Words

Chapter 1

Lately, I heard a lot of words. I can't remember who said this, or who said that but I remember almost all the words that I heard aIl words of love or kinds of as I love you, we love you, come back, or don't go yet. Sometimes besides those words, I also heard the chanting of the holy Qur'an, or a soft touch whether it's on my forehead or my hands, even sometimes on my cheeks. The other times I also feel a stinging or like being pricked by a needle on the back of my hand, or in my throat which is sore and feels uncomfortable because there is an object from outside my body being forced into it.

I felt happy but also scared at the words I heard. I feel happy because I heard it, who doesn't like to hear the words of love? But I was afraid, afraid that those words were lies or just an illusion that was said just to please me. My grandfather once said, just because something is said doesn't mean it's true.

When I finally managed to awoke my whole body ached, and my bones might crumble. My lungs also felt tight, plus my head dizzies as if my brain had been stirred or squeezed like a lemon. When I opened my eyes and look around, I found my father staring at me, he closed his mouth with his hand, and tears came out of his eyes like heavy rain. I also saw a man standing beside him. He is my brother, Harris. Then he hugs Papa and Harris also looks sad.

Making them angry is my specialty, but making them cry is something I've never done in my life. And now I've done. The last time I saw Papa cry was when my grandmother died when I was eleven years old. He looked so sad, but at the same time, he also smiled a little as if he was happy. It made me doubt my previous vision, I'm not even sure if he was sad or happy or even both.

Meanwhile, an unknown man was standing not far from Papa, the man with a white look but with a neatly shaved beard was seen hugging a brown-haired woman who also crying.
Yes, maybe our relatives from far away, considering Papa is of Spanish descent.

"Papa, are you crying?" for some reason my voice felt heavy and hoarse, not to mention my sore throat.

Without answering my question, Papa immediately hugged me. Kiss my forehead and cheeks, as if we hadn't seen each other in a long time. I am his favorite child for as long as I can remember, a pampered and loved daughter. Even my friends in high school were jealous of how Papa was so considerate of me.

He took me to school until I finished high school and often even went to college, brought my lunch when I had extra hours, give me everything that I wanted, and was rarely angry. Even though he is angry he usually only advises me with his soothing words. I swear none of his words have ever hurt me.

"Pa, I want to pee." Yes, those were my first words when Papa just releases his embrace. My bladder is full, I'm worried that I might wet the bed if I hold it any longer.

"You've been catheterized, so you can pee here." Papa's Spanish accent when speaking Indonesian was still there, even though we've lived in Jakarta for twenty years.

My biological mother is Indonesian, after divorce from Papa the woman took Lana and remarried, and then she lives with her new husband in Palembang.

I'm not that close to Mama, because Papa has been divorced from Mama since I was two years old and Harris is fifteen years old at that time.  Somehow Mama has custody of Lana while Papa has custody of Harris and me. Until I was twenty Mama only came to our house during the holidays, and the more time went by, the less time she took the time to just see me and my brother.