Alhamdulillah, I have arrived in Groningen

Dec 28, '08 10:40 AM for everyone

This trip was very hard, both literally and psychologically. I am leaving behind my son Azka Avicenna, my precious son. I remember his kisses on my cheeks when I asked him to kiss me. I remember his saying "ap, ap, ap" when somebody sang the theme song of Si Bolang (Bocah Petualang) of Trans7. And I also remember his singing the reff of Project Pop's most recent song "(Ayo) ang u u". Holding him for the last time before boarding the plane to Singapore felt like I was abandoning half of my soul. My heart cried when he cried as my husband took my hand and asked me to go to gate D1. Boarding time...
On the way to Singapore, a turbulence happened. I was so worried. What if I die? At the time I remembered that I had not told my husband that I have an insurance that will cover Azka's education until high school, if I die and cannot pay the monthly saving as agreed with my bank. I pictured Azka without me, envying other children who have mothers. Oh God. The plane went up and down several times, hit something hard, and shook. Horrible.
When it finally ended and the plane landed at Changi, I was so grateful. I hoped that the next parts of the journey would be less frightening.
Changi is a friendly airport. Even dummies will find it easy to explore. No problem. But in the waiting room before boarding the plane to Amsterdam, I saw a Dutch couple with their young son, about Azka's age. Seeing his restlessness before going to sleep reminded me to Azka. The sometimes frustrating moments before he went to bed became something sweet. I missed them. I missed the little guy. I wished he had been with me. But I had decided to go...
Arrving at Schiphol was no sweat. I had been there several times before. One good example of visitor-friendly airports, unlike our Sokarno-Hatta. But waiting for the train to Groningen was a disaster. I was told by the NS staff at the ticket counter that the 7.49 train to Groningen was to arrive on track 3. I decided to take the 8.19 train which was direct, also on platform 3. The 7.49 was not and I had to change at Amersfoort. With one suicase and two bags amounting to about 25 kilos, change? No way.
At 8.15 after waiting for almost an hour in a windy place with a temperature of 0 degrees Celcius, came the announcement on the arrival board. The 8.19 train was to Leeuwarden, not Groningen. Oh God... Suddenly I remembered that I've got an e-mail from the university telling, among others, that direct trains to Groningen usually arrive at 18 minutes past every hour on platform 2 or 1. I dragged my stuff up to the airport plaza again and tried to catch the train in less than 3 minutes. I got to the platform alright but the train was gone... In sat there again for another hour. Waiting, people watching, and occasionally reading a book on Aphasiology that I brought from home. The cold was unbearable, remembering that I last ate before 6 a.m. Seconds and minutes passed.
At 9.15 again came a shocking announcement. The train to Groningen was on platform 3. I had to return? As quick as possible I took the elevator. I prayed that the train did not leave just seconds after I got to platform 3. The elevator going up seemed to run very slowly. I dragged my stuff again at the airport plaza and changed to the elevator going down to platform 3. The train was still there. I even shouted, as if the person driving the train could hear me, so that it could wait for me before continuing its journey. I finally got to to the train.
It was noon Groningen time when the train finally arrived. It meant 6 p.m., Jakarta time. 24 hours before, I had left my son. Trusting him in the hands of my parents and husband. I was grateful I did not die, because of the turbulence or the cold.