Chapter 5: Handicraft Club (1)

I went towards the furthest classroom on the 2nd floor right wing. It was the classroom where the handicraft club held its activities. On a regular day, it was utilized normally for studying, but Friday noon is solely allocated for classes to be used by every student club, except for sports clubs, which usually hold their activities outside the school or during the weekend.

When I arrived in front of the room, I knocked on the already opened door to inform the people inside of my arrival. “Excuse me,” I said, slightly bowing to show courtesy. “Is this the handicraft club?” I asked.

Everyone inside the classroom was alarmed by my arrival, then turned their head toward me, effectively pausing their current activity. “Yes, this is the handicraft club.” One of the students, a guy in glasses, replied. Most likely he’s my senior.

I stepped inside the classroom and approached the swarm of students in the center of the class. They seem to be observing the guy in the middle who was doing something with the clay on the table. 

“Let me introduce myself. My name’s Uril Peterpan, a freshman. I’d like to join.” I declared.

The members were glancing at each other for a split second, and the four-eyed guy who greeted me said, “sure, Uril. you are welcomed here.”

Oh, that was simple. I said in my heart.

Four-eye extended his hand towards me, a gesture to initiate a handshake. “I’m Gatot.”

I reached toward his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you,” I said. 

“Nice to meet you too. Go on, have a seat,” He said, instructing me to sit down. He then continued, “This is Mr. Daya, our instructor.” while pointing with his thumb towards the skinny guy that looks like a hippie due to his long hair. I’m not sure but I have never seen him with other teachers. I bowed towards him with a smile, to which he replied with just a smile.

“Here are the second-year students. Revan, Ayunda, and Nisa.” Gatot kept on introducing the members, and I greeted them all.

“And this one here is your fellow freshman, Jiwo.” He said, pointing towards the small man in the middle with his clay that was staring at me since I entered the classroom. “I’m sure you guys know each other?”

“N-no,” Jiwo said.

“We’re from different classes,” I added.

Gatot nodded.

I looked around at every member and noticed that everyone here is skinny, except me. Even then I can be categorized as normal. These guys are underweight. I feel concerned about their diet... 

“Uril.” Ayunda, the four-eyed girl in a headscarf, was calling me, and asked, “What’s your reason for joining?”

“I’m familiar with sewing,” I said. 

I was taught by my mother how to sew ever since I was 5 years old. She’s a fashion designer, and oftentimes I was brought by her to her boutique. As a kid, the sound that sewing machines make entertained me, so I tried to play around with it. I realized by now that sewing machines are quite harmful to kids, but my mother and her colleagues were very kind to guide me on how to use them. Thus, as a result, it gave me experience with sewing.

“Are you really?” Ayunda was seemingly shocked. The other members also looked at me in disbelief.

Yeah, I figured as much, thanks to Indah's reaction before. As such, I made some preparations to counter this reaction. I ransacked my bag and took out a plastic bag. I rolled down the upper part of the plastic bag and showed everyone the content. It's a bunch of hair clips with designs made out of flannel.

“You made these?” Nisa, the freckled girl, asked.

“Yup.” I replied.

Mr. Daya waved, signaling me to come closer to him. Right behind him was a large suitcase. He crouched down to open it, showing me what was stored inside. There were a bunch of things cluttered together neatly. Among those are fabrics of various materials and sewing kits.

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“This is our club’s inventory.” He said, then returned to his seat, leaning. His eyes, which reflected calmness, were looking at me. Then he said, “Please demonstrate to us your skill. You don’t have to feel pressured, as I just want to know your level. Now then, pick anything from our inventory.”

“Okay,” I said, obediently crouched at the suitcase and took out 2 layers of brown flannel, some pieces of cotton, and a sewing kit. I plan to make a stickman the size of my palm. 

I cut the flannel into pieces for 1 big round head and the body. As for the hands, I plan to just attach them to the sides. There would be no legs since people find it cuter. I imagined the process and the result, and carefully executed it.

 

****

 

It took around half an hour to finally finish my product. Jiwo had already shaped his clay into a... cup? That seems like a cup, alright. He finished way before me, so he observed me along with the others. After I did my finishing touch, I put my stickman doll on the table, and said, “It’s done.”

The others were looking at it for a while, and then Gatot asked slowly, “Is that... a voodoo doll?”

“... It's a stickman,” I said. I took a look at the stickman I made, and pondered for a bit.

Well, if you think about it, stickmen and voodoo dolls can be quite similar. I said inwardly.

“Oh... oh,” Gatot said, realizing what I meant.

The other members giggled.

Mr. Daya picked up my stickman, observing the entirety of it, and said, “This is a fine piece of art. You did a great job. There are some clumsy parts of it, but with enough practice, you may get better.” He then returned the stickman to me.

Hearing his heartwarming compliment made me happy, especially because he has this calming voice. “Thank you so much, Mr. Daya.”

Mr. Daya then turned towards Jiwo. “Now then. What is this?”

Jiwo looked straight at Mr. Daya with a serious face, and said, “This is a cup, sir.”

“A cup, huh? The clay is still a bit wet, I’m afraid I might ruin it if I touch it. It seems a bit uneven, nevertheless, this is good.” 

Jiwo smiled at Mr. Daya’s evaluation and thanked him.

We continued our activity with Mr. Daya explaining a few things and sparking a discussion, with chit-chat slipping in between. Nisa then said something to me with a faint smile on her face, “You’re a fun guy, Uril.”

To her comment, Jiwo added, “Yeah, dude. You were intimidating at first.”

“Ahahaha. I’m honored.” I replied to both of their remarks.

The lengthy but fun chatter continued until we got interrupted by someone knocking at the classroom door. It was Indah.

“Excuse me.” She said, bowing her head towards us. “May I borrow Uril for a bit?”

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