Around five houses away from my home, there is a dumb who often makes me feel slapped. If we look at his body, he looks like other Javanese people, neither big nor small; his body looks proportional.
His age is maybe around 45 years old. But the harshness of life has carved some permanent facial wrinkle on his face, and he looks older than his age. Uh, just call him Pak Warsa. He is the father of two children.
Mr Warsa has a very high spirit. Imagine his spirit like a lick of fire that continues to dance—popping around here and there. Despite his limitations on speaking, he still shows anaesthetizing energy within his soul.
People in my hometown often laugh at Pak Warsa’s behaviour, especially when watching him trying to tell a story. But I know deep in their heart, my neighbour admires Pak Warsa. He is the only person who always loves to put up the flag when August comes.
When the month of independence comes, usually Pak Warsa also came around to our houses. He brought a small book containing a simple column containing our name and some rupiahs before we donated to purchase the plastic flag to decorate our village.
Then, Pak Warsa also put up those small flags. He often puts up the flag alone or is sometimes assisted by his children or many children in the village. Look there! Every August comes, our village looks pretty with decorations of these small flags. And it’s all because of Mr. Warsa!
I always love to listen to him when he tells me something. I observed how he tried earnestly to explain his meaning with a difficult voice for me to understand. I also love to see his hands move randomly, trying to help him convey certain information. But unfortunately, I still can’t understand.