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?”
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