4 - the sour school

It turns out school was not as lovely as Teteh's stories made it sound.

When it was my turn to be a kindergarten student, I wasn't that thrilled.

The excitement was nowhere to be found. 

Too many strangers.

Too many unfamiliar faces.

The school building itself was different.

I didn't end up to the school my sister attended a year before.

We moved to a new house. Consequently, we enrolled in a school close to our new home.

My excitement about going to school quickly faded.

Sure, my sister was around as my senior, but everything was still new.

And being in a completely foreign place made me feel all jittery inside. 

The only thing I liked about this new school was my compassionate teacher, Bu Yani.

She was exceptionally pretty, with long black hair and always wearing dark red lipstick.

What I loved most was that she wore boots, just like me!

And this reminded me of the first time I experienced bullying.

I recall playing alone on the swings during recess when a classmate dropped a bomb in front of me:

"Ena, your shoes are weird.”

Spicing things up, my 2 other friends were laughing at her comment while pointing at my boots. 

I was stunned and hurt.

I didn't know it was a form of bullying.

Teteh had never shared stories about friends saying hurtful things.

No one had ever told me how painful it could be when something I loved was ridiculed in front of me.

I nearly burst into tears.

The boots actually belonged to Teteh. I borrowed them that morning.

Teteh and I shared a pair of dark purple suede boots since our feet were the same size, allowing us to exchange shoes.

Lost in thought about Teteh, I wondered how she would react if she knew this. 

And why having friends at school wasn't as fun as Teteh said it would be?

Had someone ever been this mean to her?

Had she ever kept some secret from me?

Had she ever been bullied?

Was this normal?

I wanted to scream my lungs out.

But silence won the battle inside me. 

--

When the bell rang, Mama picked us up at the front gate.

In front of the kindergarten, a vendor was selling Indonesian traditional snacks.

We made it a daily stop. No kidding. 

Every day after school, Mama would get me my all-time fave sponge cake, Bolu Pelangi!!!

It was the highlight of my day. 

That sweet treat made the bullying nonsense vanish into thin air. 

At least for a little while.

--

I never spoke to anyone about the incident with the boots.

Not until some weeks later when Mama asked why I never wore them again.

Well, I didn't say what happened to Mama because Teteh was there and I didn’t want to upset Teteh.

She wore the boots more frequently than I did. 

That morning, Mama convinced me that my outfit, if styled with the boots, would be fantastic. 

I agreed with her.

So... After a long time, I wore them again.

But seriously, going to school with something my friends hated??? It felt like torture. 

So the unspoken social rule was:

Your love for your favorite things doesn't matter one bit. 

No one cares about your preferences. 

If your friends (or even just a friend, --singular) find your stuff irritating, you need to pretend that you don't like it either... to please them.

To be liked.

To be accepted. 

To fit in. 

It was downright pathetic. 

Those bullies were not even my close friends.

But my tiny 4-year-old heart was still desperate for their nod of approval.

I was scared all the way to school.

I was on the verge of tears. 

School sucked. 

After arriving in front of the class, Mama left us.

Did I mention that Teteh was in the same school as me, but we didn't play together at school?

She preferred spending time with her classmates.

And that was one of the major reasons why school wasn’t fun for me. 

On that day, my teacher, the very kind Bu Yani, leaned toward me and said,

"Ena, I like your boots. I wear boots, too! Look at mine! The only difference is that mine is black, and yours is dark purple. But yours is cooler. Is that suede???"

Wow...

I loved her.

So much.

She had always been my absolute favorite.

And the fact that Bu Yani complimented my boots, the ones my friends had mocked, made me smile from ear to ear.

Cherry on top: she didn't just whisper it to me!!!

She said it loud and clear enough for the whole class to hear.

My friends couldn't miss it.

Neither could those 3 bullies.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

And just like that... I fell in love with school and with my boots... all over again. 

3 - wishing we were twins

I hated it when Teteh started going to school in 1996.

No Teteh at home meant No Fun.

Seriously, who knew my house could be so dull without her around?

I was totally not ready.

Every morning,

I'd get all emotional,

I'd shed a tear or two (……two rivers),

I'd get told for a thousand time that I gotta wait until I was 4,

I'd be hopelessly wishing that Teteh and I were twins, 

and

I'd beg Mama to let me wear clothes that matched Teteh's snazzy school uniform.

Once Teteh and I were all dressed in the “same” uniform, we would stroll to school with Mama.

Teteh's school was super close to our house. 

And I had a soft spot for Teteh’s school.

It was big with so many vibrant paintings on the walls.

At that time I wondered why people didn't paint their houses like that. It would be so cool.

And there were friendly teachers in Teteh's class. 

Sometimes, her teachers even let me sit in the classroom for a bit. 

Mama said that they allowed me in because they felt sorry seeing me show up at the school with a face still red from crying.

I enjoyed sitting in her class, even though my seat was far from Teteh.

I had to sit way at the back, close to the door. 

Teteh’s friends usually gave me those skeptical look. But, come on!!!

In my defense, my clothes looked pretty similar to their uniforms!

The days when I got to sit in Teteh's class were my lucky days.

On the not-so-lucky days, my role was limited to walk Teteh to her classroom before heading home with Mama.

On the way back, I always brushed away my tears because I wanted to go to school just like Teteh.

I really did. 

While waiting for Teteh to finish school, I would play with Mama.

Playing with Mama was fun, but it was even more exciting when the three of us played together as we usually did. 

Time felt like it was taking forever while I waited for Teteh to finish school. 

But you know what made it all worth it???

You know what was the best part of waiting???

Picking Teteh up after school!!!

That part was a blast because Teteh would spill the beans with loads of cool stories about her day. 

I got a sneak peak of the school world through Teteh's stories.

Teteh would tell me about her friends. I even knew the name of the prettiest friend in her class. And also the names of the troublemakers.

Teteh was making a bunch of cool new friends who were just as young as she was. It was a whole new world because our neighbors didn't have any kids my age or Teteh's age.

Listening to Teteh’s stories was my favorite thing. 

It made me look forward to my own school days. 

I couldn't wait for my turn to start school.

I couldn’t wait to be in the same school as Teteh!

---

P.S.:

Put in mind that I was just a 3-year-old kid when this all happened. 

But this bitter memory still hangs around like an unwelcome guest. 

That's why I think I needed to write this all down too. Maybe it'll be a little guide. 

And hopefully, no more kids would feel as clueless as I was. 

Fast forward to the time when I got all into Psychology...

I discovered that what I went through had a legit term:

Sibling Separation Anxiety. 

If you are a parent and have more than one kid, my advice is to explore some articles on the topic.

Just click that keyword.

Learn the tricks.

Apply what works best for your little ones. 

My mama did her best back then in the pre-Internet era.

But now that we've got the internet right at our fingertips, why don't we make the most of it?

3 - fluffy, feline friend

Her name was Si Putih.

Si Putih wasn’t my average feline friend. 

She was my first fluffy, feline friend. 

I was 3 years old when we crossed paths. 

Si Putih made her home in the attic of my old house. 

Now, don't picture a fancy attic;

it was more like a storage space tucked right above the laundry room.

One day, Ayah called out excitedly from the laundry room.

“Teteh! Ena! Come here!”

We rushed over to find him perched on a bamboo ladder.

“In this attic is a litter of kittens! And there is the cat mom, too!”

Ayah invited me to go upstairs.

Teteh immediately reclined his offer, leaving me alone under that intimidating ladder.

I stood still there.

“Ena! You will like them! Ayah yakin Ena pasti suka!”

Yes I know I like cats. But that rickety bamboo ladder?

Just by looking at it, I knew it was so unsafe it could kill people.

It was like a stairway to heaven a.k.a alam barzah. No kidding. 

But the super adorable meows from those newborn kittens made me so curious!

I couldn’t resist. 

With cautious steps & Ayah's help, I climbed that ladder. 

And there, at the top, I was greeted by a cluster of pure white kittens and their white mom.

It really was a stairway to heaven. No kidding!

Now the word heaven here referred to earthly paradise!

From that moment on, my family decided that Si Putih and her precious babies would call the attic their home (while I called them all MINE!!!)

Si Putih was a domestic cat.

Her fur was entirely snowy-white, except for her tail.

She had a black dot on her tail.

I can't quite recall the color of her eyes, but in my distant memory, they were blue.

I remember I used to invite Si Putih to come into my house.

She would often get stuck in the backyard, near the buckets in the laundry room.

Whenever Si Putih was already inside the house, I always begged Mama to feed her.

Back then, my knowledge about cats’ nutrition was limited...

I thought chicken bones were her food. 

Poor Si Putih.

---

One day, disaster struck.

Si Putih disappeared.

She didn’t return home for days.

I remember crying my eyes out like a river. 

Fast forward to my teenage years, my parents still remember this moment and they said,

“When Si Putih was missing, you refused to eat.

You said you would eat only if Si Putih came home and ate with you.”

My parents said that I rarely cried as a kid, so that moment remains etched in their memory. 

But alhamdulillah, a few days later, Si Putih came back home!!!

I was overjoyed!

I immediately told Ayah that we had to bring Si Putih to our new house. 

Ayah & Mama, mindful of my recent heartache, agreed right away.

On the moving day,

Ayah had to make several trips to transport our belongings.

Ayah's car was so small. It was an old Volkswagen Beetle, black in color. 

The distance between my old and new house was about 4 kilometers.

I remember the moment when our old house began to feel emptier as we packed our things.

It started to give me some uncomfortable feelings.

Ayah told me, "Na, I'll take Si Putih with me now. But let the kittens stay in the attic.

We'll bring one cat only."

I agreed. I had no special connection with those kittens anyway. 

That afternoon, Ayah packed some stuff and drove the car with Si Putih. 

But, he soon returned with everything still in the car, including Si Putih.

He sighed, "Na, Si Putih can't sit still in the car. What should we do? I guess we can't bring her.

How about if we let her stay here with her kittens?"

I was speechless...

Too sad to say anything. 

But then, Ayah changed his mind once more,

"Or how about if you come with me first? So that you’d know she can't sit still in the car..."

I smiled again and shouted, “IYA! ENA MAU!”

I got into the car, settling in the back seat.

Ayah placed Si Putih on my lap.

Off we went to the new house. 

And to my surprise, Si Putih remained calm throughout the ride.

As we made our way to the new house, Ayah couldn't help but keep looking at the rear-view mirror.

He kept laughing, "How is this possible??? Earlier when Si Putih was just with me, she couldn't sit still, she was jumping all around.

But now, with you???? She's very calm! Emang bener Si Putih cuma nurutnya sama Ena aja ya. Berarti dia tau siapa yang sering kasih dia makan."

I felt so happy knowing that Si Putih was truly meant to be my cat.

One core memory was unlocked. It was yellow.

Our new house was way smaller than the old rented house, but it sat right next to my grandma's house, making it more special.

On our first night in the new house, my big sister and I still slept with our parents.

But I couldn't fall asleep & was overwhelmed with stress.

It wasn't until 2 am that I was finally in tears…

I sobbed, "Ayah... Ena mau pulang. Ayo kita pulang, Yah."

Ayah woke up instantly & replied, "Na, this is our new home."

I persisted, "No, it's not. I wanna go home..."

Ayah gently explained, "This is our home, Na. The old house belonged to someone else.

We were just renting it. Now we're gonna live here forever."

Ayah's words didn't calm me down. They added to my worry instead. 

It turned out that my sadness arrived a little later than everyone else's.

While others wept earlier this morning during the farewell with the neighbors and the house itself,

my tears didn't flow until the quiet of the night. 

I kept thinking about my old house. 

But eventually, exhaustion took over. I fell asleep.

The next day, I introduced Si Putih to my cousins who lived in my grandma's house.

They fell in love with her instantly!

They introduced me to their cat, too. I forgot the cat’s name. 

But we always had a playdate together with our cats. 

Unfortunately, my uncle (my mom’s little brother) who lived in my grandma’s house didn’t like cats.

He scolded us every time we played with our cats in Rumah Nenek.

He said, "One day I will throw those cats away!"

I was so angry with him. I told Mama that he shouldn't have said that. 

That 'one day' came in one afternoon.

I just returned home from kindergarten, only to find Si Putih missing.

I cried and yelled and screamed, and convinced that she couldn't have vanished on her own. 

Someone must have thrown her away. 

And Mama said I was right:

my uncle threw Si Putih away. 

I threw a tantrum.

I wished I could throw something else upon him.

Something bigger.

Something more terrifying.

Something that could scare him and keep his hands off my cat.

But I could only throw a tantrum.

One core memory was unlocked. It was blue.

I knew for real that my anger was just a surface emotion.

My anger concealed a collection of deeper feelings: disappointment, sadness, betrayal, vulnerability, fear. 

Yes, fear.

Now that I’m already an adult, I know that some adults want some kids to fear them.

And I was indeed so afraid of my uncle because he was taller, older, and way more powerful than my 3-year-old self.

Since he threw away Si Putih (& my cousin's cat, too), I kept my distance from him.

His presence always reminded me of Si Putih’s absence.

But one day (July 7),

literally one day after my birthday (July 6),

I decided to forgive him................... on the day he passed away (July 7, 2021)

roughly 25 years after he threw my cat away.

Maybe it's safe now to call it closure. 

2 - first fragment of memory

Being an aunt,

I've had the privilege to witness the gentle love my parents shower upon my nephew, Aufaa.

Their devotion as grandparents knows no bounds.

They’ve been all in with Aufaa since he popped into this world. 

Every other day, my mom washes and dries his teeny tiny clothes under the sun, ensuring all his clothes are clean and crisp.

Meanwhile, my dad is always available to create homemade toys & mend the broken ones.

When Aufaa refuses to eat, they would act like silly circuses... doing whatever it takes to soothe Aufaa's cries.

Most importantly, they are willing to listen to my sister and me, as we share our fresh perspectives on raising children.

Last August, Aufaa just turned 2 years old. 

And my parents’ dedication to being grandparents continues up until today.

Whenever I see my parents taking care of Aufaa, I can't help but wonder,

"Was this how they used to care for me when I was little?"

If I were to dig deep into my memories and recall my very first moment in this world, I have one distinct memory.

My first memory of being alive dates back to when I was 2 years old, likely around 1995.

I can say this with confidence because:

- I remember at that moment my sister hadn't started kindergarten yet, making her just 3 years old.

- We were all still living in our old house. We moved to the new house when my sis was 4 & I was 3.

- So yeah, no shit Sherlock, it all leads to the fact that I was indeed 2 years old during that memory.

At that time, I was the same age as Aufaa today.

I can vividly recall this one scene.

It was, as mentioned earlier, likely around 1995. 

The setting took place in our old house. 

The TV was on. 

Mama, Teteh (my big sis), and I were seated around the TV but none of us was actually watching it. 

We were busy talking to each other. 

I was sipping Milo milk from my red glass, while Teteh was in tears because she wanted to drink the milk from her baby bottle. 

Mama didn't let her do so... Instead, she suggested that Teteh needed to learn from me,

“Look at Ena. She could drink it from a glass. You could, too.”

......which only resulted in her cries growing louder. 

And that was when my dad returned home from work. 

When my dad opened the door, I remember I stopped drinking, placed my glass on the floor, smiled, and rushed over to my dad,

while screaming, “AYAHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

My sister did the same, behind me (of course), as she needed extra time to wipe her tears away.

My sister and I would always eagerly greet Ayah at the doorstep every time he returned home.

It was our thing. 

It was our ritual.

It was our special routine.

Perhaps, the reason why this remains my earliest memory is because it had been my daily tradition.

We would envelop Ayah in hugs and our high-pitched voices would echo his name nonstop.  

Every single night.

We never missed it.

(Later, we stopped doing that only because Ayah had retired in 2013.)

Ayah's homecomings were always filled with surprises,

he always brought something home, like a token of affection.

Sometimes it was a handful of new toys purchased from some pedagang asongan on the trains.

Sometimes he just brought a pen with multiple colors that he stole from his office (which I loved so much!!!).

Other times, he bought some men’s tools for himself,

or a bag of pears/avocados for Mama,

or a box of martabak keju,

or a hand of bananas, 

or just his bare hands. 

His hands alone were, to me, precious.

It wasn't until my 20s that I realized Ayah's thoughtful gestures had shaped my Love Language. 

Yes. My love language is Gift. 

Whenever I recall this very first memory of mine, tears of joy are hanging in my eyes.  

I cannot believe that my oldest core memory was so ordinary. 

It was so simple. 

It was never about the fancy toys I dreamed of having as a child. No.

It was never about us having a staycation in a 5-star hotel near the beach. No.

My core memory lies when my family was just living in a small rented house in a suburban city. 

We were just at home that one evening in 1995;

Ayah was 37 years old.

Mama was 33 years old.

Teteh was 3 years old.

I was 2 years old.

Ayah, Mama, Teteh, and Ena.

Just the four of us. Just the right amount of love.

Perfectly ordinary. 

But we were over the moon with happiness.

It was right there.

Happiness was clearly right there… in our shared togetherness.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

“So which of the favors of your Lord would you deny?” 

1 - pocket-sized poem

One deafening cry as dawn broke the night sky,

she began to sail through life in early July

One couple of dark brown eyes,

like a pool of liquid chocolate: iced

streaming clear water without disguise

One delicate heart loaded with wonder,

like rose petals in midsummer,

blooming with thunder

One beam of ivory skin in sight,

flashing fearlessly with all her might,

what a pure delight

One pair of lips soaring laughter beyond compare,

like a stormy symphony in the air

One little solo warrior in the making,

brutally breathtaking.

--

To my sweet one-year-old self:

Today I made a little present for you and about you: one pocket-sized poem.

Your first birthday might not have been celebrated the way it should've been. 

but that shouldn't stop you from believing that you are loved.

Loving you is like placing one chubby cherry on top of a black forest cake;

Loving you is easy.

Happy birthday, onederful me.

0 - soundless tsunami

My parents’ firstborn just turned 6 months old when my mom found out that she was pregnant again.

Well, I bet any woman would be stunned to learn that she'd be carrying one baby inside and another baby outside at the same time. 

I bet my mom must be so frightened while calculating the risk of having two closely spaced kids.

I bet my mom was not mentally nor physically nor financially ready to commit herself to an unintended pregnancy.

I bet my mom was in a flood of tears because of that.

Because of me.

Because of my presence in her belly.

My mom said she had done so many things just to perform a quote-unquote legal abortion.

“There was this old tale saying that if I eat a large number of pineapples, it can end up to a miscarriage.

And so, I did.

I couldn’t remember how many pineapples I chewed on a daily basis. 

I also tried a dangerous exercise that involved rapid movement, like climbing the stairs as fast as I could.

But still, nothing happened.

Once I went back to the hospital, the doctor said the baby was so strong.

You were just as tiny as a pea but you were too strong to be defeated, Ena.”

The first time I heard that story from my mom...

it feels like there is a sudden soundless tsunami shattering every atom of my being. 

I wish it was all a lie.

I wish she was just teasing me.

I wish she could just keep it to herself for the rest of her life because gosh I DID NOT want to hear any of that.

I wish I was deaf.

I wish I was dead.

My mom and dad said they decided to keep me after all as they thought,

“Our firstborn is a girl. Fingers crossed we will have a boy this second time.”

My mom gave birth to me at dawn on Tuesday, July 6, 1993.

And while my parents were favoring a son, I was born a girl.

While writing this down,

I can't help but feel a deep, deep, deep crater of emptiness inside me.

Why on earth have I been so unwanted?

How could my existence have been nothing but a burden to my own parents?

I’ve been carrying this emotional baggage since I was six years old.

Right after my parents told me that story, my world began to shrink.

Without rest, I always tried to keep the pain locked away, buried deep inside where no one could see.

But the truth was always there.

A hurtful history I could never erase. 

A soundless tsunami that leaves imprints on my journey.

Growing up, I’ve been struggling with feelings of worthlessness.

I wondered if my parents could ever truly love me who was so unwanted from the start.

I wondered if my parents could treat me and my big sis equally.

I wondered if I was worth the try.

Through the pain that still lingers, I am determined to heal it, one of which is by writing this up. 

For I know that if I merely let this story rot in my head, it might dim my inner light.

I refused to let the darkness consume me.

Because I know that I am more than the sum of my past.

I am more than the pain that I carry on my shoulders.

Tell you what.

That doctor was right.

I am strong.

The seed of strength has been sprouting in me...

since I was zero…

since I was just an embryo.

Having said that, I knew that there was one thing my mom failed to see.

All this time, my mom kept telling me that I could survive in her womb only because I was so strong.

Little did she realize that I got all that power from her.

It was she who nourished me with many chunks of fondness and courage through the umbilical cord.

There was a ghost of a chance I could be one strong baby in a mother’s weak body.

There was no way it could happen just like that. 

It had always been my mom who made me strong.

It had always been her who was so strong.

Looking back,

I could understand to some extent the sacrifices my mom made,

the fear she faced, 

the tears she both shed and held back all because of me.

I realized that I was not just an accidental pregnancy.

I realized that my existence in this world mattered.

I decided to see myself as a miracle.

A miracle that my mom fought for, even though she was not fully aware. 

----

To my dearest Mama... 

I want you to know that despite everything that happened in our past, I love you.

I love you for your willingness to do whatever it took to bring me into this world,

for giving me a chance to live inside you,

for trying your best to feed me while recovering between pregnancies,

and for telling me constantly that I am different because I am strong. 

If one day Allah blesses me with the opportunity to become a mother, 

I can only hope that I, at least, can be half as amazing as you are, Mama.

Mama...

I've always been able to sense your favoritism for my big sis. 

No matter how hard I tried to impress you, I would always be your least favorite child.

But I want you to know that I already forgave you for that pain you didn’t mean to cause throughout my childhood...

It's okay, Mama... I know you never did that on purpose. 

As a grown-up woman, I'm now grateful that you told me that story from an early age.

Your willingness to open up with me about your vulnerability while carrying me inside has allowed me to see how challenging motherhood can be. 

Your feelings are forever valid, Ma.

I shouldn't have thought that I had the right to reject how you feel about me. 

And so now I choose to embrace our story.

Thank you for being honest with me, Mama.

"In a world of lies, you are the truth."