A Story of Lost

I was about to go when I read the message. A short-shocking message from my best friend.

Ndah Ayah gw meninggal.

or if you translated into English, it says ‘Nda, my dad is past away. I can’t believe what I just read. It was like a dream. A few week before, when we met on my B’day, I asked about him and my friend said that he’s okay. In fact, things are getting better. And we’re not just talking about her father’s health. I was happy to hear that. Really happy.

So when I red the message, I froze. I didn’t know what to do. Not until my mom asked me to calm down. There I was. Sitting and doing nothing for a while.

Long story short… I came after class. Another good friend from campus accompanied me to her place. She burst into tear the moment I hug her. There we stand, in the middle of her living room, hugging each other. She cried. I didn’t. But my heart hurts. Then I went to her family room, I hugged her younger sister. She cried and asked me to forgive her dad in case her father ever hurt me with her words. She cried. I didn’t. But my heart still hurt.Last stop was the kitchen, where Umi (my best friend’s mom) sat and with other woman circling her.  I reach her hand, hugged her. This time, I felt something in my eyes.

That night, while my best friend and her sister told me about how their dad died, my memories were wondering around. Almost every corner of this house brought different memory. There supposed to be a bed in front of the cupboard in the family room. On that bed, Ayah (that’s how I called him) told me a story about his work when he was young. There was a hidden message in that story. He wanted me and my best friend to search for  a man who has a strong beliefs in Allah, God the Almighty. ‘Don’t choose a man just because he’s handsome or have money only.’ he told me that.

When I sat in the living room, where I can see the porch, I remember how he used to ask me sit with him on bale (like a bench made from bamboo) and tell me about his hope upon his kids. Each one of them. Including me, although I’m not his daughter. Every time I move my head, I suddenly remember the conversation we had. My heart hurts even more but somehow my tears were to stubborn to fall down.

We always have that small talk every time I come over to thisdeath house. I never know why he did that. I never ask either. And now I don’t have a chance to ask him why. Some part of me regret it. I wish, I had the courage back then before it’s all too late.

There was a time when my best friend thanked me because  I always have this patience to hear all of her dad’s story, to all of his advice.I always telling her the same thing. Her dad filled this one hole inside my heart. A hole which appear when my own dad decided to leave. I’m the one who should thanked him.

Thank you, Ayah. For treating me like your own daughter. For trusting me with your stories. For helping a part of me making peace with my heart.

I really gonna miss our small talk.


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