My Tutor was My First Kiss

Friday, 08 Desember 2017 - 11:48:43 WIB
By : Ziggy Zezsyazeoviennazabrizkie | Category: Gender & Sexuality - 2577 hits
Early this year, during a sleepover, a friend asked me if I’d ever shared a kiss with anyone. The answer was yes, but the word was drowned under a torrent of emotion. I clammed and switched the topic, a skill we all master by the time we’re 21.

The last time I was asked that question was many years ago. I was studying math for the finals that afternoon. I had a private tutor whom my mother was fond of,  who also tutored my sister and her friends, me and my friends, and my brother and his friends. I took extra private class because I was a math idiot, and it was during one of those private sessions my tutor popped the question. I was struggling with some differential problems when, out of nowhere, he shoved his tongue down my throat. He then laughed. I blinked and quickly resumed the problem as if nothing happened. There was still 30 minutes left on my time share and I wasn’t going to waste it pondering about shit.

I took my phone to reply to my mum’s text, and he pleaded me not to tell her, but I told him I wasn’t going to. We resumed the lesson normally after that so I thought that was going to be it. Maybe it was just a joke that went out of line, I thought. But a few minutes later, before we parted ways, he made another pass. This time worse. He eventually let me go, but not before stopping my car door from swinging to ask me, “please don’t tell your Mom”.

“I wasn’t gonna,” I said.

And the truth is, I really wasn’t going to, even though it was mortifying and disgusting and nauseating. Still, I thought I needed to seek solace from someone, so I told my best friend and this was when things got worse.

He laughed it off as if it was amusing. I was infuriated.

 “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny!” I said, which seemed to make him realize the gravity of it.

I never cried because the assault happened. I cried because my friend laughed it off. I couldn’t believe anyone could even begin to think what happened to me was hilarious. I couldn’t believe anyone would even need a context that this is hurtful.

This made me worried that my Mom would dismiss it the same way, as well. Though I knew it was not likely – Mom is the coolest person ever, and she’ll always be on my side – but there’s always that possibility.

How far should things go before it becomes something worth reporting? This question consumed me enough to realize that I have the right to my body and to peaceful state of mind, and any violation of this right can meet my own objection.

But there’s another complication: His wife was terminally ill and Mom was a good source of income for them. I don’t know if Mom would go all the way and terminate the help for my sake, but not doing so would hurt me, and doing so would hurt his wife. I didn’t want anyone to suffer the consequences of his sin.

Eventually his wife died. One less string attached to us, but there were still others. There’s my brother, needing tutoring for high-school-entrance purposes, and, later, to get through high school. And so on. So I thought, maybe until my brother was done with all his mathematical necessity.

But after a while, my brother didn’t need him, which would’ve made it easier to cut off all ties with him and came clean. But then I thought about his children. He has a son my age. What would happen if I opened my mouth? My father would kill the guy,  or put him in jail. Either way, one of them would wind up imprisoned. Had that happened, what about the kids? It’s not worth ruining someone else’s future.

Today our family no longer has any connection to him, but by now it had happened too long ago. What good would it do bringing this up?

Then it occurred to me. I thought about his wife, my brother, his children, my sister’s friends who liked him, and my Mum and my sister who liked him as well… All these people, and never once did I  think about me.

Because every Lebaran that he came to visit, I had to cope with that emotional mayhem again. Every time he texted me, or every time his name popped on my social media, I relived that afternoon. Every time someone kissed me, I had to apply numbing cream on my emotional outlet so I wouldn’t burst out crying. Every time I remember this and close my eyes, I think about rows of torture devices and blood-inducing scenes; which is a torture in itself because I’m afraid of blood, but it’s the only way to comfort myself. All to the point where I’m afraid that I’m naturally numb, to the point where I’m afraid of myself.

I don’t think any member of my family remains in contact with him nowadays. But while the acquaintance is obsolete, the wound is always fresh. Pain like this doesn’t heal, and it infects us with the personality of bitter cactus.

I still don’t know if it’s worth talking about this. I still don’t think I’m going tell my Mom. I often wonder why I didn’t think about myself first, because today, I still need help, and, yet, I never look for one.

Ziggy Zezsyazeoviennazabrizkie is a writer who is well-known for her conviviality towards chickens and cockroaches. She lives in subterranean desert with fellow bitter cacti.

*Illustration by Karina Tungari.

Got an opinion on this issue? Let’s talk about it in the comments section below.

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eleven | 12 Desember 2017 | 10:45:12 WIB
i have male tutor repeatedly touch my breast when i was 8 or 9 years old... and i have never told my parents about it too..
i feel shame that time.. i should not, i should be brave because god knows how many other kids become his victim.. but who am i kidding, just like u, i can not do it, afraid to ruin his life and his family so i become another silent one..
wonder how many kids get molested by their tutor in our country but never told their parents
flower path | 12 Desember 2017 | 18:50:59 WIB
It happened back when I was around 7~8 y.o., I decided to pretend it never happens. I have this semi-private tutor (3 or 4 people for each class) to teach me about quran and islam stuffs, he's about 40 or 50 y.o. atm. Since he's a so-called ustadz at my neighborhood, my parents fully trusted him to teach me.
flower path | 12 Desember 2017 | 18:51:23 WIB
I always came early and as no one came before me, he always talk to me, but with caressing my hair or holding my hands when talking, and the worst, he sometimes touch my breast and also my private area. I, as a kid, know nothing about that kind of gesture, just stand still waiting for him to be done and when I'm home I would think whether his doings were normal or was it me that ain't normal. As i get older, i remembered every single thing he did to me, and i would always get anxious whenever my boyfriend got closer just to hold my hand or kiss me. And now I'm 22, i still remember clearly what he did, what he wore, and what he said at that time. Am i traumatized? Because I'm still confused how to react to these moments, and who should I tell these stories to..
Scarred for life | 12 Desember 2017 | 20:29:39 WIB
I had this pedo violin teacher when I was in middle school. He was probably in his late 20s, and one time during lesson he told me, “If you were older, I would date you”. I was creeped out and after that I started making excuses to skip the class although I actually loved playing the violin. The last straw was he giving me a box of chocolate as a birthday present. I left and quit music for a while before I finally found a good teacher.
anon | 06 February 2018 | 10:48:35 WIB
my first kiss was when I was six or seven, by a dad's friend who came by our house often. he kissed me deep and for a long time. he wiped my lips slicked with his disgusting saliva afterwards. he smiled at me so sweetly and let me go. I went back to my lego blocks like nothing happened. when i was in 2nd year of elementary school, my own brother flashed his hard dick to me and asked me to jerk him off. I refused and he told me not to tell my mom. I never told anybody, unless anonymously, like I do right now. It happened years ago, but I still remember vividly until today I'm 24. I don't know if they have anything to do with my stunted emotions and this inexplicable emptiness inside me.

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