By Febriyanti Lestari

"How Would You Want to be Remembered When You're Gone?"

 

"Professor, how do you think you'll be remembered 

When you're gone?"

I heard a voice of a young man,

Right before I ended the Zoom meeting,

Where I just bade farewell to my students, 

After serving for almost

Two score years now,

I scrolled the screen to find out

Who dared ask such a question,

But no participant remained

In the main room,

That Friday evening,

Except me.

 

I couldn't sleep that night,

That question just lingered in my mind,

Who was it? Was it Mahfut? Yudha? 

Or an attention-seeking student?

Why did he ask me that?

Wasn't it obvious? 

I had a long list of impressive achievements,

All documented in my CV,

I'd be well-remembered, wouldn't I?

Ridiculous,

Or 

I would not?

This kind of thought had never 

Crossed my mind.

 

My heart was beating fast 

When I woke up,

A strange man in a black robe

Constantly yelled at me,

Blaming me for all the sorrow 

And misfortunes of the people around me,

I got uneasy, Was it a sign?

He seemed so real in my dream,

I'd been through ups and downs in life 

But why had his silly question

Bothered me so much?

 

Staring out the window, 

I enjoyed my decaffeinated coffee,

It smelled so good.

I tried to recall my dream, 

Connecting it to the man's question,

To things I did,

Over the past years.

 

My life was perfect, I reckoned.

My students respected me, 

At least that's what I saw.

My colleagues had been nice, 

At least that's how they treated me.

My friends admired me, 

At least that's how it looked.

My family loved me, 

At least that's how I felt.

 

I drank the last sip of my coffee,

While checking the archived messages 

Of my Whatsapp,

That I never had a chance to reply,

Or simply just wanted to ignore,

Though strangely I still kept them,

I found messages from my students

Complaining about their grades, 

My strict rules burdening them,

Or just asking me to re-explain the class materials.

I got messages from my colleagues,

Criticizing a bunch of decisions I made that they thought

Were biased, discriminatory, and imprudent,

I saw messages from my old friends,

Commenting on my attitude change,

Or begging to borrow some money,

Which I often ignored, of course

I was a professor,

A community leader,

No time for irrelevant things.

 

I suddenly felt uncomfortable,

"How will these people remember me when I'm gone?

Will I be cherished as an inspiring professor?

Or an incompetent one?

Will they reminisce about my humble leadership?

Or curse me for spreading misery?

Will they remember me as a good friend?

Or an arrogant one?

How had I affected someone else's lives?”

I began to doubt myself.

 

A few days left till I officially retired, 

I tried hard to find that young man in the Zoom meeting,

I wanted him to tell me,

"Do I deserve to be remembered?"

I rushed to meet Rahmat, Arif, Dewi, Sofia, Tukijo, Harno, 

And everyone I knew,

Or anyone who might have known me,

I wanted them to tell me,

"Do I deserve to be remembered?

 

On the day I officially retired,

I checked back on my Whatsapp,

And started to draft a thank-you message,

The least I could do,

My sincere gratitude to each and every one,

I’d crossed paths with,

As much as I wanted to admit,

How I owed the universe

My deepest apology,

For what I did,

What I said,

What I thought.

For promises I failed to keep,

For small things I overlooked,

For me being imperfect,

Despite my brilliant CVs,

My status,

Sent!

 

It was Friday afternoon,

I knelt and prayed,

Bare and humble.

سامحني

…

 

 

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