Remembering Rangga (1986-2002)

Today, there was a late Barcelona game so I went to bed at 6 in the morning. I woke up at noon feeling confused and crying. I had a dream about my friend Rangga, who died from bone cancer on a humid Sunday morning in August. I didn’t consider him to be my best friend then but now when I look back to it, I didn’t have any best friend and he was the closest to one. I was about to go out to the city to practice dancing routines when my friend Lia called me at my house and delivered the news. My legs turned into led. I sat on my bed for a while before I had it in me to walk over to his house. His house was only two blocks down from mine yet I felt like it was the longest walk in my life.

The first emotion I felt upon hearing the news was not sadness, it was guilt and anger. I remember thinking, “But we haven’t hung out yet. You didn’t say goodbye to me. Your birthday is coming!” It was all too much for me to process. I didn’t know what to do, what to feel, or what’s appropriate. I didn’t understand how he could have died. When I saw his mum crying hysterically over his body, I came and sat next to her and held her and asked her as calmly as I could, “Are you sure he’s dead? Are you really sure?” Rangga’s body was covered with a sheet and I started to inspect him. I didn’t lift up the sheet, I just prodded and poked his flesh with my fingers. I needed to be sure that he was really gone so, I held his hand. At one point I must have imagined him squeezing my hand back in return. It felt so real and I was so shocked so, I told her mother what just happened, that he squeezed my hand so he couldn’t have died and that he was just in a very deep sleep. I was angry at everybody. They were crying and I was all alone and he was not dead. I managed to keep myself calm even at his funeral. I made myself believe it was just one big mistake. I didn’t feel so silly back then but looking back at that moment now, I must have sounded like a deranged person.

A few weeks before he died I visited Rangga to give him a fruit basket that my mum had put together. He was laying on his bed looking pale as a sheet, too skinny, and in so much pain that he couldn’t speak to me. I stared and stared and stared. I couldn’t speak either. I was just talking to him on the phone the week before and I didn’t know, I didn’t understand how he had gotten that ill so quickly. I set the fruit basket beside his bed. I couldn’t look him in the eyes, so I looked at his legs, one of which had been amputated. I looked and looked and when I couldn’t bear it anymore I ran outside and all the way back to my house. I didn’t understand what was happening. I tried to forget the incident. I was so ashamed of myself.

In my dream this morning, I was back at my old house, two blocks up away from Rangga’s. I was at home with my whole family when he came in, swooped in, and gave me a hug. He was older, taller, leaner, and I couldn’t believe it. I was so happy to see him that after he hugged me I gathered everything best that I had and gave it to him so he would be happy. Maybe that was my admittance of guilt, I don’t know. He smiled and told me he’s happy and gave me a look of amusement. I hugged him again and he smelt clean and healthy and though I could feel his ribs, he didn’t look ill. The feeling that I had at that very moment in my dream….it’s hard to describe. I was a bit concerned but hugely relieved at the same time. I woke up.

I don’t believe in the afterlife so I don’t consider that dream to bear any spiritual meaning but I’m glad I had that dream. I hadn’t thought of him in a long time and now I feel like I must write about him so I won’t forget.

Rangga was a gorgeous boy. He was light-skinned, had thick wavy dark hair, lean, and taller than all of the boys in my school. He played basketball and football (soccer) and sometimes mused of becoming a football or basketball superstar. He didn’t want to be an athlete though, he wanted to be a pilot. He really hated spicy food and couldn’t even handle a bit of mint. One day I called him to meet me and two other boys, Evan and Kiky, after school because I had some imported candies I wanted to share. It was actually just some Smints. He was suspicious, very suspicious, but then after a lot of persuasion on my part, he ate one and puked his gut out on the concrete. He was so angry he didn’t want to talk to me for the rest of the day. I bought him ice cream to say sorry. He accepted and then we played basketball until the sun came down.

Our friendship was…a bit odd. He was a year above me so we didn’t share any class together. We never talked much about our lives, either, we just broke a lot of rules. We’d climb over our school’s fence to go to the backyard to steal some smokes. We smoked our first cigarette together - both of us ended up having asthma attacks. We talked about the future quite a lot too, unlike most kids in our school, we wanted to make a name for ourselves. Some afternoons we’d stay in the school gym, him practicing saving penalty shots or free throws (with Evan and Kiky), me shouting profanities in the sideline. He was most beautiful when playing sports, sweaty and red in the face, laughing and looking more like a 9 year old boy than a 15 year old boy. Other times, we’d take my car for a ride around town, acting like we owned the city. I almost failed my English class because he made me skip it so we could just roam the city. On Saturdays or Sundays we’d sometimes take our bike and rode to the hills or the river. Rangga was not much of a swimmer and neither was I. We almost got swept by a strong current once and had to hold on to each other to get ourselves back the shore. We came home drenched and alive. It was a curious feeling, to think that we could have drowned, and didn’t. We laughed it off as if it was just a silly thing.

So, yeah, that’s Rangga for you. Just like any other boy, really. It’s a shame he had to go so early. Too early.