Life 404: Success Not Found

Chapter 11: The Lethal "When Are You Getting Married?" Question

For Freza, a large family wedding was a simulation of hell wrapped in champagne-colored decorative tents and the scent of beef rendang with far too much galangal. It was a battlefield where the bullets were foul small talk and the landmines were questions about the future tossed by people who didn't even know the difference between burnout and just being lazy.

That morning, Freza stood in front of the mirror, trying to straighten his only batik shirt—an inheritance from his late grandfather that was a bit too large in the shoulders, making him look like a walking clothes hanger.

"I can't lose today," Freza muttered, staring at his haggard reflection. "I’ve survived breathing crises, I’ve outlasted power poles, and I’ve defeated insurance bots. These aunties are just mid-level mini-bosses."

Satya, who for some reason was always in Freza’s boarding house room like a resident ghost, was busy eating the last of the canned crackers. "You sure you want to go, Fre? You know Aunt Mira will be there, right? She’s the apex predator of your family's food chain. She can smell unemployment from three kilometers away."

"I have to go, Sat. If I don't, my mom will send me a forty-minute voice message consisting of nothing but sobbing and scripture quotes about unfilial children. But this time, I have a secret weapon."

Freza patted his messenger bag, which looked a bit bulged. Inside was a stack of papers he had printed at an internet cafe last night with the very last of his money.

The multipurpose hall was already packed. The sound of a lone organ player performing dangdut songs arranged into a failed attempt at slow jazz created an atmosphere that was highly uncomfortable for normal human ears. Freza tried to sneak in through the buffet line, hoping to stuff his face with chicken satay before the "matchmaking surveillance squad" spotted him.

However, luck was not a feature of Freza’s life.

Just as he picked up a rice spoon, a hand with bright red painted nails and a gold ring the size of a marble slapped his shoulder hard. Whack!

"Oh, Freza! My goodness, I thought you were a decoration pole, you're so thin now!"

There she was. Aunt Mira. Behind her stood Aunt Rosa and Aunt Linda—the deadly trio Freza feared more than the three dragons in a fantasy movie.

"Hello, Auntie," Freza greeted with a forced smile that made his cheek muscles cramp.

"How have you been? I heard you became a CEO recently? CEO of what... thin air?" Aunt Mira laughed, her voice screeching like a bus with failed brakes. "My son, Budi, is now a Regional Manager at a state-owned bank, you know. His salary... well, it’s enough to buy a new car every two years."

"Wow, Budi’s doing great," Freza replied flatly, staring at his chicken satay as it began to grow cold.

"And what about you, Fre? Still doing odd jobs?" Aunt Rosa chimed in, her eyes narrowing inquisitively. "Remember, you're twenty-five now. At that age, I already had two kids and was paying off a house. You... we haven't even seen a girlfriend."

This was it. The sacred question was about to be unleashed. Freza could feel the air around him turn static.

"Yes, Freza," Aunt Linda joined the conversation with a tone of manufactured concern. "Your cousin, Sari, is getting married next month. When is your turn? Do I need to introduce you to my friend's daughter? But then again... she wants someone established, not someone still busy watching breathing tutorials."

The three aunts laughed in unison. Freza felt his self-esteem being trampled by their high heels. He glanced at his bag. The nuclear option was ready to be detonated.

"Actually..." Freza let the sentence hang, causing the three aunts to lean forward in curiosity. "I have some happy news, Auntie. I intentionally saved it for this moment."

"What news? Did you get accepted as a civil servant?" Aunt Mira asked enthusiastically.

"No. I... I'm actually getting married soon."

Silence. The background organ music seemed to stop just for this drama.

"Married?!" Aunt Rosa exclaimed. "To whom? Why didn't you say anything? What does she do for a living?"

Freza reached into his bag. He pulled out an elegant cream-colored envelope with faux gold leaf on the front. He handed it to Aunt Mira with a very formal gesture.

"This is the invitation, Auntie. I’ve only printed a limited run for the immediate family first."

Aunt Mira snatched the envelope with trembling hands. Aunt Rosa and Aunt Linda crowded in to see. They opened the envelope quickly, expecting to see a photo of a beautiful woman from a prominent family.

However, as they read the contents of the invitation, their faces changed from curious to pale, then to blue, and finally to a deep purple.

The invitation read:

"THE GRAND WEDDING"

FREZA, S.T. (Bachelor of Mediocrity)

&

BUDI SETIAWAN (Aunt Mira's Son)

“We invite you to celebrate the union of love between two souls who have long been hidden from the harsh judgments of the world. The wedding will be held under the overpass with an 'Extreme Minimalist' concept.”

"WHAT IS THIS?!" Aunt Mira screamed so hard her hijab went crooked. "BUDI?! MY SON?!"

Freza put on the most melancholic face he had ever learned from a "How to Look Persecuted but Brave" tutorial.

"Yes, Auntie. I'm sorry we’re just now being honest. All this time, Budi and I often had 'regional meetings' in my boarding room. Budi said he was tired of being a successful bank manager; he just wanted to be my simple life partner. He said our love is stronger than any bank deposit interest."

Aunt Mira looked like someone who had just swallowed a whole durian, skin and all. "IMPOSSIBLE! BUDI IS NORMAL! HE HAS A CRUSH ON THE DIRECTOR GENERAL'S DAUGHTER!"

"That's just a diversion, Auntie," Freza whispered in a highly secretive tone. "Budi was forced to do that because he's afraid of you. But yesterday he told me: 'Fre, I want to live a free life with you, even if we only have one pack of instant noodles to share.' That's why I printed these invitations."

Freza didn't stop there. He pulled more envelopes from his bag.

"This is for you, Aunt Rosa," Freza handed over another invitation. There, Freza’s name was paired with Aunt Rosa’s son, who was still in medical school. "Your son said he prefers me over a stethoscope."

"And this is for Aunt Linda," Freza handed over a third envelope. This time, his partner's name was Aunt Linda’s daughter-in-law, who had just gotten married last year. "She said she’s bored with your stiff son and found a different 'vibe' in my cynicism."

Chaos erupted in seconds.

Aunt Mira began screaming for Budi, who was busy eating crackers in the corner of the room. Aunt Rosa started crying hysterically while calling her son to question his sexual orientation. Aunt Linda fainted onto the pudding table, covering her expensive gown in chocolate vla sauce.

"BUDI! GET OVER HERE! IS IT TRUE YOU WANT TO MARRY THIS UNEMPLOYED LOSER?!" Aunt Mira roared.

Budi, who knew nothing, walked over with a confused face. "Huh? What, Ma? Marry Freza? Freza who? My old PlayStation buddy?"

"THIS IS THE INVITATION!" Aunt Mira shoved the paper under Budi's nose.

Budi read the invitation, then stared at Freza. Freza gave Budi a truly disgusting wink. Budi immediately dropped his plate.

"MA! THIS IS SLANDER! I NEVER... FREZA, ARE YOU INSANE?!"

Freza simply shrugged casually. "Why the change of heart, Bud? Didn't you say our 'sacred vow' wouldn't be shaken by your mother's shouting?"

The extended family began to swarm. The guests stopped eating and started recording the incident. Gossip spread faster than a computer virus. Within five minutes, the focus of the wedding was no longer on the bride and groom on the dais, but on the "Cross-Family Marriage" scandal triggered by Freza.

Freza’s mother arrived with a panicked face, trying to grab her son's hand. "Freza! What are you doing? You’re embarrassing the family!"

"Don't worry, Mom," Freza replied loudly so everyone could hear. "You don't have to worry about people asking 'when is Freza getting married' anymore. Because now, everyone here will be praying that I DON'T get married."

Aunt Mira was still trying to chase Freza, but she was blocked by a pile of dirty plates. "I’LL SUE! I WILL SUE YOU FOR DEFAMATION!"

"Go ahead, Auntie," Freza called out as he backed toward the exit. "But before you sue me, you might want to check Budi's phone. Who knows, there might be a photo of me... eh, never mind. Privacy."

Freza immediately ran out of the building before the mob could truly turn violent. He hopped onto the motorcycle taxi he had ordered in advance.

"Go, driver! Fast!"

"Where to, sir?"

"Anywhere that doesn't have aunties!"

That evening, Freza sat on the porch of his boarding house with Satya. Freza’s phone was exploding with hundreds of messages in the family groups. He had been kicked out of three different groups, blocked by seven cousins, and his name was officially struck from the inheritance list (which was actually just a list of debts anyway).

"You're a literal psychopath, Fre," Satya said, reading one of the remaining fake invitations. "Do you realize you just destroyed your family's entire social order?"

"I didn't destroy anything, Sat. I just gave them what they wanted: an answer to when I’m getting married. If the answer gave them a heart attack, well, that’s beyond my control."

Freza lit a cigarette, staring at the moon that looked like a golden plate in the sky.

"I'm tired, Sat. For years, I've been treated like a defective product just because I don't have a partner or a steady job. They don't care if I'm struggling or not. They just want to be entertained by my failures. So, I gave them the ultimate entertainment."

"But now you can't go to a family event ever again."

"That's called a bonus, Sat. It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever given myself. Freedom from the 'when are you getting married' question is true independence."

However, as was usual in Freza’s life, the victory felt hollow. He checked his bank balance on his phone screen. Zero rupiah. He looked at the pile of instant noodles in the corner of the room. Only two packs left.

He realized that even though he had successfully silenced his aunts, reality hadn't changed. He was still poor. He was still unemployed. And now, he didn't even have access to free food at family events anymore.

Suddenly, a message arrived from his mother.

Mom: "Freza, I know you were lying about Budi. Aunt Mira is crying in the hospital right now because her blood pressure spiked. But I want to ask one thing..."

Freza held his breath. Was his mother going to scold him?

Mom: "...You don't actually have feelings for Budi, right? Because if you do, I won't know where to show my face at the neighborhood arisan tomorrow."

Freza let out a small, weary laugh. He turned off his phone.

"The status quo returns, Sat," Freza muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm still alone in this room. The only difference is, now I'm considered a national security threat by my own extended family."

Freza lay down on his thin mattress. He closed his eyes, imagining Aunt Mira’s face as she read the invitation. It was the happiest moment of his miserable life, a small victory over suffocating social pressure.

Tomorrow, he would have to find a way to eat. Maybe he would apply to be a radio drama scriptwriter, because he had just proven he had an extraordinary talent for creating fiction that destroys people's mental well-being.

But for tonight, Freza slept soundly. No voices asking "when are you getting married" haunted him. There was only the sound of the wall clock ticking, as if whispering: "Congratulations, Freza. You’re still a failure, but at least you failed with style."

Status quo: Freza remained poor, remained unemployed, remained single, and was now officially enemy number one in his entire family tree.