A Sentimental Bowl of Soto

Soto Triwindu, another place of great significance in my life. Six years back, my father drove me to Solo. I can still vividly recall every minute detail of that first day. We spent the night in Novotel and woke up at the break of dawn. We rode a charming becak along Slamet Riyadi street (the main road in Solo), and I marveled at how a city's main road can be so peaceful (compared to Jakarta at least). The cool morning breeze seemed to quench all the disappointment I felt for getting rejected at UI, at least I dont have to deal with hot humid dusty air anymore. My father told me of the years he had spent in this city and how it would be a great place fo me to study. He was very reassuring, very much aware of my slight resistance to the thought of getting enrolled in a less reputable medical school. We then turned left after McDonalds and then another left to this hidden restaurant. We were greeted by the same lady that appeared on all the videos, she welcomed us like family. "I can easily get used to this", I thought at the time, and how true it will prove to be.

Six years on, my father's words proved to be true. I often forget that I am in the top 10 medical schools in the country (out of 90+ schools), too often comparing it to UI. FK UNS turned out to be the perfect medical school for me (considering all things), and I have greatly benefited from the solid medical education this institution had provided. The people I have met, the research group that have enriched me in so many ways, the humble professors who have patiently mentored me, I could not have asked for more. Plus, I have fallen in love with this city, I wont mind settling down in Solo at all.

So here I am, after having done all my clinical rotations, having one sentimental bowl of Soto with my late father. I had an imaginary conversation, which surprisingly felt very real to me, I can almost hear his voice. I ordered a bowl without rice (because he was getting insanely fat at that time) and beef (because he was a devout buddhist), pulled out a chair, and had a wonderful time talking about my six years. I imagined him not listening to me and getting preoccupied with a stupid and ridiculously loud machine gun game in his phone, but it was nice, it was how he was. I just wanted to thank him for persuading me to not take a gap year and apply to UNS with my grades instead.

It was a fitting end to my stay in Solo (although I will be back for my exams), this sentimental bowl of Soto. It was very good and pleasant, but at the end I found it slightly hard to swallow. It was the realization that the meal was coming to an end, and that this conversation is imaginary, and I have to again face the reality of his death. But such is life, I have accepted that this sadness will stay with me forever. I slurped every last drop of soup, the lady did not want to charge me for that second bowl of soup and beansprouts (God bless her soul), and went on my way. I was greeted by a gust of wind, gently combing through my hair, as if it was ushering me for a final drive along the beautiful Slamet Riyadi street.