The Unexpected Encounter
Imagine you stumbled upon Mr. President of your country and he called your name, smiling, and saying this to you: “I want to talk to you,”
Among the crowds, hundreds and even thousands, he looked into your very eyes as if he had known you for long. His tone portrays assurance, signing that he didn’t wrongly call someone else but you. His gentle face was waiting for your response.
… “Mr President,” I shook nervously.
It wasn’t a prepared response, obviously, “I-I… I’m honored. Do you have a few minutes? I can prepare-”
Then you stopped because you realized Mr. President didn’t have all day just to wait for you to prepare anything to meet him. He wanted to meet you now. Quick. To the point.
If anything, the talk must be important and urgent because it’s the Mr. President himself telling you something. An imperative? An inquiry? A gift? …or a curse?
For once, you were starstruck. Then your consciousness suddenly activated and alarmed you that you were just a man on his t-shirt watching ‘the’ Mr. President from afar.
There was nothing at, on, and in you that signified any specialty — no, you are just a speck among the crowd.
Deep inside, fear and shame were ringing on and on to slap your face and yell, “You do not deserve this!”
You remember back home you were filthy and disgusting. You hoard dirty stuff in your house: from unwashed dishes to erotic images. Your floor was swept and mopped once in a lifetime — only when you remember, have time, and are willing to do so.
The people that you chose to befriend at home were those who opposed Mr. President. Those who would mock his name and laugh at his works. Those who blindly accused him of any bad things that happened in the country, you spent much time with them. Even the stories you and your friends kept telling were the tales of how bad Mr. President has been — you truly were an advocate.
There’s this guilt.
Yet you were unsure whether you should tell Mr. President or not about this.
Well, according to the magical science of reputation, telling someone frankly about how you think of them might be a double-edged sword: while genuine, you are digging your own grave if the consequence is somewhat serious.
“Should I tell Mr. President about how I have been doing?” I thought inwardly.
Mr. President’s staff escorted you and gave you a short briefing on how this talk should be done.
“You only have 30 minutes tonight at 11 to listen to Mr. President privately. He didn’t expect any intruder, so it has to be you — only you. However, He wants you to pick the place, the place you usually are at 11 pm every day. He doesn’t mind eating if that crosses your dinner time.”
What an uncanny briefing.
“The leader of one country wants to meet me, privately, in a place where I usually spend my night? Now I have some time to prepare. Yet He insisted this to be personal and ordinary.”
It was none other than Warung Ibu Sumi, the OG nasi campur cook near my house where I usually had midnight dinner. That night, Ibu Sumi cooked my regular dish twice as much to be enjoyed by Mr. President and me. There, the staff had cleared the area so it was sterile from intruders.
“I know you, Ezer,” He said that night. “There’s something I want you to do for me,”
While the protocol didn’t allow me to disclose what was said in the conversation in detail, let me share what I reflected on that encounter.
He acknowledges me fully.
He knows who I am, where I came from, whose son I am, and what I have been doing.
His knowledge of me didn’t change anything. He still insisted on a private talk with me to share his agenda.
His tone was soft yet powerful, full of wisdom, and careful in choosing the words. If you could hear his sentences, your ears would be mesmerized, I swear.
From his eyesight, you can tell that there was sadness and anger inside his heart, recognizing the current situation of the land he loves. Yet you didn’t sense the fierce energy. On the contrary, what you felt was love and peace, full of joy the more you listened to his voice talking to you.
Oh,
Hold on.
Did I tell you that this encounter was happening in my dream?
Yet this dream felt so real until you still remember everything in detail after waking up, even minutes and hours after the dream ended.
If I could have an encounter with Mr. President in my dream, and the aftertaste was the fruit of the spirit, don’t you think it’s much more than just Mr. President trying to convey a message to me?
…and probably He wants to talk to you as well. Soon.