku tidak pernah memilih terlahir seperti ini. Dalam tubuh kecil tak indah ini. Sebagai diri yang tak bisa dibanggakan sedikit pun, yang tak memiliki kelebihan apapun. Dalam keluarga miskin yang hidup serba berkekurangan di sebuah rumah petak.
Daripada mendengar ocehan Mama yang terus menyuruhku salat, lebih baik aku mencoba tidur lagi setelah berganti celana dalam. Sebenarnya, aku suka tidur telanjang bulat karena itu membuatku merasa bebas dan seksi seperti aktor-aktor Hollywood—walau tubuhku tak seindah mereka. Sayangnya, aku tidak pernah bisa melakukannya di rumah karena adikku tidur di sebelahku.
Sinar mentari pagi membangunkanku. Ia mempenetrasi kamarku melalui jendela rusak yang tak bisa dibuka. Setidaknya Jumat pagi ini cerah. Aku sedikit lebih bersemangat dibandingkan dengan hari-hari sebelumnya yang dihantui mega mendung atau diguyur hujan. Kuambil ponselku yang kuisi baterainya semalaman tapi tak penuh jua. Jam menunjukkan pukul 7:47.
Aku bangkit dari tempat tidur, sarapan, lalu mandi—tidak lupa bermasturbasi. Onani merupakan hobi yang sangat mengasyikkan. Surga dunia kedua setelah seks bersama pasangan. Kegiatan itu menyegarkan pikiranku yang jenuh. Saat merancap, fokusku terpusat pada kenikmatan setiap rangsangan yang kuberikan pada tubuhku. Semakin lama, semakin dekat dengan orgasme, semakin aku tidak peduli dengan dunia luar. Hingga akhirnya seluruh negativitas, stres, dan rasa penat menyembur keluar saat aku ejakulasi. Semakin banyak pejuhnya, semakin kuat erupsinya, semakin lega perasaanku setelahnya.
Seusai menguasai kamar mandi selama 30 menit, aku keluar mengenakan handuk. Kemudian aku mengenakan celana dalam dan menjemur handuk yang amat basah itu di depan rumah. Mungkin aku eksibisionis, tetapi aku suka saat ke depan rumah dengan hanya memakai celana dalam—tapi bukan yang berbentuk segitiga.
Aku lalu masuk lagi ke dalam rumah untuk bersiap-siap. Kemudian aku mengenakan kemeja merah jambu dan celana panjang putih tulang. Tiga kancing teratas kemejaku tak kupasang agar dada bidang dan kalungku yang berbentuk pedang pendek terlihat. Setelah itu, aku merias wajahku dengan foundation ringan, compact powder, blush on, highlighter, eye shadow, mascara, dan lip balm. Tidak lupa, aku meratakan setiap aplikasi riasan wajah dengan beauty blender. Aku pakai kacamataku, jam tanganku, dan gelang berwarna fuchia pemberian G, pacarku. Sebelum pamit kepada Mama, aku menyemprotkan parfum beraroma paduan vanila dan permen karet. Setelah ojek yang kupesan datang, aku berangkat.
Setibaku di tempat kerja, aku menyapa setiap kolega yang kutemui dengan senyuman manis nan ceria. Mulai dari Pak Satpam yang berjaga di depan gerbang, Bu Resepsionis di lobi kantor, dan Bu Asisten Direktur di koridor—ia baru saja membuat kopi. Aku pun tiba di ruanganku: faktur-faktur transaksi, slip-slip gaji, laporan-laporan keuangan, dan berbagai dokumen lainnya menumpuk di mejaku. Belum memulai saja, aku sudah merasa lelah. Tak lama kemudian, lewatlah seorang pria tampan dan gagah dalam kemeja ketat berwarna putih yang tak mampu menutupi keindahan tubuhnya. Lengannya yang besar terbentuk sempurna, dadanya yang bidang membuat bagian atas kemejanya tak dapat dikancing, kedua putingnya yang berwarna cokelat gelap tercetak jelas. Umurnya baru 28 tahun dan dia masih single. Aku menyukainya sejak pandangan pertama: Pak Direktur. Maafkan aku, G, aku hanya suka kok. Sekadar cuci mata. Hatiku tetap untukmu.
Ia berhenti di mejaku dan menunjukkan ponselnya. "Coba deh lihat video ini,” ujarnya. “LGBT itu halal darahnya,” ujar seorang ustadz di video itu. “Mereka itu penyebar HIV/AIDS. Penyakit mematikan yang sampai saat ini belum ada obatnya,” tambahnya. “Kita lihat saja kisah kaum nabi Luth a.s. yang diazab oleh Allah SWT. Mereka dibinasakan akibat penyimpangan seksual mereka. Binatang saja tidak ada yang homo ‘kan? Berarti mereka lebih rendah dari binatang.”
Pak Direktur menghentikan videonya lalu mengajakku mengobrol, “Kalau kata saya ya, mereka itu sakit jiwa, gila. Pasti ada trauma atau pengaruh lingkungan. Atau bisa juga akibat jarang salat. Untung di perusahaan ini nggak ada orang kafir dan semuanya harus salat berjamaah. Hati-hati kamu jadi LGBT. Cowok kok dandan?”
“Oh iya, Pak,” sahutku.
Orang-orang di tempat kerjaku tampaknya merasa ahli surga—paling suci dan mudah mengkafirkan orang lain. Mereka sering membingungkanku dengan mempromosikan perdamaian dan cinta kasih tetapi menyuarakan kebencian dengan lantang. Terutama kebencian terhadapku dan teman-temanku yang melawan norma. Atau terhadap mereka yang menyembah Tuhan yang berbeda dengan Tuhan mereka.
Beberapa jam kemudian, kudengar Bu Marketing berbicara di kubikel sebelah: “Bagi saya, apa pun agama kita, yang penting kita tidak boleh mempertanyakan ajaran agama, apalagi sampai mempertanyakan Tuhan yang menurunkannya, karena itu akan mengantarkan kita kepada ateisme. Bayangkan jika orangtua kamu tahu kamu menjadi ateis. Bayangkan jika di dunia ini tidak ada agama, apa jadinya? Saya yakin maksiat merajalela dan manusia menjadi makhluk tunamoral yang lebih rendah daripada binatang. Lihat saja orang-orang Barat. Banyak yang berpakaian tetapi seperti telanjang, mereka melegalkan pernikahan sesama jenis, dan semuanya berhubungan badan dengan pasangan yang tidak sah, atau yang paling jijik tuh banyak cowok tulang lunak ber-makeup berkeliaran. Bayangkan azab yang akan menimpa kita jika semua itu terjadi di Indonesia,” ujarnya.
Aku mencibir dalam hati. Ingin rasanya berteriak, Saya memang sedang beragama Islam. Namun, agama itu diwariskan kepada saya, bukan saya pilih. Apakah salah bila saya mempertanyakan hal yang saya terima di luar kehendak saya? Selain itu, banyak orang-orang ateis yang lebih bermoral daripada yang beragama. Contohnya, negara ateis mana yang ingin menerapkan hukuman rajam sampai mati kepada orang-orang LGBTQ+ seperti Brunei? Tapi ada daya, aku tidak merasa aman dan didukung oleh sekitar.
Daripada ribut, aku memilih menurut. Identitas agama dan kepercayaan hanya sebuah pertunjukan. Anda ingin terlihat Muslim? Salat saja. Mereka pasti akan mengira Anda Muslim. Anda ingin terlihat Kristiani? Ikutilah kebaktian di gereja. Sekarang bahkan ada cara yang jauh lebih mudah untuk terlihat sebagai pemeluk suatu agama tertentu: unggah saja foto-foto simbol agama atau kepercayaan tersebut di akun media sosial Anda.
Jam menunjukkan pukul 11:30. Pantas saja direktur tampan itu berpatroli untuk mengajak semua karyawan berjenis kelamin laki-laki salat Jumat. "Laki-laki bukan?” tanyanya kepadaku yang masih bekerja.
“I-iya, Pak.” Aku pun terpaksa bergegas ke masjid di seberang kantor.
Di pelataran masjid, aku bersantai sebelum masuk untuk sekadar merokok bersama pemuda lainnya agar terlihat sedikit lebih jantan. Seseorang menghampiriku. Ia tampak familiar tetapi juga asing: namanya A, lelaki gagah yang waktu kecil kukenal dengan nama Indah.
“Hei kamu, ke mana aja?” sapaku. Aku lalu memeluknya sambil cium pipi kanan dan kiri. “Apa kabar? Kamu ngapain di sini?”
“Ya mau salat Jumat. Kamu apa kabar? Udah lama banget ya?”
Aku terdiam sejenak. Selama berteman dengannya, aku tidak pernah tahu ia salat Jumat. “Tapi kan kamu…” ucapku terputus. Aku tidak ingin menyakiti hatinya.
A hanya tersenyum dan aku pun mengikutinya mengambil wudu dan menempati saf kedua dari belakang, jauh dari orang-orang sekantorku yang menempati saf paling depan. Ia melakukan salat tahiyatul masjid, sedangkan aku tidak. Sementara orang-orang perlahan menjejali masjid ini, A dengan tenang membaca Alquran di gawainya. Aku mengamatinya dengan heran. Mengapa ia bisa begitu mencintai agamanya sedangkan agamanya melaknatnya? Mengapa ia bisa begitu mengharapkan rahmat Tuhan yang mungkin sedang menyiapkan siksaan terdahsyat untuknya di neraka? Mengapa ia tampak begitu ingin mendekati Tuhannya yang Maha Sadis itu?
Khotib menaiki mimbar. Ia memulai ceramahnya dengan membaca ayat Alquran tentang kaum nabi Luth a.s. yang diazab. Lagi?! Aku merasa tidak nyaman dengan konten dakwah penuh kebencian ini. Seperti saat di kantor tadi, aku merasa diserang. Dikepung. Dirempuk. Telingaku panas mendengar ocehan yang melaknat, menghina, bahkan menghalalkan darah kami. Mereka menyamakan kami dengan perilaku kaum Sodom yang sangat buruk seperti memerkosa ramai-ramai orang-orang yang singgah ke kampung mereka dan melakukan hubungan seks di tempat umum. Padahal kami sangat berbeda. Kami tidak melakukan kejahatan seperti mereka. Walaupun ada beberapa yang melakukan, itu bukan disebabkan orientasi seksual atau identitas dan ekspresi gender kami. Sama saja seperti mereka yang hetero. Saat mereka memerkosa, orientasi seksual mereka sama sekali tidak pernah dipermasalahkan atau dijadikan salah satu alasan. Bahkan seringkali yang disalahkan adalah korban dan pakaiannya. Siapa yang lebih bejat? Aku memaksakan diri untuk tidur karena ceramahnya tidak bermanfaat bagiku. Hanya membuatku semakin membenci Tuhan.
Selesai salat Jumat, kulihat A masih khusyuk berdoa. Entah apa isinya. Daripada mengganggu, aku memilih untuk menunggunya di luar masjid. Aku tidak langsung pergi karena ingin bertanya sesuatu padanya. Kukatakan kepada orang-orang sekantor bahwa aku akan makan siang bersama teman lama.
Setelah beberapa saat, A pun keluar. Aku mengajaknya makan siang di restoran di samping kantor. Ternyata itu restoran favoritnya.
Kami pun duduk dan memesan makanan serta minuman. Ia membuka percakapan, “Tadi, di masjid, kayaknya kamu merhatiin aku. Ada apa? Ada yang aneh?” tanyanya.
Aku merasa malu, tetapi kupaksa diriku untuk jujur dan berani. “Maaf nih sebelumnya, tapi aku kepo banget. Kenapa kamu begitu cinta Tuhan padahal Dia melaknat kamu karena kamu dianggap melawan kodrat?”
A terdiam. Raut wajahnya berubah: yang tadi tampak ceria dan santai, kini ia terlihat begitu serius. Apakah dia tersinggung? Sepertinya tidak. Tapi mengapa ekspresinya berubah? Aku jadi merasa canggung.
“Hmm, coba ingat-ingat ayat pertama dalam Alquran.” A menjawab tepat saat aku hendak membuka mulut untuk menarik kembali pertanyaanku.
"Maksudmu?" tanyaku bingung.
“Apa ayat pertama surat Al-Fatihah?
"Bismillahirrahmanirrahim.”
“Artinya?”
“Dengan menyebut nama Allah yang Maha Pengasih lagi Maha Penyayang.”
“Nah, lihat kan? Allah menyambut kita dengan memperkenalkan diri-Nya sebagai Yang Maha Pengasih lagi Maha Penyayang, bukan Maha Pelaknat. Laknat Allah sama sekali bukan urusan manusia. Maksudku, meskipun seluruh dunia melaknatmu, belum tentu Allah juga. Sebaliknya, meskipun seluruh dunia merahmatimu, belum tentu Allah juga. Allah Maha Mengetahui apa yang tidak diketahui makhluk-Nya. Biarlah Allah yang menilaiku.”
Aku tertegun mendengar jawabannya. Apakah yang ia katakan itu benar? Apakah Allah seperti itu? Ah tidak mungkin! Dalam mimpiku saja, Dia melemparku ke neraka; apakah mungkin masih ada tempat untukku di surga-Nya? Logikaku masih menolak.
“Allah Yang Maha Mengetahui itu ada di mana? Jika Dia benar-benar mengasihi semua makhluk-Nya, mengapa Dia biarkan sebagian dari kita mati kelaparan? Mengapa Dia biarkan sebagian dari kita tewas mengenaskan? Mengapa Dia biarkan hamba-hamba setia-Nya menjadi korban kebiadaban hamba-hamba-Nya yang ingkar? Dia ada di mana saat kita menyebut nama-Nya dalam tangisan kita? Dia ada di mana saat sebagian dari kita meregang nyawa demi keyakinan kita kepada-Nya dan demi membela-Nya? Dan mengapa Dia harus kita bela? Bukankah Dia dapat dengan mudah menghancurkan suatu kaum jika Dia berkehendak? Bukankah Dia pernah berfirman bahwa Dia tidak membutuhkan makhluk-Nya? Lantas mengapa kita harus ada? Mengapa kita harus Dia ciptakan?”
Riuhnya restoran tiba-tiba terdengar samar. Setiap milidetik terasa begitu panjang. Orang-orang yang berlalu-lalang perlahan mengabur. Seluruh perhatianku tertuju pada bibir A yang terus menutup dan tak menunjukkan tanda-tanda akan menjawab. Aku resah. Gelisah.
Bumi terasa berhenti berputar.
Tapi kemudian A menjawab. “Wow. Kamu begitu kritis. Itu bagus karena, menurutku, kita tidak akan bisa sepenuhnya meyakini sesuatu tanpa mempertanyakannya. Kita tidak bisa benar-benar menemukan Tuhan tanpa mencari-Nya. Ajaran Islam pun menghikayatkan bahwa Nabi Ibrahim a.s. mencari Tuhannya sebelum menemukan-Nya. Beliau mempertanyakan Tuhan sebelum akhirnya meyakini-Nya. Beliau sempat mengira bahwa matahari dan bulan adalah Tuhan. Kita memang bukan nabi. Namun, aku rasa kita perlu mencari Tuhan kita agar kita lebih mengenal-Nya. Kita berhak mempertanyakan-Nya, mungkin dengan begitu kita akan lebih mencintai-Nya. Kita berhak mendekati-Nya dengan cara kita sendiri.”
Sepanjang sore di kantor, aku terus memikirkan perkataan A, sampai tiba waktunya pulang. Pacarku, G, menjemputku. Tempat kerjanya hanya satu blok dari kantorku. Aku langsung naik ke motor G dan melingkarkan kedua tanganku di pinggangnya. Kami menuju apartemennya. Sudah jadi rutinitasku tiap akhir pekan menginap di sana karena itulah tempat yang paling aman bagi kami untuk menunjukkan kasih sayang layaknya pasangan pada umumnya. Mama sudah mengenal G dan menganggap hubungan kami sebatas sahabat. Aku bilang bahwa kami berkenalan pada sebuah lomba puisi saat kuliah dan dipertemukan kembali dalam sebuah komunitas pencinta bahasa. Ia pun tampak percaya. Andai saja ia tahu yang sebenarnya—atau mungkin saja ia tahu.
Begitu kami tiba di apartemen G, kami mengunci pintunya. Kini hanya ada kami berdua di ruangan. Kami berdiri berhadapan. Hening.
Kutatap dalam-dalam matanya yang berbinar. Aku melihat kilau mata cokelatku di matanya. Aku juga melihat kelembutan dan kasih yang tulus. Semakin dalam kutatap, semakin aku larut dalam angan tentang masa depan. Dalam impian masa tuaku bersamanya—imaji yang semakin lama semakin mengaburkan dunia nyata di sekitarku. Tanganku yang tadi menggenggam tangannya kini sudah mendekap tubuhnya. Rindu yang mengganggu selama sepekan ini berangsur pergi. Semakin lama semakin erat dan hangat kurasa.
Mataku perlahan terpejam. Kepalaku condong ke kanan. Wajahku mendekat hingga akhirnya bibirku merasakan bibirnya yang lembut. Kemudian dia menyelipkan bibir bawahku di antara kedua bibirnya yang melumat dengan penuh perasaan. Lumatan pertama membasahi bibir kami. Lumatan kedua. Lalu lumatan ketiga.
Tangan-tanganku mulai menjelajahi tubuhnya seraya tangan-tangannya pun mulai menjamahi tubuhku. Gerah. Kami pun saling melepaskan kain-kain yang menempel hingga tak sehelai benang pun tersisa. Ia lanjut mengecup leherku, jakunku. Semakin turun. Kini putingku dikecup dan dijilat bergantian. Bibirnya pun semakin turun hingga akhirnya berada di hadapan penisku yang sudah mengeras. Pertama-tama, ia kecup lubang spermaku. Kemudian ia jilati titik itu layaknya es krim. Lidahnya menjamah seluruh batangku hingga akhirnya menemukan dua buah zakar yang menggantung. Lalu ia isap satu per satu dengan kuat sampai aku merasa ngilu bahkan nyeri yang indah.
Perlahan ia masukkan kepala penisku ke mulutnya. Semakin lama batangku semakin habis ditelannya hingga aku dapat merasakan tenggorokannya. Hangat. Nikmat. Kujambak rambutnya dan kukendalikan laju kepalanya. Semakin cepat. Ia lanjut mengisap penisku sampai ejakulasi sementara aku membantunya masturbasi.
Setelah awan kenikmatan memudar, kami bermesraan di tempat tidur, mengobrol, dan bermain game online sampai magrib tiba. Kami kemudian mandi dan bersiap-siap untuk pergi berkencan layaknya pasangan pada umumnya. Kami mengunjungi pusat perbelanjaan dan makan di kafe. Tepat pukul 12 malam, kami sudah berada di atas kasur lagi. Kami bertelanjang bulat lalu tidur berpelukan dalam selimut.
Aku terbangun dalam keadaan bermandi peluh. Lagi-lagi mimpi tentang neraka sialan itu mengganggu tidurku. Kulihat jam dinding menunjukkan pukul tiga dini hari. Baru tiga jam aku tidur.
Percakapan dengan A kemarin masih terngiang di telingaku. Mungkinkah Tuhan itu seperti yang diceritakannya? Rasa penasaran mengantarku ke kamar mandi untuk mengambil wudu. Dinginnya air tak menggoyahkan tekadku. Seusai wudu, aku menggelar sajadah. Aku mengucap takbir sambil berusaha meresapi maknanya.
Aneh! Jiwaku bergetar. Aku merinding. Entah apakah karena embusan angin yang dingin. Aku lanjutkan dengan membaca surat Al-Fatihah. Ayat pertama—Bismillahirrahmanirrahim—kembali membuatku merasakan sesuatu yang janggal. Sesuatu yang belum pernah kurasakan sebelumnya. Intensitas perasaan ini terus meningkat hingga aku mencapai penghujung surat.
Saatnya memilih surat pendek. Surat Al-Insyirah, Lapang Dada, langsung tebersit di pikiran.
Bukankah Kami telah melapangkan dadamu?
Dan Kami pun telah menurunkan bebanmu darimu, yang memberatkan punggungmu?
Tanpa terasa aku menitikkan airmata. Ya, itu yang kurasakan. Puncak perasaan yang tadi kian bergejolak ternyata adalah rasa lega. Aku merasa sesak di dadaku akibat amarah, dendam, dan tekanan hidup selama ini hilang. Beban hidupku sebagai penyakit masyarakat terasa diangkat oleh suatu daya yang tak bisa kujelaskan.
Dan Kami tinggikan sebutanmu bagimu.
Ya, benar. Aku sudah memiliki gelar sarjana dan pekerjaan dengan gaji yang lumayan. Keadaan ekonomi keluargaku memang sudah jauh membaik.
Namun, Tuhan, aku memiliki banyak beban lain yang tak kalah berat—pikiranku pun melantur. Aku sedang menanti pengumuman beasiswa Erasmus Mundus untuk studi gender pada jenjang S2. Bagaimana jika aku tidak diterima? Aku sangat menginginkan beasiswa itu. Hidupku tentu akan lebih bebas di Eropa. Aku pun akan selangkah lebih dekat dengan impianku bekerja untuk UN Women. Namun, bagaimana jika aku diterima? Aku akan harus meninggalkan G yang sangat aku sayangi. Aku tidak akan sanggup meninggalkannya.
Aku ingin dia bisa pergi bersamaku ke negara tujuanku. Aku ingin menikahinya dan membangun rumah tangga bersamanya di sebuah rumah yang indah, jauh di Eropa sana. Eropa bagian utara di mana kami sangat dihargai dan dihormati sebagai manusia. Di mana kami bisa menikah dan anak-anak kami kelak dapat belajar menjadi manusia seutuhnya: manusia yang manusiawi. Di sana mereka akan memahami bahwa sebuah keluarga tidaklah mesti terdiri dari satu ayah, satu ibu, dan dua anak seperti yang kupelajari di sekolah dasar. Di sana kami bisa menghabiskan masa tua dengan cinta yang tak perlu disembunyikan. Aku ingin sekali, suatu hari nanti, menunjukkan kepada dunia bahwa aku bahagia bersamanya atas izin dan kehendak-Mu, Tuhan. Aku tidak ingin lagi hidup dalam kebohongan.
Sesungguhnya sesudah kesulitan itu pasti ada kemudahan.
Kurasakan Tuhanku menyodorkan bahu-Nya kepadaku untuk bersandar dan menangis.
Sungguh, sesudah kesulitan itu pasti ada kemudahan.
Kurasakan Dia membelai kepalaku.
Dan hanya kepada-Ku hendaknya kamu berharap.
Airmataku tak terbendung lagi. Aku jatuh bersujud dan menangis tersedu-tersedu. Sajadahku sudah basah.
Dekaplah aku, wahai Tuhanku. Dekaplah aku, walaupun aku sempat membenci-Mu.
© Shofwan
SHOFWAN is a writer in the making. His debut short stories “Kabut” (Fog) and “Lagu untuk Blih” (A Song for Blih) were published by Suara Kita in an anthology titled Pengakuan (Confession). Another story of his, “Seperti Mereka” (Like Them), has been published on Suara Kita’s website. Shofwan came to love literature while doing his degree in French Language and Literature. Édouard Louis is one of the French authors from whom he draws inspiration.
SARITA SUPRATMAN was raised in Bandung. She currently lives in Amsterdam, and works in finance. She is passionate about literature.
JAYU JULI works at at the Gudskul Ecosystem art collective (affiliated with RuangRupa-SERRUM-GHH). As an artist, she also has a studio there, at Gudside. With her husband she creates an audiovisual performance project called PlusMinus. Jayu likes to work with watercolor best. See some of her works on Instagram @jayujuliproject and on her website www.jayujulie.id.