Oh, there was a little anger left. I had a chat with A., who is one of my oldest friends, through no achievement of my own. I’ve been a jerk sometimes and/or bad at keeping in touch. We have mysteriously parallel life patterns that we react to in symmetrically opposite ways, we are non-Euclidean soul sisters. She’s a prolific playwright and painter, her plays are clever and touching. We’re like sisters, (except that) it feels very easy to talk.
I also talked to E. about the pesantren community, which is close to his heart, where abuse scandals come out every so often. The dangers inherent in providing a good education, which relies on trust in a trustworthy institution, the imperative for the institution and community to protect their students. How complicated it is to watch them change, whether they can maintain trust. E. told me how one time his kyai made him walk all the way back to Glagahdowo, from Ngawi, which took several days. (He ate and slept in mosques on the road. This is why my husband never complains about anything.)