Kathy, memeluk Islam setelah membaca Al-qur'an kumal

Ketika aku masih di sekolah dasar, Ibu sering membawa dan menemaniku ke perpustakaan terdekat. Dan, sudah menjadi tradisi perpustakaan-perpustakaan umum, ditempat itu kulihat ada berbagai buku lama yang dijual obral dan sangat murah.

 

Suatu ketika, ketika perpustakaan menawarkan buku-buku seperti ini, aku membeli salah satunya dengan harga 5 atau 10 cent yang aku ambil dari tabunganku. Ini aku lakukan karena keingin tahuan  memiliki buku dan mendapatkan sesuatu yang spesial. Aku lalu meletakkan buku tersebut di perpustakaan pribadiku di kamar untuk kemudian dimasukkan ke dalam salah satu kardus dengan buku lainnya yang sudah jelek dan terlupakan sebagai bagian dari koleksi buku.

Hari demi hari pun berlalu dan tak terasa aku sudah menamatkan SD, SLTP, dan SLTA. Aku beruntung di terima kuliah di salah satu fakultas. Dan, adalah sebuah hikmah dan rahasia dari Allah bahwa aku memasuki fakultas Sastra dan memilih spesialisasi di bidang ilmu perbandingan agama di mana lebih memfokuskan pada tiga agama besar, yaitu Yahudi, Nashrani, dan Islam.

Manakala di jurusan itu tidak terdapat seorang Dosen yang beragama Islam, maka yang kentara dibicarakan adalah gambaran Islam yang sudah tercoreng. karena itu, aku tidak begitu interes dengannya. Selanjutnya, aku tidak menemui kendala apapun untuk melewati kurikulum-kurikulum studi sehingga berhasil lulus dan memperoleh gelar sarjana.

Buku yang amat Terkesan !!

Setelah lulus Kuliah, mulailah tahap mencari pekerjaan. Berhubung spesialisasiku termasuk spesialisasi yang sedikit mendapat tawaran kerja, ditambah secara umum memang lowongan kerja juga tidak banyak di kawasan yang aku tinggali, maka dengan cepat aku di cekam rasa kecewa dan bosan dalam mencari lowongan kerja tersebut. Akhirnya, sebagian besar waktu, aku habiskan di rumah menjadi pengangguran !!

Aku mengisi waktu luangku dengan membongkar dan membuka kembali buku-buku yang dulu pernah aku beli secara pintas kubaca. Pada saat itulah, aku secara tidak sengaja aku memegang buku yang telah aku beli sejak kecil dari kocek pribadi.

Aku ambil buku itu, lalu aku bersihkan. selanjutnya, aku mulai membacanya………Ternyata ia adalah kitab al-Qur’an terjemahan dalam bahasa Inggris. Mulailah aku membacanya dengan penuh perasaan dan keseriusan. Aku betul-betul tertarik dengan kandungan surat-surat yang ada di dalam Al-Qur'an.

Setelah berulang-ulang membacanya, apa yang selama ini kukuteahui tentang Islam ternyata sama sekali berbeda dengan opini atau pendapat orang yang selama ini aku dengar di kampus mengenai Islam. Gambaran Islam amat berbeda dari gambaran yang di katakan para dosen di fakultas mengenai agama ini dan al-Qur’an.

Aku mulai bertanya-tanya: Benarkah apa yang dikuliahkan para dosenku di kampus? Ataukah mereka sengaja berbohong ketika menyinggung tentang Islam dan al-Qur’an?

Sejak itu Aku terus mengulangi dan membacanya dengan rasa penasaran untuk mencari tahu segala kandungan yang ada di dalam al-Qur'an hingga aku meyakini dan memutuskan; Aku harus segera memeluk agama Islam dan menjadi seorang Muslimah.!

Aku menghubungi salah seorang Muslim yang mengerti betul tentang islam dan banyak bertanya kepadanya tentang islam dan bagaiman cara masuk Islam. Setelah mendengar penjelasannya, aku kembali tercengang karena islam ternyata agama yang begitu damai dan tidak rumit untuk memeluk agama Islam.

Alhamdulillah, aku pun masuk Islam dan menikah dengan seorang pemuda Muslim.

Sekarang kami sudah menjadi salah satu keluarga di kota Washington. Kami memohon kepada Allah agar menerima amal kami dan memantapkan kami dalam menjalankan perintah-Nya.

***

يُرِيدُونَ أَنْ يُطْفِئُوا نُورَ اللَّهِ بِأَفْوَاهِهِمْ وَيَأْبَى اللَّهُ إِلا أَنْ يُتِمَّ نُورَهُ وَلَوْ كَرِهَ الْكَافِرُونَ (٣٢)

artinya:

“Mereka hendak memadamkan cahaya Allah (agama Islam) dengan mulut mereka, sedangkan Allah tidak menghendaki melainkan menyempurnakan cahayaNya, sekalipun orang-orang kafir tidak suka (akan yang demikian).” (Q.S At-Taubah. ayat:32)

sumber: majalah mutiara amaly; vol.84; edisi Iman Cahaya dan Kekuatan

Maria Gaetana Agnesi Anniversary

Maria Gaetana Agnesi (16 May 1718 – 9 January 1799) was an Italian mathematician and philosopher.

She is credited with writing the first book discussing both differential and integral calculus and was an honorary member of the faculty at the University of Bologna.

She devoted the last four decades of her life to studying theology (especially patristics) and to charitable work and serving the poor. This extended to helping the sick by allowing them entrance into her home where she set up a hospital.

Maria Teresa Agnesi Pinottini, clavicembalist and composer, was her sister.

Maria Gaetana Agnesi was born in Milan, to a wealthy and literate family. Her father Pietro Agnesi, a University of Bologna mathematics professor, wanted to elevate his family into the Milanese nobility. In order to achieve his goal he had married Anna Fortunata Brivio in 1717. Her mother's death provided her the excuse to retire from public life. She took over management of the household.

 

Maria was recognized early on as a child prodigy; she could speak both Italian and French at five years of age. By her eleventh birthday she had also learned Greek, Hebrew, Spanish, German, and Latin, and was referred to as the "Seven-Tongued Orator".^[5] She even educated her younger brothers. When she was nine years old she composed and delivered an hour-long speech in Latin to some of the most distinguished intellectuals of the day. The subject was women's right to be educated.

Agnesi suffered a mysterious illness at the age of 12 that was attributed to her excessive studying and was prescribed vigorous dancing and horseback riding. This treatment did not work - she began to experience extreme convulsions, after which she was encouraged to pursue moderation. By age fourteen she was studying ballistics and geometry.^[5] When she was fifteen her father began to regularly gather in his house a circle of the most learned men in Bologna,^{[citation needed]} before whom she read and maintained a series of theses on the most abstruse philosophical questions. Records of these meetings are given in Charles de Brosses' Lettres sur l'Italie and in the Propositiones Philosophicae, which her father had published in 1738 as an account of her final performance, where she defended 190 theses.^[5] Maria was very shy in nature and did not like these meetings.^{[citation needed]}

Her father remarried twice after Maria's mother died, and Maria Agnesi ended up the eldest of 23 children, including her half-siblings. In addition to her performances and lessons, her responsibility was to teach her siblings. This task kept her from her own goal of entering a convent, as she had become strongly religious. Although her father refused to grant this wish, he agreed to let her live from that time on in an almost conventual semi-retirement, avoiding all interactions with society and devoting herself entirely to the study of mathematics.^[5] During that time, Maria studied both differential and integral calculus. Fellow philosophers thought she was extremely beautiful and her family was recognized as one of the wealthiest in Milan. Maria became a professor at the University of Bologna.

nstituzioni analitiche

First page of Instituzioni analitiche (1748)

According to Dirk Jan Struik, Agnesi is "the first important woman mathematician since Hypatia (fifth century A.D.)". The most valuable result of her labours was the Instituzioni analitiche ad uso della gioventù italiana, (Analytical Institutions for the Use of Italian Youth) which was published in Milan in 1748 and "was regarded as the best introduction extant to the works of Euler." ^[6] In the work, she worked on integrating mathematical analysis with algebra.^[5] The first volume treats of the analysis of finite quantities and the second of the analysis of infinitesimals. A French translation of the second volume by P. T. d'Antelmy, with additions by Charles Bossut (1730–1814), was published in Paris in 1775; and Analytical Institutions, an English translation of the whole work by John Colson (1680–1760), the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge, "inspected" by John Hellins, was published in 1801 at the expense of Baron Maseres.^[7] The work was dedicated to Empress Maria Theresa, who thanked Agnesi with the gift of a diamond ring, a personal letter, and a diamond and crystal case. Many others praised her work, including Pope Benedict XIV, who wrote her a complimentary letter and sent her a gold wreath and a gold medal.^[5]

Witch of Agnesi

Main article: Witch of Agnesi

The Instituzioni analitiche..., among other things, discussed a curve earlier studied and constructed by Pierre de Fermat and Guido Grandi. Grandi called the curve versoria in Latin and suggested the term versiera for Italian,^[8] possibly as a pun:^[9] 'versoria' is a nautical term, "sheet", while versiera/aversiera is "she-devil", "witch", from Latin Adversarius, an alias for "devil" (Adversary of God). For whatever reasons, after translations and publications of the Instituzioni analitiche... the curve has become known as the "Witch of Agnesi".

In 1750, on the illness of her father, she was appointed by Pope Benedict XIV to the chair of mathematics and natural philosophy and physics at Bologna, though she never served.^[5] She was the second woman ever to be granted professorship at a university, Laura Bassi being the first.^[11] In 1751, she became ill again and was told not to study by her doctors. After the death of her father in 1752 she carried out a long-cherished purpose by giving herself to the study of theology, and especially of the Fathers and devoted herself to the poor, homeless, and sick, giving away the gifts she had received and begging for money to continue her work with the poor. In 1783, she founded and became the director of the Opera Pia Trivulzio, a home for Milan's elderly, where she lived as the nuns of the institution did  (wikipedia)

Kisah Inspiratip: Alison Botha Wanita Luar Biasa

Pada Desember 1994, Alison Botha diculik di luar rumah oleh dua orang yang tak dikenal yang lalu memperkosa, menusuk dan akhirnya menggorok tenggorokannya 16 kali untuk memastikan bahwa ia telah tewas. Keajaiban pun datang! Walau pun ia luka parah namun ia masih tetap bertahan untuk hidup. 

Bagaimana ia dapat selamat, Alison menceritakan bahwa dengan kekuatan batin dan tekad untuk tetap hidup dan banyaknya kepahitan hidup yang dialaminya yang membuat ia tetap bertahan hidup. Kisahnya menjadi bahan pembicaraan dan menarik perhatian dunia. 

Pada tahun 1995, dia dianugerahi penghargaan bergengsi Rotarian Paul Harris Award untuk ‘Keberanian di atas normal’. Pada tahun yang sama ia menjadi penerima pertama penghargaan ‘Perempuan Pemberani’ dari majalah Femina. Dia juga terpilih sebagai Port Elizabeth’s Citizen of the Year pada upacara yang berkilauan.

Alison telah berbicara menceritakan kisahnya selama beberapa tahun untuk memotivasi banyak orang tentang kehidupan. Tujuannya adalah untuk ‘membuat perubahan’ secara dramatis baik untuk kehidupan, dunia usaha, perempuan dan kelompok sosial serta beberapa sekolah. Dia telah ditulis dan dibicarakan banyak orang di dunia internasional di lebih dari 20 negara termasuk Amerika Serikat, Australia, Eropa, Asia dan Afrika. (sumber: http://www.alison.co.za).

Bertemu Alison Botha. Pertama kali membaca tentang dia di buku Andrew Matthews : Kebahagiaan dalam Masa Sulit. Hati saya sakit ketika saya membaca pengalamannya. Benar-benar buruk. Hal terburuk yang pernah bisa dibayangkan terjadi padanya. Ketika dia berumur 27, dua pria menculiknya, diperkosa, dan brutal menyakitinya. Dia hampir mati. Tetapi Tuhan punya rencana lain untuknya. Ia masih hidup. Dia bertemu dengan seorang mahasiswa dokter hewan yang menyelamatkan hidupnya. Dan yang membuatnya terjadi dalam kehidupan ini. Dia menemukan pasangan jiwa, menikah pada tahun 1997 (3 tahun setelah peristiwa tragis). Dan sekarang dia bepergian di seluruh dunia, memberikan kesaksian perjalanan dalam menghadapi penderitaan. I Have Life: Alison’s Journey seperti diceritakan kepada Marianne Thamm adalah judul bukunya. Buku yang mengilhami dunia. Mengilhami semua orang yang membaca kisahnya.

Yah, hidup ini benar-benar tidak terduga. Anda tidak mungkin bisa membayangkan apa yang akan terjadi selanjutnya. Satu saat Alison adalah seorang broker asuransi dengan bisnis Port Elizabeth di Afrika Selatan, kemudian beberapa menit setelah itu, semuanya telah berubah secara drastis. Mimpi buruk yang terburuk yang pernah terjadi pada hidupnya. Tapi kemudian ia bisa berdiri sekali lagi dan membuat perbedaan.

Salut kepada Alison! Hidup tidak selalu mudah. Tapi pemenangnya akan berjuang sampai akhir. Tidak peduli betapa buruknya keadaan. Dan entah bagaimana, aku menemukan bahwa aku malu dengan keluhanku. Setelah membaca perjuangannya dalam hidup ini, sungguh, keluhan saya bukan apa-apa dibandingkan dengan miliknya. Dan saya ingin memiliki sikap seperti itu dalam hidup ini. Aku dapat melihat kasih karunia Tuhan dalam kehidupan Alison. TanganNya itu yang memungkinkan dia untuk melakukannya. Tanpa Dia, saya pikir tidak mungkin untuk menikmati apa yang dia sekarang alami. Tuhan telah begitu baik kepadanya.

Terima kasih kepada Alison atas cerita inspirasionalnya. Dan untuk semua orang di luar sana, Anda dapat membuat perbedaan. Seperti apa yang dikatakannya di situs web: “Tidak peduli situasi, Anda selalu mengontrol sikap, keyakinan Anda dan pilihan-pilihan yang Anda buat ..”

Hari ini adalah Hari Perempuan. Saya tidak menyadari hal itu sampai kasir supermarket di apartemen kami bilang begitu. Meskipun bunga, hadiah, hadiah romantis yang telah mengalir di sini di Ho Chi Minh City, saya telah belajar pelajaran lain dari Alison. Seorang wanita yang sangat berani menginspirasi kehidupan banyak orang. Bukan saja ia dapat berdiri di kakinya, ia juga melawan para pemerkosa-membawa mereka ke pengadilan dan menang. Mereka akhirnya penjara seumur hidup. Dan untuk Alison? Dia telah memenangkan pertempuran hidupnya. Dia seorang wanita luar biasa. Terima kasih untuk berbagi hidup Anda dan kisah inspirasional dunia, Alison!

Yang terakhir, dia memeberikan kutipan indah : Hidup adalah indah. Hidup ini patut diperjuangkan. Bukan apa yang terjadi pada Anda, melainkan apa yang Anda lakukan dengan itu.

Jadi, sudahkan kau temukan keindahan di matamu? Masih bisakah melihat keindahan di tengah-tengah badai kehidupan? Mudah-mudahan, hari ini kita dapat belajar sesuatu dari Alison. (source: Alison Botha)

Fientje de Feniks, Pelacur Yang Dibunuh

Nama seorang wanita pelacur Indo yang menjadi korban pembunuhan tuan besar Belanda bernama Gemser Brinkman. Peristiwa pembunuhan tersebut sangat menghebohkan Batavia di awal abad ke-20, karena Brinkman adalah seorang tuan besar Belanda. Peristiwa itu terjadi pada hari Jum'at 17 Mei 1912, dengan ditemukannya mayat seorang wanita Indo masih muda, terapung, tersangkut pintu air, terbungkus dalam karung di Kali Baru Batavia. Wanita itu seorang pelacur, menghuni rumah pelacuran milik Umar, seorang germo.  

Masyarakat makin heboh saat mengetahui siapa yang tewas. Namanya Fientje de Feniks, seorang pelacur yang kerap dikunjungi para pembesar dan orang kaya. Untuk ukuran saat itu, Fientje jadi idola. Wajahnya campuran Indonesia dan Eropa. Matanya besar dengan hidung mancung dan bibir sensual. Rambutnya panjang, hitam dan berombak. Saat tewas usianya belum lagi 20 tahun.Berdasarkan hasil pemeriksaan Komisaris Reumpol beserta stafnya diketahui bahwa Fientje menjadi langganan Meneer Brinkman.

Tuan besar itu cukup terkenal di kalangan sositet Belanda dan merupakan anggota Societeit Concordia. Berdasarkan kesaksian dari Raonah (pelacur pribumi teman Fientje) yang mengetahui kejadian pembunuhan itu, akhirnya Brinkman dijebloskan ke penjara dengan tuntutan hukuman mati. Namun karena tidak bisa mengendalikan diri, akhirnya ia bunuh diri dalam penjara. Kejadian tersebut semakin menghebohkan Batavia, tetapi bagi Pak Silun dan dua anak buahnya sangat mengejutkan. Mereka bertiga adalah algojo-algojo suruhan Tuan Brinkman agar membunuh Fientje, namun belum dibayar sepenuhnya dan baru persekotnya saja.

Fientje tinggal di rumah pelacuran milik Umar. Demikian ditulis dalam Ensiklopedi Jakarta yang diterbitkan Pemprov DKI Jakarta tahun 2005.

Tewasnya Fientje menjadi fokus pemberitaan koran-koran saat itu. Masyarakat penasaran dengan setiap perkembangan terbaru kasus Fientje.

Komandan Polisi Batavia, Komisaris Reumpol yang menangani kasus ini.  memeriksa setiap saksi dengan teliti. Akhirnya dia menemukan titik terang ketika seorang pelacur teman Fientje bersaksi. Pelacur itu bernama Raonah, dia melihat langsung seorang pria bernama Gemser Brinkman mencekik Fientje dari sela-sela bilik bambu.

Wartawan Senior Rosihan Anwar menulis soal sidang Brinkman ini. Raonah sempat dituding berbohong dan memberikan keterangan palsu oleh pengacara Brinkman. Pengadilan bahkan sempat mengirim tim untuk mengecek tempat kejadian perkara (TKP) pembunuhan di lokalisasi milik Umar.

Raonah bersikeras pada pendapatnya. Dengan yakin dia berkata pada ketua majelis hakim.

"Tuan, saya seorang perempuan, jadi saya penakut. Tapi saya katakan sekali lagi, laki-laki itu yang melakukan pembunuhan," ujar Raonah.

Pengadilan akhirnya mengganjar Brinkman dengan hukuman mati. Awalnya Brinkman yakin eksekusi tidak akan jadi dilakukan. Dia berfikir tidak mungkin seorang kulit putih terhormat seperti dirinya dihukum mati hanya karena membunuh pelacur indo. Dia juga percaya pengaruh teman-temannya di Societeit Concordia akan membantu memperingan hukumannya.

Tapi Brinkman salah, pengadilan tetap berniat mengeksekusinya. Dia pun stres, dan berteriak-teriak terus dalam selnya. Akhirnya Brinkman bunuh diri dalam sel.

Ada beberapa versi soal pembunuhan ini. Ada yang mengatakan Brinkman sebenarnya tidak membunuh Fientje saat itu juga. Tetapi dia menyuruh algojo bernama Silun bersama dua anak buahnya. Silun yang akhirnya mencekik Fientje hingga tewas. Sial bagi Silun, Brinkman belum membayarnya lunas. Dia baru dibayar persekot atau uang mukanya saja. Brinkman keburu tewas saat Silun ditangkap.

Mengenai motif pun berbeda-beda. Sebagian pihak meyakini Brinkman membunuh Fientje karena cemburu. Dia sebenarnya sudah ingin menjadikan Fientje sebagai gundik, namun ternyata Fientje masih juga melayani laki-laki lain.

Kisah soal Fientje ini juga ditulis dalam Novel karangan Pramoedya Ananta Toer. Di buku 'Rumah kaca', Pram juga memasukan kisah soal pembunuhan ini. Namun Pram mengganti nama Fientje de Feniks menjadi Rientje de Roo.

Accross 2 countries and one ocean for a love

Sometimes when I’m watching old movies, I can’t help dwelling on the crucial plot devices that have been lost to, well, devices. The missed call, which today rings in our pockets. The long-lost love, who now lives forever in our Twitter feed.

Consider Doctor Zhivago: A chance sighting of Lara on a city street leads Yuri’s heart to rupture as she disappears before Yuri can reach her. Had the Internet been around during the Bolshevik Revolution, Yuri and Lara never would have lost each other. They would have been Facebook “comrades.”

Consider the plot twists in our own lives, moments that hinged on uncertainty, when all information was not laid out before us. Modern technology has made our world smaller and our lives easier, but 
perhaps it has also diminished life’s mysteries, and with them, some sense of romance.

In the summer of 1991, without social networks to tether us, I felt such heart-bursting longing for a woman I loved that I traveled across two countries and an ocean to make sure she would not wander out of my life. It was only in her absence that I was able to appreciate the depth of love I felt.

I met Joelle in March while I was still in college. She had recently graduated and was knocking around Peoria, Illinois, her hometown,
figuring out her next step. After two chance meetings, we began going out. Before long, we were rarely apart.

We spent less time with our friends, who could not track the electronic footprints of our relationship. The outside world fell away, and it became just us, slowly unlocking each other’s secrets, which in those days were not posted on “walls” for anybody to scroll through.

But our time together was coming to an end. Before we met, I had planned a summer backpacking adventure across Europe, and Joelle had been talking about a move to Chicago. I told her I would write, and I gave her the address of a friend in Wales, where I would be with my parents at the midpoint of my trip.

After landing in Frankfurt, Germany, I visited the Roman ruins in Trier, spent the summer solstice in Strasbourg, and saw a rock concert in a soccer stadium packed with 50,000 Germanic-looking bikers in Basel. In Budapest, my ancestral home, I heard church choirs and stood before masterworks of art. It was beautiful.

And I was miserable. I could not have been lonelier. All I could think about was Joelle.

Sitting alone on a bench outside St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna, eating street schnitzel, I wished I were in Peoria, sitting across from her. I wrote her letters as if I could will her into my trip—long, heartfelt missives.

By the time I reached London to rendezvous with my parents, I was inconsolable. The distance between us had become unfathomable, and my spirits sank to a depth I had never known. I sobbed and pouted and slunk around London for three days.

Finally, my father suggested (insisted, really) that I just call her.

So from our hotel room in London, I called Peoria. Except that Joelle wasn’t in Peoria. Her mother told me that she had packed up and moved to Chicago. My letters, she said, were sitting there on the table, unopened.

I called Chicago next but was unable to reach her. There was no answer, no machine, no voice mail, no caller ID to show the missed call. Just a landline ringing in an empty apartment. There was no way of knowing where she was or when she would be back. I became gripped by jealousy, panicked by the idea of her settling into a new life.

Here I was in Europe, weeping in front of relics for all the wrong reasons, and she was gallivanting around Chicago meeting people? It seemed ludicrous to admit I somehow thought she might hang around Peoria, waiting for me, but that was, it occurred to me, exactly what I had expected.

My parents and I drove to Wales the next day, and when there was no letter from Joelle waiting, I broke down into a blubbering mess. My body was in Wales, surrounded by craggy green hills and bleating sheep, but my heart was in Chicago.

My parents put me on a train back to London to catch the next flight home. At Heathrow, however, I was told that the round-trip airline ticket my parents had bought me could be used only out of Paris. So it was off to Dover, where I caught a ferry across the channel.

The boat was filled with fellow students, and as we staggered off in Calais and rode the night train to Paris, I regaled them with my tale of woe.

Forget it, they said. One guy said that he was meeting buddies in Pamplona to run with the bulls and that I should join. A girl was headed to France to wait on tables and lie on the beach. “Come with,” she offered.

“No, no,” I said. “If I don’t get back, I’m going to lose her.”

I was roundly ridiculed, and they said I would forever regret cutting short this once-in-a-lifetime trip.

In Paris, I headed straight for Charles de Gaulle Airport. I’d be in Chicago soon. All I had to do was get on a plane.

But I couldn’t get on a plane. Inside the United terminal, it was utter chaos, with people 40 deep at the ticket counter. I would not be getting on the next plane—or any other.

Exhausted, I lugged my backpack toward the trains, tears in my eyes. What a disaster. Stuck in Paris for three weeks! Could things be worse?

But as I left the United terminal, I found myself in the British Airways wing. I was facing three smiling ticket agents.

“You don’t happen to have any seats today?” I asked.

“We have seats,” one said, “but the plane leaves in 20 minutes.”

The one-way ticket cost twice what my parents paid for my round-trip fare. I glanced at my credit card: “For emergency use only.”

I bought the ticket. This was the part I didn’t tell my parents.

At least not until four years later, on the night before Joelle and I married. I confessed it after my father told a roomful of friends and family the tale of the despondent boy who chose love over bleating sheep, Roman ruins, and all the wine in Paris.

Read more: Inspiration's love

True Story: The Boy Who Saved The Senator

I was once a pessimist. I’m not that man anymore. And that change started with a bout of misfortune and the sudden appearance of a little boy.

On a Saturday morning, January 21, 2012, my left arm went numb, and I started to feel dizzy. After I called my doctor, an ambulance arrived in front of my home, in Highland Park, Illinois. An MRI quickly revealed that the lining of my carotid artery had peeled off, preventing blood from flowing to my brain. The doctor said I had a stroke on the way and that we would just have to let it come. There was no stopping it. I stayed at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago for a few days, waiting for the stroke to hit as waves of paralysis came over me. As I slowly lost control of my body, I thought about how unbelievable it was. I was 52. I didn’t even know anyone who’d had this happen to him.

After the stroke (and the two operations that relieved the swelling in my brain), I was transferred to the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago (RIC) on February 10. Though I had lost the use of my left arm and leg and couldn’t see out of my left eye, the only thought on my mind was that I needed to leave the hospital and return to my job serving the citizens of Illinois. But the reality was that I needed to relearn how to stand and see first. So there I was, with blood clots forming in my legs, held upright by a track and a harness, trying with all my strength to take one tiny step forward. I had always been a glass-half-empty kind of guy, and this just made me feel like recovery was impossible, like I would never again return to the Senate.

A few days after my first discouraging physical therapy session, my stepmother, Bev, came into my room with a letter. She had the job of poring over countless cards and notes from fellow politicians and strangers alike and was struck by one. It was a neatly typed letter, and the author was a nine-year-old boy named Jackson Cunningham from the central Illinois town of Champaign, my hometown. In the note, Jackson told me about the stroke he’d had only a year earlier. He, too, had been paralyzed on his left side and had made great strides at RIC. But, beyond telling me what he had lost, Jackson shared what I would gain. “Here’s some advice,” Jackson wrote. “Do not give up on yourself. All the hard work is worth it.”

And the advice kept on coming. He told me to attend therapy on the hospital’s “grown-up” floor, where “they make you work hard and you get lots of things back fast.” He even had recommendations for his favorite local pizza places, just in case I had a craving. Here I was, a grown man and a senator of Illinois, getting advice from a young boy I had never met. But his words were exactly what I needed. He gave me such strength. I used my dwindling energy to write him back by pen.

After a few weeks of correspondence, I arranged for us to meet in the RIC cafeteria. He seemed nervous at first as he sat across from me with his parents, Craig and Judy, but all the awkwardness quickly melted away. Jackson showed me how he could run, and I immediately felt inspired. It made me believe that one day, I would run again too. I felt so emotional seeing him face-to-face, this kindred spirit of mine. I thought back to when I was his age, and I could see a lot of myself in him. One thing I immediately admired was the energy and dignity radiating from him. Looking at Jackson for the first time, I saw a young boy who could have been my son.

As for my recovery, it came just as Jackson said it would. After a year of intense physical therapy, I climbed to the top of the Capitol and returned to work on January 3, 2013. With every step I took, I thought of Jackson and his strength. He helped me climb those steps that day.

Back in Washington, DC, I could feel Jackson affecting my every day. Whenever I was tired or discouraged, I thought of him, the world’s strongest boy. I had always been proud to represent the state of Illinois, but I felt even more passionate knowing that I was representing him. When Jackson visited the Capitol a few months after my return, we climbed those big steps together. It felt so special to see DC through his eyes. Here he was, my battle buddy, and we had fought our strokes together. As I showed him around, we made a pact that there would be a footrace between us in the tunnel that connects my office to the Capitol. The next thing I’ll really have to think about is how I’m going to beat him.

It might sound strange, but I’m almost grateful for my stroke because it gave me the opportunity to meet Jackson and to count him as a friend. He is my hero, and I am so excited to see what becomes of him. When we talk today, Jackson, now 11, tells me about his highest video game scores—he is obsessed with “slaying zombies”—and how he has been moving his left arm (I’m quite jealous). The one topic we can’t discuss: girls, though I think that might change someday. I tell him that I can read and walk again, that I’m coming back to life. I also tell him that if he doesn’t listen to his physical therapist, he’ll have to testify before Congress.

When I think of his future, which I do often, I hope that he has a life of advocacy on behalf of disabled individuals. And I hope that he finds strength in knowing that there’s a guy in Washington who will always be in his corner. After visiting me in DC, he expressed some interest in politics. I asked him if he’d like to be the president of the United States someday. He just shrugged and said, “Eh. More like a senator.”

Read more: True story

Roseta Dari Ancol

Cerita yang ditulis WL Ritter, yang bekerja antara lain sebagai wartawan. Mengkisahkan tentang seorang gadis Bali bernama Roseta, yang bekerja sebagai budak di rumah Tuan dan Nyonya van der Ploeg di Batavia. Sebagai budak ia merniliki paras rupawan di usia muda belia, penampilannya sangat sederhana namun demikian sangat pantas dilihat, sehingga kemanapun ia pergi senantiasa mempesona pria yang melihatnya. Ia bekerja sangat rajin dan tekun, tidak banyak tingkah. Namun ternyata keelokan parasnya telah membuat sang nyonya iri hati, hingga mengawinkan Roseta dengan Apol, budak laki-laki yang terpesona padanya. Walau sebenarnya kurang tertarik (karena hatinya telah tertambat pada seorang perjaka Jawa) tetapi tidak berani macam-macam dengan suaminya yang berasal dari Bugis itu.

Kekejaman Nyonya van der Ploeg kian hari semakin bertambah, hal itu berbeda dengan suaminya yang sangat perasa, tenang, dan memperlakukan budak dengan baik. Hingga suatu hari karena dianggap melakukan kesalahan, Roseta dihukum dengan menusuk tangannya menggunakan tusuk konde dan membakar tangannya. Peristiwa tersebut sangat membekas dihati Apol, sang suami, sehingga menimbulkan dendam. Suatu hari majikannya berlibur di rumah peristirahatan mereka bersama beberapa budak, sedangkan suaminya menyusul kemudian. Saat semua tertidur, Roseta yang telah terbujuk oleh kekasihnya (bernama Jaya) yang ditemuinya, melarikan diri dengan membawa semua perhiasan nyonyanya. Kepergian Roseta telah membuat Apol gelap mata dan menuduh majikannya sebagai penyebab kepergian isterinya. Di puncak kemarahannya ia membunuh majikan, anak, dan semua budak yang menyaksikan peristiwa tersebut. Peristiwa itu membuat hati Tuan van der Ploeg hancur dan menyerahkan Apol kepada polisi dan dihukum mati dengan ditarik kuda menjadi empat bagian.

Dalam pelariannya ternyata Roseta menemui kemalangan. Jaya yang mengaku. sebagai juragan perahu dari Jepara hanya bohong belaka. Sebenarnya ia kepala perampok yang senantiasa menggoda para budak wanita agar melarikan diri dengan mengambil harta majikannya, untuk kemudian diambil oleh Jaya beserta gerombolannya dan kemudian budak tersebut dibunuh. Mengetahui hal itu Roseta hendak kabur, namun tiada daya, sehingga dirinya ikut dalam gerombolan tersebut. Delapan tahun kemudian gerombolan itu tertangkap dan semuanya dihukum mati, tak terkecuali Roseta yang sedang mengandung. Ia dihukum mati tiga bulan setelah melahirkan anaknya.