My name is Maya. I married Reza, a man whose life used to be far from decent. Since childhood, Reza grew up in a family of scarcity. He said they ate nothing but rice and shrimp paste every day. Even tofu or tempeh had to be grilled because they couldn’t afford cooking oil. Vegetables? Picked from a small garden behind the house. Chicken or beef? Only his younger brother, Rian, got to eat it, because according to him, “I can’t eat unless there’s meat on the plate.”
Ironically, Reza’s father was a civil servant. Yet somehow, his six-million-rupiah salary shrank to only four hundred thousand because of debts from all directions. And now, they’ve come with a request that left me stunned: five hundred million rupiah.
All of it for Rian, the youngest, who insists on working in Profession A. A profession I won’t name, but one that’s well-known and, yes, notorious for its “backdoor entry.” They say Rian has to become that because years ago, Reza’s parents went to a fortune teller. The fortune teller said, “Rian will someday work in Profession A.” And since then, Rian has refused to accept any other fate.
Last year, he already tried applying and almost made it, but was eliminated at the final stage because—well, money. The cost was huge, and to “smooth the path,” around half a billion was needed. Now they expect us—me and Reza—to help.
My in-laws casually said to Reza, “Poor Rian, still unemployed. You’re already comfortable—you’ve gone to college, you’ve got a job. Now it’s your turn to help your little brother.”
Your turn? I wanted to laugh—but instead, a long sigh escaped me.
They forget how Reza worked himself to the bone after high school just to put food on the table for the family. His first paycheck went straight into the household kitchen, not for himself. Even his college tuition became a conflict. Back then, we agreed that Reza’s parents would cover the cost so it wouldn’t strain our finances as newlyweds. But in reality? They borrowed money here and there under Reza’s name—and where that money went, no one knows.
And now, they’ve come again, asking for help. For the youngest child who’s never faced the harshness of the world, for a dream planted by a fortune teller’s words, for prestige in the eyes of the neighbors.
I’ve already told Reza, “We have children. We have a future. We can’t sacrifice all of this for something that isn’t even our responsibility.”
It hurts to see my husband always used as a pillar, yet never appreciated. As if everything must be done for the sake of hollow praises from others.
But this is enough. We will not pay for someone else’s dream with the future of our children.
Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay
