The world knows Elon Musk for his Teslas, but the world has yet to witness the miracle of a boarding house kid (anak kos) surviving for three days fueled by nothing but prayers and the leftover crumbs of a cracker tin. Being an anak kos isn’t just a temporary housing status; it’s a covert military operation wrapped in the scent of damp socks and soto-flavored instant noodles.
Midnight Vigils for Water That Never Comes
As a boarding house resident, our greatest enemy isn’t a killer professor or a thesis deadline—it’s the water pump. In a “Gupuh” style boarding house (Panicked-Dizzy-Broke), water is a luxury more elusive than a thesis supervisor’s schedule during their European vacation.
The law of the jungle applies: he who wakes up first earns the right to bathe in clear water. The rest? Please, enjoy the oolong-tea-colored liquid that smells like a pipe from the colonial era. This is where the satire hits; we are forced to be religious not out of faith, but because if we don’t wake up for dawn prayers, we’re forced to take a “cat bath” with wet wipes or a desperate spray of vanilla body mist mixed with day-old sweat—a scent combo capable of knocking out a cockroach.
High-End Gastronomy: Instant Noodles as the Primary Currency
Let’s talk nutrition. For the anak kos, the food pyramid doesn’t exist. There is only the vicious cycle of carbohydrates.
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Week 1: Double-rendang Padang rice, iced orange juice, and a full pack of cigarettes. The lifestyle mimics a Sultan of Qatar visiting the outskirts of Jakarta.
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Week 2: Mixed rice (nasi rames), exactly one piece of tempeh, but asking for so much curry gravy that the rice is basically swimming.
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Week 3: Instant noodles are God. We begin chemistry experiments: onion chicken flavored noodles mixed with leftover peanut sauce from yesterday’s salad.
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Week 4: The Photosynthesis Phase. We simply sit by the window, inhaling the aroma of satay from the street vendor next door while staring at food photos on Instagram.
At this point, our kidneys are likely rectangular-shaped with “Seasoning Powder” stamped on them. But hey, at least we’re learning crisis management, right?
Interior Aesthetics: Between Laundry Piles and Empty Gallons
A dorm room is a representation of its inhabitant’s mind: messy and full of lies. We have a special corner called the “Presidential Chair.” Not because we are presidents, but because the chair is buried under a mountain of clothes that have been worn but are “not dirty enough” to be washed yet.
The aesthetic is a cross between a logistics warehouse and a contemporary art installation. Empty water gallons are stacked to become a study desk, instant noodle boxes become bookshelves, and charging cables tangle everywhere like a spiderweb suffering from depression.
And let’s not forget the neighbors. There’s always that one person blasting EDM at 2 AM while you’re contemplating your existence, or worse: the couple dating in the communal living room until 11 PM, making us single folks want to call the Fire Department to douse the flames of jealousy (or just to get them to leave).
Conclusion: We Are the Unwanted Heroes
Being an anak kos teaches us that happiness is simple: seeing the rice cooker light flip to “Warm” when your stomach is growling, or finding a 5,000 rupiah bill in the pocket of pants you haven’t washed in a year.
So, to all you warriors of cramped spaces, keep your spirits up. Remember, this suffering is only temporary.After graduation, the struggle stays the same—your room just gets AC.
