What We See, What We Forget

Part 1

A cold breeze blows over the second floor of Gambir Station in Central Jakarta, an ever-bustling capital. The weather is rarely this cold during the mid-months of the year, and it's pretty colder than usual in a tropical city. This rarity is noticed by all the passengers waiting for their trains to arrive; thick jackets and sweaters line the concourse and along the platforms. Though a chilled climate is present, one person seemed visibly breaking into a sweat and pacing up and down the platform for his train that has yet to arrive.

"Sir!"

He realized he had left his porter behind with all his luggage. The porter hastily rushed to the now alarmed person waiting by the platform, occasionally bumping into others in his walk. Quite the cargo the porter is carrying, two whole suitcases each filled to the brim weighing at least fifteen kilos each, the porter had in mind that it is over the top for a single traveler to be carrying this much luggage and with the curiosity he went up to the person with the pretense of verifying his ticket, he then soon asked the person for his ticket.

The person then took his ticket out of his jacket pocket to show to the porter. The porter is taken aback by the ticket given to him; it's a government-issued one; more specifically, it was issued by the Indonesian National Police, indicating that he is to travel for work, not leisure. The person looked out of place for a police officer, looked young for his profession, and, more noticeably, he was not in uniform. Usually, younger officers must don their uniforms any time they are outside as some orientation rituals, but not the person. The person was only wearing a button-down, slacks, and a jacket. The porter read the name printed on the ticket.

"Mr. Husni Cakra?"

Husni nods in confirmation of his name; he spots the direct change in attitude for the porter; he now seems timider than before. Husni then started a conversation to break the ice. Although he doesn't appear to be any less calm himself.

"So, how much longer until my train arrives?"

"Just short of fifteen minutes, if I may ask, what's the purpose of the trip, sir?"

"Ah, it's my first placement. Command placed me in Malang.

"You're from Malang, sir?"

"No, actually, I'm from around here; I'm also quite confused with the decision; I can't even speak a lick of Javanese."

"Well, hopefully, your tenure there will be fruitful, sir."

"Amen to that!"

Not long after, the thunderous sound of a locomotive can be heard entering the station as passengers tilted their heads from whatever it was, keeping their attention on the train that had just arrived, the Gajayana. What lies ahead is a sixteen-hour journey covering eight hundred and fifty-five kilometers of railroad, Indonesia's most extended passenger train service.

"Up this way, sir!"

One of the privileges of a government-issued ticket is that it automatically books the ticket holder a VIP class seat that allows the passenger to lie fully flat on their backs, with the addition of a meal service and a personal train attendant with a train car positioned at the very front. Husni followed the call of the porter and made himself comfortable for the long journey ahead. This is his first posting after months of orientation work in a city far from the capital.

The train's horn was once again heard, signaling the readiness for the train to depart. All the passengers were seated, and the doors were shut, and just like that, an assignment had just started. Husni chose to spend his train ride mostly with a shut-eye, relaxing for his arrival the next day, but hunger caught up with him halfway through the journey. Unfortunately, his ticket didn't come with enough of a meal to satisfy his appetite, so he had to go to the canteen by car for food. He sits at the bar to order right next to a young man who appears to be extroverted in presentation.

"Heading back for campus too?" asked the young man, who revealed himself to be a final-year student at Malang's largest university.

"Well, not quite. You would be surprised by my job."

"What is it? You don't seem too far off my age, right? Right?"

"What's your age?"

"22"

"Look at that. We are the same age!"

"You haven't told me your job."

"I'm a police officer."

The student sat back in bewilderment, seeing the man beside him turn out to be a police officer.

"We came from the same university, actually," uttered Husni.

"How is it possible that you're an officer now?"

"A combination of luck and perfect timing, I say; I had no idea they were accepting sociology graduates into the force."

"You were a sociology student?"

"Yes."

"I thought you guys were the most anti-establishment people out there?"

"No, that would be my friends from politics."

"Why did you join the force?"

"I don't know, to be frank with you, but hopefully, I can find the answer soon enough."

Husni then received his food from the attendant, got off the chair, and walked back to his seat. He wished good luck to the student for his studies and started shuffling his way back to his car. He didn't expect to be asked why he joined the force on the train ride over his first assignment. Husni never really thought he would get this far throughout the selection process for the police force. Still, step by step, he made his way to becoming a detective, which surprised his parents, who never thought they would have a uniform-wearing son; being the only kid also brought the opinion of a more relaxed career. Still, it looked like Husni had a more thrilling outlook on life.

After a dreamless nap, Husni is awoken by the train's brakes. It has reached Blitar, a city just eighty kilometers southwest of Malang. The journey is nearly completed, with approximately an hour left until it reaches Malang station. Husni started packing his nooks, crannies, and the two heavy luggage he had with him. The train finally arrived at Malang station after ending the 16-hour-long trip. The train's passengers started to sprint for the exits with their luggage, trying their best to exit as fast as possible; Husni then decided to wait until he could get out of the train without all the commotion. He brought close to thirty-five kilograms of luggage, which are sizeable. When the aisle was clear, he strutted while carrying his luggage, only to realize that once he had gotten off the train, no porters were available at the station.

"Goddamnit!"

Although the seats were more comfortable, Husni's legs had seen more active days, and now the struggle began for him to roll the bags over to the exit. After a small flight of stairs, a travelator, and an escalator, Husni made it to the lobby. Husni then noticed a uniformed officer holding a paper sign with his name written on it in full capitals, seeing that he approached the officer, who rushed to help him with his luggage.

"Mr. Husni?" The officer asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Enough with the sir, son; you rank higher than me."

Husni did; the officer was a brigadier while Husni was a second inspector, five ranks above the officer despite being younger.

"Of course, sir, ah right.

"Don't worry, son, you'll get used to it. Are you new here?"

"Not quite. I went to college here."

"Fresh off the inspector's academy, I presume."

"No, I spent the last four months in Jakarta walking the beat."

"That's what hardens you, now let's get going, inspector."

That sentence sent shivers down Husni's spine; Inspector sounds like something from a movie. Usually, he's referred to as 'officer,' but for the first time in his police career, he ever gets called 'inspector.' That shiver was visible to the officer picking him up; he stared discerningly at Husni. Husni responded with a swift leap closer to the officer, now spaced far apart because of Husni's stumped body standing in the middle of the parking lot. They loaded the heavy luggage into a police car the officer used to pick Husni up, started the car, and headed for the Malang City police headquarters.