DADDY (1947 – 2014)

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I’d like to go back to last year – on a rainy October night in a cab, stuck in a bad traffic with my two friends from work. We were on our way to visit our friends after their wedding reception to congratulate them after we’d finished our working hours that Saturday.

            Why? It’s what we talked about that night. Right after I’d told them that not only guys but reality could also break my heart, one of them asked me this:

            “What kind of reality that breaks your heart?”

            “It’s when you realise that your father may never be the same again,” I told him right away, almost without thinking. “He used to walk so tall and talk so tough. A big, strong man.”

            “Then what happened?”

            “One day he collapsed and everything changed.” I stopped to heave a sigh. “When he first realised that he had to re-learn everything from scratch and sit on a wheelchair, that had frustrated him so much that he cried a lot. Silent tears, since the stroke had also stolen his ability to talk. That just breaks your heart.”

            What else can I say? Five years ain’t short. They’re more than enough to turn one’s life around the way they have ours. Those were the moments to remind us that yes, life is fragile. It’s when you can’t pretend you’re always okay anymore and that just sucks.

            They say everything happens for a reason. There’s no such thing as a coincidence. Like you had learned to listen to people better, even when you couldn’t respond that much anymore. Like me, who have grown to embrace silence as a space to think – not just mere emptiness. It was the stark realisation of the things we often take for granted – and have done so many times.

            For the first time in my ad

ult life, we understood each other much better than we had in those early years of my life. I’d seen you in my dreams a lot. That was the only place I could see you walk again, just like before. That was where I could only hear your voice, that there were times I just didn’t want to wake up at all. I’d wanted to stay there for a longer while and not have to return to the real world.

            Why? I knew what I’d always find the moment I woke up. I’d wake up crying and that wouldn’t be good. That never was.

            Alas, here we are today.

            There will always be people who remind you that – whatever happens in the end – you’ve done all you could. You’ve tried your best. You’re only human. Don’t be so hard on yourself.

            It’s always been difficult for us, eh? For your sake and mine, this time I’ll try. I know you’ve always wanted me to be strong, no matter what. Damsels-in-distress are as good as dead, remember? Long ago, you’d made sure that I’d never ever forget that.

            That’s why you’d told me war stories with female warriors in them instead of fairy tales about princesses waiting to be saved by some prince charming or a knight in shining armour. You’d been preparing me for the real life. Your father and big brother passed away when you were still a little boy. Your mother – my grandmother Eyang Putri – had to be the single parent and strong for both of you. That’s the kind of a woman you’ve always admired: brave, strong, and independent.

            There are always people who will demand so much from you, no matter how tired you are. Those who think they know best how to run your life, so they keep on telling you what to do. Those who always find some things to blame about you, as if whatever you do is never going to be good enough in their eyes.

            It doesn’t matter now. Their opinions don’t count. I’m not afraid anymore. I can only be me and do my best. That’s all. If they can’t take it well, then I’m sorry – that’s not my problem.

            You’ve taught me so well that I sometimes still forget that reaching out for help is okay. It’s not always a sign of weakness. It’s part of humanity.

            That’s alright, though. I’ve somehow managed to pick up where you left off along the way. God has kindly sent us both the right people for that – good friends and relatives, here and there – and even everywhere. Hopefully He continues doing that for all of us here…

            Aren’t we lucky, Daddy? Despite our temper, we’re still blessed with so many good people in our lives. Look how many people turned up at your funeral and a day after. I’ve lost count. A lot of them said you’d been kind to them and I needn’t worry so much about your next journey. I thank God for them.

            At your last breath, you’d understood us best. You didn’t want to hold us back from living anymore. You didn’t want Ma to feel bad or anyone else to make her feel guilty for having her first umrah trip while you were still around, because that would mean leaving you here for a while. So you left first.

            You looked like you were asleep that morning. So peaceful that you’d almost fooled me…

            I’m sorry it took me a long time to have finally understoo