FORMED

 

It all began during my first semester of college, when I was always considered a minority. I wanted to reveal some stories from my past that I had ignored and considered unimportant. As time went by, I realized that everything was connected, that everything that had happened to me was connected, from studying several religions in my country for two years to becoming involved in a dark group. But what does this have to do with being a minority?

I was born with cool-toned skin, veins that are dark blue and purple. All my veins were very visible on my right hand at birth, and they are still clearly visible today, even though I am 28 years old. I was born different from my two sisters, whose skin is as smooth and white as cotton. Despite all the stories about how I was born and what I looked like at birth, all my aunts from both my mother’s and father’s sides said the same thing: that I was born different. Small yet sharp eyes with narrow eyelids, thick, smooth black hair—I was born far more perfect than my two sisters, meaning I resembled my mother more than the traits inherited from my father. I realized this after revisiting some photos from my childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. By the time I turned 17 and entered college for the first time, I disliked sycophants and wasn’t afraid to fight, even if it meant getting hurt or bleeding—a bad example that shouldn’t be followed. However, the disgust was overwhelming if all that happened in our lives. I got used to walking alone since middle school because I had learned to observe, understand, and evaluate various aspects of life. In middle school, my mother enrolled me in a special English tutoring program, starting from the first grade. I got used to going to and from the center alone. On the first day, I was dropped off and picked up, but from the second day onward, I did everything on my own. At that time, in 2009, the streets weren’t as crowded as they are now, and crime was higher than kindness. However, the city was still safe enough for a 12-year-old to walk alone from daytime to nighttime. I explored many streets and alleys since I was 12 years old, and I saw poverty, crime, bullying, sex workers, gangsters—I saw many things on the streets and observed everything. I even noticed various alleys leading to different places. I passed by brothels every day. I saw the real world—a chaotic one—but they said life would be boring if you only had classes and studied constantly. I understand why many people commit crimes—some do it because they’re hungry, some do it for recognition, some do it for satisfaction. They do what they think is easy. They also do it for recognition and respect. Yes, they will fear and respect you if you’re known to be ruthless in the areas you control. Even the residents in that area will pay you every month for the sake of comfort and security in the area. That’s the game we’re facing in this country now. I find myself judging some people who are afraid and don’t want to get involved in trouble, but on the other hand, I also see some groups who are willing to get involved and refuse to submit. They aren’t touched because they control every street, they aren’t touched because they smell of the streets, they aren’t touched because they aren’t obsessed with money, they are free in their stories and their choices in life. Here, they are called the youth group with the PUNK belief. They have families, religions, jobs, and sometimes a few are unemployed. If they are unemployed, I often encounter them on the streets when they are busking or sitting near the street alleys. They do not bother children, they do not bother anyone. However, they are considered troublesome because of their appearance, and considered poor because they are always on the streets. I’ve even heard people speak negatively about this group; their name is often mocked, and the average person’s perspective is negative. I’m not surprised, as people believe they have their own tastes or lifestyles, but what makes everything seem different is the perspective that emerges toward people who dare to appear in public as they truly are. Humans are like trees that survive—the strong endure, while the weak avoid everything to stay uninvolved, yet they will get involved if it involves money. Since then, I have been able to distinguish between scammers, sycophants, and even traitors just by talking to them for a few hours. I can even sense oddities, such as when people are about to commit pickpocketing, robbery, or even sexual harassment in public places. I just look at their hands and eyes, and I have encountered such experiences in many places. From middle school until college, I enjoyed using public transportation. There, I encountered many incidents that taught me how to deal with such people. I once foiled a pickpocketing attempt on a bridge in the capital city as I was about to cross. The incident happened on the stairs. Before I went up, I noticed someone was coming up with me—a young man, probably younger than me. He let me go first, I had noticed his movements. I boarded as usual and knew he was behind me, starting to unzip my backpack. I surprised him—I quickly turned around, looked him in the eye with a cold stare, smiled, and continued walking toward him down the stairs, saying, “Did you find what you were looking for? Is this what you were after?” I showed him my phone. He was startled and shook his head. I cornered him, and he tried to avoid me, “No, sir, no.” I pulled and pushed him hard as he tried to leave, “Where are you going? I’m not finished yet,” while tapping his head. He pulled himself away from my grip with all his strength, I let him go and saw he was scared. He ran downstairs, and I chased him. When he looked back, I always moved out of the way and hid, until I reached his group. There were many children and young women my age down there. I observed them and what they were doing. I waited with my cigarette, watching it and finding something good. I approached the group and tied my hair tightly, tightened my shoelaces and backpack straps, my cigarette grew shorter, and I ran to attack them all. I kicked the heads of the street women. The children and other boys scattered and ran away. Only the street women began to surround me. I subdued the tallest and strongest one—I thought she was the leader, but it didn’t matter. I threw my short cigarette at the street woman’s face; she screamed, and I kicked her head, so the other two women dared not approach me. I stepped on the leader’s head and looked at the children and young boys who had tried to pickpocket me earlier. Their eyes were wide, and their noses were wide open, breathing heavily. They all panicked and people started running towards me, shouting, “Hey, hey!” I turned to face them and put my hand behind my back, between my backpack and my waist, and said, “Don't interfere or someone's head will explode.” They understood my meaning and slowly backed away. “These people are pickpockets, and I’m teaching them to work hard for a living. This is the street,” I said. Then a man with long hair and a damaged left eye appeared, with a scar the length of my middle finger right in the middle of his left eye. I knew he was the leader of this area. He said, “Hey, kid, who’s bothering you?” I just stared at him sharply, “Have you gotten your stuff back?” “Yes, I’ve gotten it back,” I answered. “Go home if you’re done. This won’t happen again, and your face is recognized. No one will touch you. I promise.” He kept his word. I left the area in a very cold state. I decided to climb back up to the bridge and watch from above what they were doing afterward. The women and children were being intimidated, and there was some pretty painful treatment—they were all being slapped and pulled by the hair. Some of them were crying as if begging for mercy. I continued my journey and reflected on what had just happened. I lit my cigarette and looked up at the sky, telling myself, “You’ve managed to resolve today’s issue.” Now I understand that the street world depends on who you are, not who you think you are. They don’t care who you are once you’re in their territory. Every area has its own rules and weaknesses in the game, and every area has its own hierarchy. There’s a strong rule that people don’t know about: on the streets, if you feel wronged and take a conscious step to assert your rights, you’ll be respected. Some elders will remember who you are, and the elders aren’t the masterminds behind theft or other crimes. They just control the territory and ensure there’s no chaos—that’s all. If there’s chaos, they’ll be the ones in trouble, so they just maintain order in the area and receive monthly and daily payments from the business owners there. They know many criminals in their area, but they don’t operate there; they operate in neighboring areas, and when they’re cornered, like in my case, they’ll run back to their lair. In this case, you can assess it: the lessons I learned that weren’t taught in school, and I was able to resolve it according to street protocols. If you try to resolve street issues with too much talking, you’ll die. On the streets, they don’t need words; they only see and hear violence and cruelty. Lucky for us who can understand the street world and education, you’ll be formed very strongly and hard to bring down. I saw pickpocketing almost every day after that incident. On the bus, a man with a grunge retro style tried to pickpocket a young woman sitting three seats in front of me. When she got off, the pickpocket casually followed her, unzipped his jacket, and reached inside, but unfortunately, all he got was a large tissue. I laughed at the sight, and he turned toward me, approached, and handed me the tissue. “What a lousy day,” he said, wiping his neck with the tissue, then asked me, “Where are you getting off?” “I’m getting off at the final terminal,” I replied. He nodded, then soon told the bus conductor, “Let me off here.” Then the conductor just shook his head and said, “Sir, aren’t you afraid?” Why should I be afraid? I have this,” I showed him the AK-47 knife. The conductor just stared blankly and looked out the window, as if ending the conversation. I just smiled, looking out the window, enjoying my journey. I quickly recognized myself, and sometimes I was confused by everything. When I shopped at the market, people always gave me high prices. I didn't know why, but I thought it was because I was wearing nice, neat clothes. The next month, I went shopping wearing a torn T-shirt, faded shorts, flip-flops, and no makeup. They still gave me high prices. I was fed up with all this and asked, “Why is it so expensive?” The vendor replied, “Our profit margin is small; for Chinese people, that price is normal.” I was stunned—“WHAT?” I went and looked at my face on my phone. Why did he say that? I’m not Chinese; I’m a Muslim indigenous person. Since then, almost all my friends at college have said the same thing, but I didn’t respond and didn’t feel the need to explain anything. Until one day, while shopping with my mother, an elderly Hokkien woman patted my shoulder and said, “You’re Chinese, aren’t you? What’s your family surname? Your mother is of Chinese descent, right? This child is very Chinese.” I looked at my mother, and she laughed. “My mother is Chinese too, right? Chinese people can recognize each other, you know,” she said with a laugh. I fell silent and thought for a moment: whose descendants is my mother really? Since then, I decided to find out about my maternal ancestors, but initially hit a dead end because my mother didn’t know much about her family, my grandmother’s side. Of course, someone like me wouldn’t be satisfied without answers. I researched everything about my family, but on my mother’s side, I found nothing. because my grandmother’s name was that of a local Muslim. However, after updating her photo with AI, I found a small clue and accessed it through AI based on the information I had gathered from “the food my mother often cooked. She said this was the food my grandmother used to cook when we were children, and I learned to cook it, and I still cook it to this day.” I noticed something odd and asked my mother, “Do you know your mother’s name?” My mother had forgotten her mother’s name, but she would try to remember. Then, while I was talking with my younger sister in the living room, we discussed our ancestors, specifically my grandmother, and my mother replied that her name was Ha Ri Mas, my mother’s mother. I immediately took out my laptop and searched for sources related to the name Ha Ri Mas. Harimas is a name meaning “tiger.” Generally, the name Harimas is used in some Japanese companies in my country. Harimas means “Tora” in Japanese, which means tiger or power. At first, I felt this was illogical. Why was my grandmother named Harimas if she was of Chinese descent? I was very certain at the time that my grandmother was of Chinese descent, though I didn’t know for sure, but I was convinced of it. So, I set aside my research on the name Harimas at that time. During dinner, I asked my mother again, “Why is our grandmother’s name just Harimas? Why doesn’t she have a last name?” My mother answered casually while eating, saying, “Grandmother’s name Harimas had a deep meaning back then. Harimas means tiger.” I was shocked and stared in disbelief. I remembered something—AI didn’t exist back then, but AI had information about the meaning of that name. I became even more convinced that my grandmother was from an indigenous tribe. My mother told me about her that night. Grandmother Harimas was a strong and very mysterious woman. She could walk from village to village in a short time. For example, as far as I remember, Grandmother Harimas was originally from a village called Batanghari in the city of Baturaja. In the old days, there was no transportation in small areas, so everyone had to walk, but not my grandmother. Those who saw her briefly might think she was truly walking, but according to the other elders who knew my grandmother, none of them dared to get too close to her. They believed that whenever my grandmother embarked on a long journey, she never walked alone; she was always accompanied by her friend—a friend who was never seen, a friend who was always by her side. One night, a villager woke up from sleep because of the commotion under their house, like a sound that was quite terrifying. When the villager peeked under their house, there was nothing there, but when they looked toward my grandmother’s house, they were shocked by what they saw together. They saw a tiger circling my grandmother’s house, Ha Ri Mas. Of course, the couple was terrified and told the villagers that they had seen a tiger around my grandmother’s house the previous night. The villagers didn’t believe them and said it was probably just a dream, not to make a big deal out of something impossible—tigers wouldn’t enter our settlement because they’re afraid of humans. The next night, the commotion happened again, like cats fighting, and other villagers woke up and witnessed the same thing. The story kept spreading, and my grandmother was dubbed a descendant of a tribe. Since then, my grandmother became quite well-known, but no one knew where she came from, her tribal origins, or her ancestors. Even my mother only knew very little about my grandmother. But she said it was possible that we had ancestors from China who came during that time, because if you look at the year of my mother’s photo, it shows 1970. My mother’s mother died in 1991, meaning my grandmother had already settled and married before 1950. My mother was born in 1969 and was the fifth of seven siblings. In 1945, Indonesia gained independence, and the largest traders from Asia came in large numbers from northern and southern China to Indonesia and settled in several regions of Sumatra, including the interior. I traced back to before Indonesia’s independence in 1940, and Chinese immigrants from various ethnic groups had already been there during the Japanese occupation and had already settled locally. Even before Japan occupied Indonesia, the Dutch and Chinese had already arrived and settled in several regions for development and trade. Thus, newcomers would seek out inland areas, following river currents with ships carrying various necessities to be planted, sold, and used on Indonesia's fertile soil. The formation of many ethnic groups and races, the uniqueness of each place, and gradual development became evident. Settlements that once consisted of only a few houses now became iconic places, and Indonesia's economic progress began to rise. Some workers received compensation, and everything continued to develop daily. Eventually, new regulations were introduced that made life difficult for the Chinese ethnic group living in this country. These new policies made life difficult for many ethnic groups, forcing them to comply or face expulsion by the government. They were subject to taxes and had to become indigenous if they wanted to be treated fairly, which threatened their economy and businesses at the time. There was no choice for the lower classes; they chose to affiliate themselves and some married indigenous people and embraced Islam for the sake of their safety, as Islamic teachings were simultaneously beginning to spread across every region in Indonesia.

Some people resisted because they had a choice and money, while others gave in for the sake of their families and were forced to follow the rules. Worship was not allowed at that time, and religions other than Islam were banned. If they were caught, they would be persecuted. Isn't that cruel? They are crazy, not cruel. Which religion commands such actions? That is why the law of the One Supreme God was established, meaning that God is one, and religious belief is recognized as a fundamental human right. Racism and fascism were brutal in the time of my ancestors. After reading a lot of information, it all started to make sense. I began to acknowledge myself and open up. I am a minority—that’s the answer. My face can’t lie; I inherited the blood and genetics of my ancestors. That’s why every time I shop at the market, the vendors set prices based on my Chinese appearance. It’s painful for me, but because of that, I know who I am and where I come from. I traced my ancestral lineage to Ha Ri Mas. “Ha” means “right” (he), and “hok” is the surname of the Hakka ethnic group, which originated from northern China and migrated to southern China. The term “Hakka” itself means “immigrant” or “guest.” This ethnic group did not settle in one place but moved around in search of livelihood and land, engaging in trade, farming, and various other skills. Therefore, I am certain that this group reached the interior where my grandmother was born and raised, in the village of Batang Hari Sembilan, a small town today. Some ancient Chinese coins were also found in the Batang Hari Sembilan River by fishermen in the area where my grandmother was born. This incident, in my opinion, is not a coincidence because when I visited Bangka Belitung Island, I discovered a new wonder related to soy sauce. A friend of mine, who was born in Bangka but is not of Chinese descent, mentioned that this soy sauce is evidence that the Hakka people once inhabited the coast of Bangka Belitung. “This soy sauce with garlic is a condiment served with grilled or fried fish, No locals know about it except those of Chinese descent or those who live alongside Chinese ethnic groups. I was surprised and asked him, ‘Where did you learn to eat grilled fish with soy sauce and garlic?’ I was very curious. Here, people—including the Chinese community—typically eat with soy sauce as a condiment or dipping sauce, and this has been the case for a long time. It’s only the people here who know about it. I was truly shocked. I was able to trace my ancestors, and I am proud of myself. The Hakka people who moved to South Sumatra Province were a group that didn't mind if a place was already overcrowded with many disparities. Knowing that there was still land other than Bangka Belitung, the Hakka people sought new land and territories, and the Hokkien people now mostly settle on Bangka Island. After matching the information I had with AI, all the data and history connected and intertwined. Even my friend said you are of Chinese descent but don’t realize it. If you communicate with your ethnic group for a few months, you will understand even if you can’t speak their language. That’s why the connection between descendants and ancestors cannot be broken; it flows not only through form but from many angles. Can you see that descendants who honor and pray for their ancestors generally become great people? They truly live worthy lives and have their own special privileges. Our ancestors are the key, and they are the ones who brought us here. Few people see their struggles, and even fewer remember and acknowledge their origins. As a form of appreciation and gratitude from us as their descendants, we must never forget who our ancestors are, for that is the story we will pass on to our children and grandchildren in the future. In the near future, I will visit the village where my ancestor Ha Ri Mas originated. I will continue to gather all the data, which I need for personal use and for my family. Not only from my mother’s side, I am also creating a family structure from my father’s side so that I can leave a family history for future generations, so they won’t have to guess like I did. They will know who they are and where they come from. With that, they will know that history must never be forgotten or severed. In this way, I am also honoring my ancestors, because they gave me meaning. Death is not the end but the beginning for generations and descendants. As newly born humans, we must know how to remember and preserve the history of where we come from. The more we know about our origins, the more we understand about the future—the future I mean is you at this moment. Look at yourself now: who you are, how you live your life—better or worse than your ancestors. If you feel worse, it’s because you haven’t accepted it yet. If you feel better, it means there are some sentences whose meaning you’ve grasped from the over 3,000 words I’ve written here. The future is always changing, and we are growing older. As responsible human beings, we don’t just leave a legacy to our descendants or heirs; we must leave a history so they can learn from what happened to their ancestors in the past, as a foundation for their future. I’m not writing this to push you or motivate you; I’m inviting you to think.

Motivation can be faked by hypocrites for money; they give you fiction, fairy tales. Have you ever considered that the best motivation or drive for ourselves is history? The more you know about history, the clearer your amygdala in your brain works, very clearly. The more you understand history, the harder it is for people to deceive you or manipulate you. History also helps you understand the patterns of human thought, which is very beneficial if you enjoy doing business with partners. I’m not good at math, I’m not good at calculations, but I can control my money. Even when I went bankrupt a few years ago, they never believed me when I said I had no money left. They always believed I had a lot of money, even though they never saw my money and I never flaunted anything. I know one reason why they thought that way: because I was quiet, quietly working, quietly building, quietly giving you many advantages.

I always slip in conversations with my partners and colleagues about history. Sometimes they ask me for advice on starting a business, and I’m happy to encourage them to think, I only describe a few things to my colleagues if they want to start a small or large business, and I always remind them to pray for their ancestors, never forget your ancestors, pray for all the life you currently enjoy and whatever you want to start, and pray that they enjoy their life beyond the cold earth. This isn’t about spiritual connection; it’s a way. You won’t believe it, but you can prove it for yourself, and you’ll come looking for me a few years later. Going to a funeral is sad for people, I was the same, but that was then. If you look at a funeral properly, think of one thing as you gaze upon it: think that you’re seeing your name on that grave. Who were you while you were alive? They might be sad when you leave, but they don’t want to stand there too long looking at your grave because those you leave behind shouldn’t dwell on sadness too long, as it could harm their health. I looked at my ancestors’ graves and the graves of my friends, and I just stood there murmuring to myself, “I’m grateful for where I came from,” “I’m grateful for the friends I had.” Why should I live longer? That’s all that crossed my mind. I found the answer after I met someone who became my umbrella when my business collapsed. He didn’t give me money; he gave me an umbrella where, during heavy rain, my hair stayed dry, and during scorching heat, my head didn’t ache! He is my shield. On my birthday, he gave me a gift—a quote: “Those who are strong will succeed; every success has its people, and every person has their success.” There are no losers in this world; they simply adapt to the situation. When the situation pressures us, we must close it off. Wake up earlier to control yourself and surround yourself with the people involved—observe and listen to them. He said this as we sat together watching the sunset on his private field. He looked at me through his sunglasses, and his final words were, “You will succeed beyond me; I see it.” I replied, “We will succeed and become colleagues.” A few months later, I went to meet his subordinate at the request of my colleague. I noticed an odd signal from this person—yes, it was a signal of betrayal. I talked with him for nearly an hour. He had been my colleague’s subordinate for 4–5 months—a newcomer—but my colleague’s relationship with this person had been long-standing, spanning decades. They had been friends for a long time, but he had only recently been hired by my colleague. I called my colleague after his subordinate left and asked him to send his location. I rushed to his location—he was at the warehouse, conducting a transaction for a shipment to an industry outside our city. When I arrived, I hurried inside; he was talking with our partner. He turned around and cut off the conversation. “Hey,” he greeted me, but his face looked a bit confused. “Can we talk in the car?” I asked him. “Okay, it seems pretty serious,” he replied. I reminded him about his subordinate, “The potential for betrayal is very high if you pretend to be blind and deaf.” What I meant was, “He wants to sell over 5 tons of stock from Warehouse A, Warehouse B, and Warehouse C—both yours and our partner supplier’s—to your company’s regular industrial clients outside the city without informing you, at the same price. He just approached me to become a partner without any written agreement, to handle the sales.” Does he really consider you a friend? You pulled him out of poverty, gave him a position, and he revealed his betrayal to me, your colleague. Who will you trust now? “He’s truly greedy.” My colleague, the good man, remained silent and smiled as he heard my words. I opened the car door and stepped out. I walked and lit my cigarette, stopping in front of the large warehouse door. I was truly going to get rid of those greedy people. I turned around; he was walking slowly toward me and smiling, his wrinkled shirt, scratched shoes, and his favorite worn-out pants. He truly had a pure heart. His smile signaled that he wasn’t worried about the betrayal. “Would you like to accompany me somewhere this afternoon?” I looked at him. “Let’s go now.” Midway through the journey, he stopped to buy flowers. I didn’t know who the flowers were for, and I didn’t know where we were going. We arrived at a place, which turned out to be a cemetery. I looked at it with a questioning look, “Come on, let's get out. I want to introduce you to someone.” We walked along a slightly uphill path. I looked around—there was no one else there, just the two of us. He didn’t say anything until we stood in front of this Chinese grave. I just stared at the grave without saying a word, and my colleague placed the flowers he had bought earlier right in the middle. The situation was very quiet, so quiet that I could hear the sound of the wind clearly in my ears. Then my colleague looked at me and said, “He is my ancestor” from my mother’s side. My mother is of Chinese descent and became Muslim after marrying my father, who is Sundanese. I am closer to my mother’s side than my father’s. My ancestors were ordinary merchants. I continued to stare at the grave while listening to him speak. My mother lived in poverty before meeting my father because she only had a mother and no father. After meeting my father and embracing Islam, without any conflict or drama, my grandmother approved of my parents’ marriage. My father is also from a ordinary Sundanese family. He used to be a factory manager until he was able to start his own company with an investment from his colleague, and my mother was one of the factory workers at the time. Then the first son was born, followed by two younger sisters. I was always left at my grandmother’s house as a child, so I heard many stories about history from her. My grandmother always prayed and never forgot to pray for her ancestors. She gave me a lesson: praying and making wishes is one way we see hope. Hope doesn’t always come true, but sometimes it helps us find a way to achieve it. I was speechless hearing her, and I understood why she brought me there—she was encouraging me to think. This person already knew the key. But I couldn’t name it. From that moment on, I set aside my worries about betrayal and replaced them with a pattern of pull and roll. That’s how we dealt with greedy people—yes, we succeeded. What about the fate of their subordinates? “We provide important reviews to all company clients; yes, we label all items to be shipped.” Without a special label, all items shipped under the company’s name would be rejected by the industry. That’s the case. I even suggested we have a legal expert behind the scenes—you’ll understand why it has to be behind the scenes. Big business is like a fortress in a kingdom. My colleague terminated his subordinate’s position. He pleaded not to be terminated because his wife and children would starve. I addressed this subordinate: “Didn’t you want to fill your own stomach yesterday in front of me?” Now you’re begging for your family without realizing who brought you here, who has always considered you family? “He bowed his head and pleaded; I could see his face turning red.” Do you know what will happen to you if you betray us by joining an illegal group? Your head will be separated from your neck; they use the law of the jungle, not written law. Here, you’re still given a chance to live by him. That’s the meaning of family. I went to get my blazer and told some people to escort that greedy man out of there. My colleague followed me out, catching up and calling out to me. "Hey, wait a minute... silence. Thank you for your loyalty.” I just looked into his eyes; he smiled and stroked my hair. Now you will lead your own company, and I will supply all the fertilizer along the inland route according to your company’s instructions. I smiled at him, “I will do my best,” but I won’t be leading; I’ll be by your side as a colleague. You are the true leader. Your child will be the heir to everything you’ve built. I’ll accept your company as the main supplier, and I’ll handle the sales. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.” We shook hands for the last time after that incident. A year passed, and he got married. His wife was his former girlfriend, who was now pregnant. In June, someone told me that he had been in a tragic accident and had passed away. That news was the most devastating for me. The mourning period hadn’t even ended yet when my best friend also died in a tragic accident. At the time, I was at my parents’ house. I dropped my phone, and it cracked. My entire body felt weak, and I couldn’t even feel my left leg. I fell in the living room, lying on my back staring at the ceiling, my body swaying and my breathing irregular. I struggled to breathe, tears streaming down my face, my mind in chaos. I truly felt like I was withering away. I tried to reach for the wall, but my body was too heavy to move. All the stories I’ve gone through and all the history stored with him dominate me now. I hadn’t had the chance to tell him about the serious problem, I hadn’t had the chance to meet him again, that I’d just lost my company, I’d lost my marriage, I’d lost him too. Everything was destroyed in 2024; I lost everything. As if pulled away so suddenly, yes, someone I considered loyal and trusted because he promised to propose to me in 2023, betrayed me for money. He destroyed all my efforts and ideas because of his greed and selfishness.

I had bad dreams one after another. My mother invited me to return to my hometown to visit my late grandmother’s grave, saying she missed her hometown. At that moment, I remembered something. I agreed and quickly packed my things. We left that afternoon. In the evening, I told my mother I was going to the store to buy something, but in reality, I went to my grandmother’s grave. I brought flowers I had picked around my family’s house in the village. I stood before my grandmother’s grave and those of my ancestors. Tears streamed down my face. I said nothing, only the loud chirping of birds filled the air. I murmured to myself, “I’m not okay. I’m truly broken. I came here to pray for you because my mother said she misses her home. I hope you’re happy to hear from me about my mother. My mother, your daughter, your granddaughter, is an amazing parent, but I can’t tell her I’m shattered. I can’t tell them. I have no one to confide in right now. I can’t even pray to God about what’s happening. I picked these flowers on the street for you. I came here to share my story, not to share my burdens. I have no one else now except my mother and father. If they go to join you, I’ll be completely alone. I’m sorry I came at such a difficult time. I’m sorry I rarely pray for you.”

Leaves were falling with every step I took. The wind blew the leaves away, and they flew through the air. I returned home with tear-filled eyes. The bad news came the next morning. My mother’s screams from her room woke me up. Yes, we had returned home the night before, and I had slept soundly that night. But that morning, the wound that hadn’t yet healed was reopened—my mother’s younger brother had passed away. He was my uncle, the one who had been so kind to my mother, who had played a significant role in her life’s journey, one of the few reliable family members on my mother’s side. Fate is indeed cruel, Yesterday we had just visited because my mother missed her home. It turned out to be a sign that someone would leave that house. This is a true story; the destruction came one after another in 2024. I saw the devastation on my mother’s face as she cried uncontrollably for her sister. I simply hugged her and wiped away her tears. My own tears flowed freely; I said nothing, I just held my mother tightly. We hurried back to my mother’s hometown that morning. The ground had been dug up, the grave was already formed, tears couldn’t be contained, another funeral, again and again. I looked at my grandmother’s grave and murmured to myself, “Did I miss something yesterday?” No, I didn’t miss it; I just didn’t realize it. The leaves that blew with every step I took were repeating their pattern. Yes, the leaves were falling precisely on the day of the funeral. I looked up; they were coming to fetch us, they were giving a sign, they were hearing your heart. At that moment, I recalled everything I had murmured yesterday. Yes, I said I had no one left now except my father and mother. I realized that all children long for their parents. I was given guidance through my uncle, who died from illness due to stress from keeping his problems to himself, and he was an alcoholic. He had been sick for a month, and yesterday, when we returned home, I went to the grave. The universe gave me the answer that I must be honest with my parents about what happened while they are still here. I shed tears, the most painful tears of my life. I looked around as if all sounds had vanished from my ears, and only the sound of “nginggggggg” filled my ears. I saw my mother, I saw my father, I saw my brothers and sisters. I saw my entire family gathered at the grave, yes, the grave was right next to my grandmother’s, and next to my grandmother was my ancestor Ha Ri Mas.