Under the Janur Arch

Hujan sore baru saja reda ketika aku tiba di balai warga, janur kuning melambai seperti tangan yang mengundang masuk.

The afternoon rain had just stopped as I arrived at the community hall, the yellow palm fronds swaying like a hand inviting me in.

Resepsi sepupuku, Raras, sudah riuh rendah; antrean salaman mengular, sementara gamelan meninabobokan kegugupan yang tak kunjung padam.

My cousin Raras’s reception was already bustling; the greeting line snaked along, while the gamelan lulled a nervousness that wouldn’t subside.

Sepatu belepotan lumpur tetap kupakai, sebab tak elok membuat tamu lain menunggu hanya demi kesempurnaan penampilan.

I kept my mud-smeared shoes on, for it wouldn’t be proper to make other guests wait just for a perfect appearance.

Di dekat pelaminan yang berhiaskan melati dan kain lurik, Bude Mirah—yang tutur katanya lincah bak kerlip lampu—menepuk lenganku dan, tanpa basa-basi, menanyakan kapan giliranku.

Near the bridal stage adorned with jasmine and lurik cloth, Aunt Mirah—whose words dance as nimbly as twinkling lights—patted my arm and, without small talk, asked when it would be my turn.

Kusiasati dengan senyum dan jawaban sekenanya, karena di hajatan begini, pertanyaan itu sudah jamak dan tak perlu dipikir masak-masak.

I finessed it with a smile and a stock answer, because at a party like this, that question is commonplace and not worth overthinking.

Tatkala Raras dan suaminya melakukan sungkeman kepada orang tua, suasana sontak hening; tawa yang sedari tadi pecah-pecah pun merapat seperti daun yang terkena embun.

When Raras and her husband performed the sungkeman to their parents, the room suddenly fell silent; the laughter that had kept popping all evening drew close like leaves touched by dew.

Aku menyaksikan air mata Pakde jatuh pelan, mengingatkanku pada masa kecil kami—berlarian di gang sempit, berebut es lilin—yang kini tinggal cerita disapu waktu.

I watched Uncle’s tears fall slowly, reminding me of our childhood—running through narrow alleys, fighting over ice pops—that now is but a story swept by time.

Seusai doa, kami bersalaman; Raras berbisik, "Datangmu cukup," kalimat sederhana yang rasanya memantapkan langkahku lebih dari sekotak seserahan.

After the prayer, we shook hands; Raras whispered, “Your coming is enough,” a simple line that steadied my steps more than a box of ceremonial gifts.

Di sudut prasmanan, kuambil gudeg yang legit dan segelas es dawet, lalu duduk berdempetan dengan tamu tak kukenal yang, alih-alih canggung, justru mengajak ngobrol soal macet dan harga cabai.

At the buffet corner, I took sweet gudeg and a glass of dawet, then sat shoulder to shoulder with a guest I didn’t know who, instead of being awkward, struck up a chat about traffic jams and chili prices.

Begitulah, pesta pernikahan di kota: keluarga dekat bercampur saudara jauh, nostalgia bertaut dengan obrolan remeh, semuanya dirajut menjadi keakraban yang tak dibuat-buat.

That’s a city wedding for you: close family mixing with distant kin, nostalgia weaving together with trivial chatter, all of it knitted into an unforced warmth.

Pulang-pulang, amplop tak seberapa sudah kutitipkan, tetapi hati terasa penuh—seakan-akan di bawah lengkung janur tadi, bukan hanya mereka yang berjabat janji, melainkan kami semua yang disatukan harapan.

On my way home, the modest envelope had been dropped off, yet my heart felt full—as though beneath that arch of janur, not only were they binding a vow, but all of us were being joined by hope.