Just Fiction

“It’s because I’m adopted isn’t it??? You don’t love me! You never did!!!” and with that my sister ran out of the house.

She didn’t come home that night. Mom and Dad called all her friends and looked everywhere for her. It was almost morning when a call came. It was Aunt Lynne. Dina just arrived at her home, via night bus.

Two days later Dina came back home. Aunt Lynne came with her. Mom, Dad, Aunt Lynne and Dina had a long talk while I was sent to a friend’s house to ‘play’. To not hear anything was more like it, but of course I didn’t know it then. After that everything went back to normal.

Dina was three years older than me. I thought she was the coolest big sister in the world. She had so many friends; the cool kind, not the geekish kind like me and my friends. She was always top of her class. At the end of every school year she took home a small present from school; I never did that. Not even once. She was a basketball captain at school; I couldn’t run further than 10 meters without stumbling on something and falling on my face. The funny thing was, she hated me.

“Sis, can I borrow your new Tin Tin?”

“No. Get your own. And stop snooping around in my room.”

“But, Sis. I promise I’ll take good care of it. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“No. N-O. Stop whining. Not going to work. Now, scram. Go. Leave.”

“Mooooooom… Sis wouldn’t let me borrow her storybook.”

“Dina, share your book with your sister.”

Dina throw daggers at me with her eyes and snorted.

“Moooooooooooom…”

Dina stomped out of the room.

Ok, so I played a part in making her hate me. I was a crybaby. I never helped her do the dishes. Or mop the floor. I got easier tasks like cooking rice (with a rice-cooker) and watering the plants.

When I was about seven and we were walking home from school she opened up.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was the favorite before you came. Mom and Dad never scolded me, never asked me to do the dishes and stuff. After you, everything changed. That’s why I hate you,” she explained.

I nodded as if I had understood.

“You see, it’s because I’m an adopted child,” she continued.

I gasped. My eyes were big as saucers.

“I was adopted so that another baby would come. It’s an old custom, you know.”
My sister was so wise. I nodded again and imagined babies falling out of the sky one by one, like rain drops, in diapers. I believed that was how babies arrive into this world.

“I thought it’s because I’m the youngest,” I suggested shyly.

“You’re wrong!” Dina growled. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Sis..”

“What, Knucklehead?”

“What does ‘adopted’ mean?”

She mumbled “stupid girl” under her breath and sighed, like she couldn’t believe anybody could be so stupid.

So life went on. Me, following my sister like a shadow. She, trying her best to escape. Me, wanting everything she had. She, wanting to trade place with me, which was very silly, since I was such a geek.

One day, when I was about fourteen, Mom looked very upset.

“Aunty Lynne is ill,” she said.

Aunty Lynne was one of my many aunties. I didn’t really know how we were related, since she wasn’t Mom’s sister or Dad’s sister. I didn’t really care. She was my favorite aunt. We just clicked. I felt close to her even though she lived in another town. So I was really upset about her being sick. It had to be serious because Mom looked so worried.

We planned to visit her, but she passed away before our family could arrange the trip. By the time we arrived, Aunt Lynne had already been buried. Her house was empty. Aunt Lynne never got married and had lived by herself.

The breeze blew gently through the open windows and the curtains danced. The bamboo wind chime sang a lonely song. I could feel my aunt’s presence in the living room and kitchen, in her bedroom, in the orchid garden, among her old books, in her favorite paintings.

How lonely she must have been, and how sad to suffer alone, I thought. I felt so sorry for her I began to cry. Mom and Dina began to cry too, and even Dad sniffled a bit.

When we got home Mom gave a small carton box to me.

“Aunt Lynne left this for you,” she said.

It was full of photos of Aunt Lynne when she was young. She had many friends. She looked happy and carefree. There were photos of my family too, and of me.

Years passed. My sister never ran away again. As I grew bigger my parents gave me more tasks and duties. This seemed to make Dina happy enough. She didn’t treat me like a pest anymore. We always went out together, until she got a boyfriend. After that it’s always Reza this and Reza that. But I’m not a little kid anymore. I have my own friends to go out with.

And now I’m getting ready to go to university. It’s a bit far from our home so I’m going to stay in a boarding home near the campus.

While packing up my things, I find the carton box from Aunt Lynne. I sit down among piles of clothes and junk and look through the photos, all yellowed now. They bring back a lot of happy memories.

There is a close up photo of a teenage Aunt Lynne. She looks so familiar. I look at it for a long time, wondering who she looks like. Frozen hands of realization crept towards my heart and clutch it so hard I couldn’t breathe. I reach for the mirror with trembling hands. I hold the photo and the mirror side by side, and tears rolled down my face.

I run out of the room to find Mom and Dad in the living room.

“Tania, what’s wrong? What is it, dear?”

There are so many things I want to say to my parents but all I can do is hold them very very tightly. I feel very sad that I had such a short time with my real mother. Real? That doesn’t sound right. My parents are very real to me. I have been blessed to have parents who are as loving and kind to me as Mom and Dad.

My sister was wrong. She isn’t the adopted child − I am. She must have overheard some irresponsible relatives talking about me and had misunderstood. Mom and Dad love us both equally. And I was right, I got the easier tasks because I was the youngest.

Our Picnic

As far back as I can remember, Mom always gets hysterical near dogs. Who could blame her. A lot of dogs in Medan are untrained and mistreated so they are either spoiled rotten or half crazy with distress, not to mention the ones who are raised or stolen to be eaten. So when Sasha came to the house, Mom was polite but not very happy. We all went to the park to have a picnic. Mom was still cold towards Sasha. Afterwards she took a nap while we took Sasha for a walk. We were about a hundred meters from where Mom slept when Sasha decided to play with Mom. Sasha raced towards Mom and and jumped on her. Mom woke up and tried to shoo her away with a shopping bag. Sasha loved the Catch-the-Waving-Shopping-Bag Game. She jumped and circled Mom, who fought valiantly. All the while me and Sasha’s mom were jumping up and down and shouting to distract Sasha like two crazy monkeys. After about a minute we were finally able to subdue both.

After that we went to Leichard for coffee and ice-cream. Sasha was greeted by a fan, as usual. In the end, I guess Mom was charmed too. On the way home she even volunteered to hold Sasha on her lap. A giant leap for Mom. Later on at home she took a shower and washed her hair, but I hope she will remember Sasha and that picnic fondly.

Coffee Pot

Amazing what happiness simple things can bring to your life. This is my new source of happiness. The good old-fashioned coffee maker.

Kinky Boots

The white boots were the first things that I saw. It was about 7 in the morning. Newtown was still quiet with a few joggers and passers-bye. They were white, stiletto heeled, sleek boots, about 14 cm high. The kind that The Pussycat Dolls would wear, or drag queens. Problem was, the wearer wasn’t a woman or a drag queen. He was an average and very normal looking guy. I put on my poker face and sat down on a bench near the bus stop. He was already sitting on the next bench. About a minute later he calmly took off the boots and put on a pair of sneakers. He sauntered away from the bus stop, leaving the kinky white boots on the bench, and a heck of lot of unanswered questions in my head.

They're Here!

After living alone in this big empty house for over a month, the silence was finally broken. My mom arrived with my nephew would return to school very soon. My nieces came to visit almost every day, so suddenly the house came alive. No more wedging the door with a chair.

The second day my mom arrived, my nephew went to school, and I went to work. When I got home, Mom was lying on the sofa. She said she got locked out around lunch time. Before I left home in the morning, I warned her about the door. I showed her how to turn the lock so she wouldn’t get locked out. So of course she did. She opened the door to get the food boxes just outside the door. The wind blew and the door slammed shut. So she sat outside in her pajamas, in the hot afternoon sun, for about three hours. She got hungry but luckily she had the foodboxes with her. She was thirsty but was too proud to ask for water from the convenience store just next door. She was also desperate to pee…

On the third day my nephew called and asked if anybody was at home. I asked him why. He said he fell on the train during the trip home from school. It got quite bad so we took him to the doctor, and the next day to the hospital for an x-ray. His foot had been fractured and he needed a special boot.

Hmm... and to think that just a few weeks before I thought the silence would drive me crazy.

My Favorite Painting

Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh.

Mbak D's Note

I read this note on my friend's fb page. It's really touching, so here it is:

Children...the center of my being.
Today at 4:26am


Pagi tadi gedebukan kesana kemari (as usual) after a long weekend gak ke mandiga... Kebetulan musti ngeladenin tamu dari luar Mandiga.

Ehhhh...lihat sesosok manusia kecil lincah kesana kemari bawa makanan minumannya sendiri. Aaaahhhh... the little boy yang kemarin minum air aki ! He is BACK! Daaannn....just like what he was before! Aduh, Tuhan.. Terima Kasih.

He is healed, and (hopefully) with minimal problems in his intestines. Memang benar kayaknya, bahwa anak-anak spesial ini dilindungi malaikat ya?

Gak sempat berhandai-handai (kecuali sangat bersyukur bahwa Allah sekali lagi sudah membuktikan kebesaranNya), sudah harus ngeladenin tamu... Naaahhhh... in the middle of it, anakku sms:

Ikhsan: 'kapan teman belajar'
Aku: 'kamis 22 januari 2009'
I : laki laki perempuan
A: perempuan
I : cantik pintar
HALAAAAAHHHHHH....resek ah!
A: ikhsan tidak pilih teman
I: ikhsan mau pilih
A: tidak boleh pilih.
I: cantik pintar tidak berisik
A: Ikhsan tidak boleh pilih teman. Ibu marah.
I : harus pilih
A: (udah mulai bete) TIDAK HARUS.
I: pintar bahasa indonesia, matematika, fisika, biologi
(LHO? Ini nyari temen belajar atau cari guru, sih???)

A: Tidak pilih teman.
*lagi ngotot juga en lagi mode ngajak berantem anak remaja menyebalkan*

I: rumah cipinang harus pintar

HHhaaallllaaaaahhhhhh..... gak tahu dateng dari mana, rupanya dia punya persepsi bahwa "kalau di Mandiga itu, belajarnya masih yang gampang2, jadi kalau di rumah cipinang, sudah harus pintar".
Blagu banget sih?

Kayaknya dia nguping deh, sewaktu aku malem sebelumnya telpon gurunya untuk diskusi tentang materi belajar teman belajarnya itu. Nyebelin 'kan???
Ibunya diem aja lah mendingan. Puyeng.

On the other hand...terselip juga kebanggaan hati bahwa anakku yang autis ini, yang segera akan 18 tahun ini, punya kriteria:
- cantik saja, gak oke
- pintar saja, masih oke
- yang paling oke, pintar dan cantik
- tidak pintar? aaahhhh...males aaaahhhhhh

Hm.
Bagusnya merasa apa nih?
Bingung, senang, bangga, sebel, kesal, terpesona...

Well, life is full of choices.... I chose to be happy for him.
I'm surely amazed of God's creation....but bottomline, I'm just happy to have him with me.
I'm also very happy that I'm given the chance to be with children, as I love them so much... with all my heart.

Terima kasih Tuhan, atas karuniaMu dalam bentuk Ikhsan Priatama.

I love you, Ikhsan... just the way you are.

Crazy

Last Saturday I was waiting for the bus at the bus stop and a crazy guy walked by. I don’t mean that he behaved like a crazy person. I mean he really is not sane, judging from the hair and clothing and the way he separates himself from the rest of the world. He walked slowly, step by hesitant step. He stopped. Stood like a statue and stared. Turned around. Walked. Turned around again. He was stick thin, unwashed, uncombed, and barefoot. He looked hungry. He checked out an empty Coca Cola bottle. He went into a bakery and went out empty handed. I felt so sorry for him. But I was also scared of crazy people in general. I wanted to give him some food. But what if he attacked me?

In the end I thought I’d feel very bad for the rest of the day if I didn’t do anything. So I went to the bakery and bought two croissants. I caught up with the guy and squeaked, “Bread?” He took it and I walked away. I felt quite proud of myself. I did something good that day. I got on the bus and we passed that spot again. The man was not there anymore, but there were two croissants and an empty plastic bag scattered on the side-walk. And two street cleaner promptly swept them off and threw them in the bin.

Home Alone

It’s hard to believe that it’s been four weeks since I started house-sitting in Croydon. It’s a roomy 2-story townhouse. For me, who has all my life been surrounded by siblings, nieces and nephews, relatives near or far, it’s very difficult to be on my own in an empty house. It’s made worse because I work at home. I don’t have workplace friends. There were days when I didn’t see anybody or talk to anybody at all. That’s fine every once in a while, but when it’s on a regular basis on a long period of time, you’d get a bit of cabin fever. So whenever I found I’ve left something at my apartment, I pretended to grumble but then I happily went back to visit the apartment.

The first two weeks I couldn’t sleep soundly. I kept hearing creaks and sqeaks and thumps and I worried that somebody was trying to break in. Then one day while I was mopping the floor, the mop fell and made a loud noise. I thought, if I lean that mop stick on the door, like the old-wives-tale of using a broom to repell burglar, that would make a nice alarm system. But then, there are three doors and three windows downstairs. Which one do I booby-trap? All? Every night? That’s ridiculuous. I wish I were MacGyver. I went upstairs to my room to look for inspiration. A chair, a desk, a bed, a lamp post. Useless. But hey, the chair, the bed, the door. The bed, the chair, the door. That might work! I wedged the chair between the door and the bed. Nobody could enter without waking me up (theoretically) unless they enter from the window. But since the room is on the second floor, it’s rather unlikely (I hope). That night I slept like a baby for the first time in two weeks.

Blue Mountain Photos

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pancake face