“Footsteps Behind the Toga”
Aruna opened her eyes as morning dew still clung to the window of her boarding house room. Outside, the streets were still quiet, only street lights flickering faintly in the distance. But on the wooden table, there was a stack of books: anatomy, biochemistry, nutrition science proof that her big dream was always waiting to be pursued.
Every day she lived with a heavy rhythm. A full day of lectures, practice in the laboratory, then in the late afternoon, she hurriedly changed her uniform and headed to the catering kitchen where she worked part-time. The aroma of spices and the sound of clattering pots became the backdrop to her busy days. Sometimes she was tired, her legs felt sore, but her heart remained ablaze: “I have to get there.”
There was a night when heavy rain poured down on her boarding house. The wind was piercing, the sound of raindrops breaking the silence. Aruna had to run through the wet to get home, carrying her final assignment that had to be completed by tomorrow morning. When she arrived, she carried her body to a chair and stared at her laptop screen. Her eyes were sore and tired, but there was a spirit there, a spirit greater than her fatigue.
She remembered her little sister, waiting at their small house in the village, hoping that after Aruna graduated, she could help improve their family’s life. She remembered her mother, who prayed every night by her bedside, begging her eldest daughter not to give up. And that was where Aruna drew her strength from their love and hope.
“This isn’t just for me. It’s for my mother, for my siblings, for all the dreams I’ve held since I was a child.” She murmured softly, as if speaking to her own heart.
Day after day passed. Task after task was completed. The thesis defense arrived, with a panel of sharp examiners and difficult questions. Aruna’s hands trembled as she presented her research findings: “How can we improve the nutritional status of schoolchildren in remote villages?” Her voice shook, but her conviction remained unwavering. She answered firmly, presenting data, graphs, concise and clear because she knew that every number could mean a real difference for someone.
When the defense ended, there was a moment of silence. Aruna’s heartbeat seemed to stop for a moment. Then, the examiners looked at each other, nodded, and tapped their small hammers. “Pass.” The word was like thunder in the rain splitting the silence, burning away her fatigue, and turning it into a burst of pride.
Tears slowly fell down Aruna’s cheeks in her small boarding house room. She remembered the long nights, the cheap coffee, the prayers in the silence, and the hope that never faded. She called her mother. Tears, laughter, and shouts of joy came together in a single second the family’s spirit seemed to expand with happiness.
Graduation day arrived. In the hall filled to capacity with people dressed in formal attire, Aruna stood. A black gown draped over her shoulders, a soft green stole across her chest. When her name was called
Aruna stepped forward.
Small steps, yet meaningful. Applause filled the room. Her mother cried in the front row, her younger siblings jumped with joy behind the crowd. And when the gown was removed, Replaced by a sash bearing the letters “S.Gz” that title was not just a piece of cloth. It was proof of struggle, sacrifice, and unconditional love.
The time came for her to look in the mirror: the figure behind the glass a little tired, eyes puffy, but radiating a new light. The light of a dream came true.
Aruna was grateful not for the title, but because she never gave up, because she chose to persevere when giving up felt easy. Because she proved: big dreams can be achieved, as long as the heart never tires of hoping.
And when night fell, in her small, dimly lit room, Aruna wrote in her journal:
“Today I am no longer a girl with prayers and hopes. Today I am a woman with responsibility, knowledge, and courage.”
She smiled, closed her pen. Then looked out the window; outside, the night breeze carried a soft sound. The wind seemed to say: “Welcome to the beginning of a new dream.”
Aruna took a deep breath and stepped forward, with her degree in hand, and a heart full of gratitude.
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Writer: Naira Afza Salsabilla/Nutrition Science’23
Editor: Aura Ahyaya Dahayu Putranto/Psychology’22
