Have you ever found yourself
lost in a place you used to call home?
Hometown
My family lives in a small town called Purwokerto in Central Java. A place best described as a retired town. No crazy traffic jams downtown; it's just a chill 30-minute ride to the hills for some good old nature lovin'.
My hometown has the most unique and exotic food in the world. Despite my global food adventures, nothing beats the taste sensation of soto ayam here. And the magic touch? A homemade chilli sauce with crushed groundnut that creates a flavour beyond compare.
Each time I returned to town, I would not eat anything during the train journey, all for the delicious reward of those two bowls of soto ayam. Dad would pick me up at the station to get me straight to the restaurant. It became a kind of family tradition.
As I look back on my growing-up years, a treasure trove of beautiful memories comes to mind—the aroma of Mom's freshly baked cookies from the kitchen, Dad enjoying his smoke breaks on the porch while chatting with his coworker. And who could forget the epic Matrix and Linkin Park posters in my brother's room? My personal library stacked with Harry Potter books and manga comics. I can still hear the mischievous laughter of the neighbour's kid racing by on his tricycle. The three colours Dad painted my room and our lovely pastel-coloured house on the corner. It used to be the happiest place on earth.
In my mind's eye, I can still see myself riding my brother's red bike, chasing after Doni, the neighbour's son, down these streets. And that front yard? That's when my first boyfriend surprised me with a white rose in the rain, and Mom baked a special cake just for him. Every corner of this place holds memories of the feelings my family and I shared. Just the four of us.
Things I miss from childhood home
# Mom's nastar on Lebaran
#Dad's bedtime stories.
#Me, Dea, and Harry Potter books in my room.
#Listening to Sheila on 7 records.
#Me and my brother watching Supernatural in the living room.
#Driving to Video Ezy to rent movies.
#My stuffed animals in Mom's cabinet.
#Driving with dad to Grandpa's house to clean his aquarium. #When my cousins come to play with us.
Mom was a typical Javanese woman who dreamed of marrying a man in uniform. She has always been a free spirit who enjoys exploring new places and baking cookies. My dad, on the other hand, was the second son among nine siblings, a position that carried the weight of his parents' hopes. Following in his father's footsteps, he took the path of becoming a police officer, a job he cherished deeply. And so, this tale of romance begins in the most unexpected of places – a humble department store.
The department store served as the backdrop for my parent's love story, with my mom working part-time in the woman's undergarment section. But little did she know that her life was about to change forever during one of her afternoon shifts. Enter my dad, who had a clever strategy to catch her attention. My cheeky Aunt Mang, who happened to be my dad's younger sister, shared a secret about my parent's sacred encounters. "Your father would drag me along to the department store, and ask me to pretend to buy a bra just to strike up a conversation with your mother."
Love blossomed not long after these unconventional meet-ups, and they decided to take their relationship into marriage. At the time, my mom was just 23 years old, and my dad was 27 – both young and head over-heels in love. Fast forward a bit, and here's my big bro and me, making our grand entrance into the world.
Their story is a mix of serendipity, bold moves, and a touch of playfulness. It's a tale that resonates with the idea that sometimes, love finds a way to flourish in the most unexpected places. And while their paths might have crossed in a department store aisle, their shared journey unfolded as something far from the usual.
Back when we were just mini versions of ourselves, Mom was the ultimate school decision-maker for my brother and me. No debate. It was the private elementary school for us, the best one in town. But tuition fees were no joke. Mom had to roll up her sleeves and take on a side hustle journey – selling Dad's colleague some shoes, setting up a mini food stand, and even becoming the neighborhood's go-to cookie supplier.
"Why not just stick you guys in the local public school? Closer and cheaper," someone dared to ask. Mom's answer? Classic mom wisdom: "Because my kids deserve the best"
My brother and I believed getting straight As and getting gold stars in school would make Mom over the moon happy. We figured succeeding in favourite schools in the city (maybe even all of Indonesia) was Mom's biggest dream. Little did we know, Mom was secretly weaving her own dream of higher education that she never had into our story.
Like many police officers in our hometown, Dad's schedule was packed. When the holiday season came, he wasn't absent because he didn't want to be home, but because his duty called him elsewhere, ensuring that other families could safely celebrate their holidays.
Meanwhile, Mom was turning our kitchen into a midnight cookie factory for the neighborhood. Stability? That was our anchor, and Dad was a rock about borrowing. He used to chant, "Fasting is better than borrowing." And now, that strict money-managing gene makes so much sense.
One midnight, I woke up to the sounds of hushed voices outside my room. I could see my aunt sitting on the edge of my bed. The living room was filled with my grandfather's voice and the soft conversations of around four other people. I was just a seven-year-old then. Something felt off. Though I couldn't fully understand their conversation, it seemed like an argument was brewing, and my grandfather was trying to mediate. My aunt noticed I was awake and whispered, "Go back to sleep. Everything's all right."
After that night, things between my mom and dad changed. They started avoiding eye contact, and their once lively conversations turned into silent glances. Being so young I struggled to understand the complexity of their issues, leaving me with a sense of
helplessness. Their troubles seemed too big to be solved. In the darkness, I'd tap on my brother's door, seeking peace in the company of my comic books, just to escape the lonely feeling. I never told him how scared I was; maybe he felt the same way.
Despite what happened to their relationship, they still tried their best to be good parents to my brother and me, separately. My mom used to say that my dad is not a good husband, but he is undoubtedly a good father. He would save and buy us anything we wanted, even the silliest thing in the world.
Dad used to drive my brother and me to a bookstore so we could choose the comic books that we wanted every single week. Sometimes when he bought us an expensive video game, he would tell us, "Go hide it in your room, and don't tell Mom about this."
I could sense, that the house that used to be filled with trust, hope and laughter quickly became a place of pain for me. When my brother left for college, my loneliness grew. During my high school years, my parents used me as their mediator – because who needs professional counselling when you have a teenager, right? And on other delightful occasions, I had the privilege of being Dad's personal accountant, thanks to his reluctance to pass his earnings directly to Mom. Clearly, my teenage years were just full of financial wisdom and marital expertise.
Obviously, I became a pro at escaping my own home – a talent I never signed up for in my teenage years. But guess what? There I was, a seasoned escape artist, worn out from my full-time job of acting like the grown-up for my parents. My close friend Puput would pick me up at night, we'd embark on midnight escapades, cruising around our quiet town like rebellious souls trying to outrun my frustrations. Of course, those nights were incomplete without me returning home very late at night, only to discover my dad was not there. I knew families weren't perfect, but was this even a family anymore?
Broken Home
I was 19 years old when my parents decided to end their marriage. At that time, I was not home and just finishing my first year of University in Depok. Even if I saw this coming, it still managed to hurt me like a thousand knives in my back, each digging a new well of pain.
I tried to process everything in the dark room away from the home my parent built for our family. I buried myself in junk food and consumed more painkillers to help me sleep at night.
I skipped classes and my GPA hit a rock bottom that matched the depths of my agony. I couldn't be more careless about everything that was happening around me. All I knew was that it was just too painful to face the world right now. I holed up in Depok, attempting to make sense of the whole mess. The ache wasn't coming from the shattering of the marriage certificate; it was from the countless stings of disappointment my parents had carelessly poked into my heart over the years.
In the aftermath, I often wondered if I was supposedly grown-up enough to not be torn apart by my parent's divorce. Some seemed to think I should have 'understood' that marriages are fleeting, that 'forever' in matrimonial vocabulary means "until we decide it doesn't anymore." In their case 24 years of togetherness.
"Come on, you're an adult now," they'd say as if that phrase alone could wash away the confusion and pain caused by the crumbling of a once unbreakable bond.
Five months later, my dad decided to give marriage another shot. He got married to another woman. As fate would have it, my brother followed him and tied the knot with his girlfriend merely a month after Dad's wedding. And then one and a half years later, my mother too joined the "Let's Remarry After the Storm" parade.
And there I was, all by myself, slowly transforming into the poster child for relationship cynicism. As everyone around me embraced their new family, I found myself becoming indifferent to matters of the heart. Love and commitment lost their sparkle, and I just craved an escape.
That was when the idea of living overseas sounded so fascinating. The urge to relocate to a foreign land and start anew became an itch I couldn't ignore. Away from all this glorious mess. I started to travel with the money I earned from my part-time job when I was in university.
Every time I went to a new place I was secretly hoping that this could be my new home. Little did I realize, those trips were nothing more than bandaids for wounds I brought with me. As I wandered, the weight of my parents' separation followed like a relentless shadow. It was as if the emotional baggage had been hidden in my suitcase.
The anger that had taken root within me grew like a snowball rolling down a hill, gathering resentment with every turn. I began to comfortably attribute every misstep, every heartbreak, and every questionable decision to the ever-convenient scapegoat: my parents. My toxic relationships, poor life choices, and impulsive escapades all had a convenient fall guy – their divorce.
The home I once felt safe in is gone. The love I was supposed to learn from my parents became a traumatic lesson. I started declining invitations to their new homes because they didn't feel like home to me. Until one day, someone changed my mind.
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