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Chapter 1

From about 35,000 feet above the ground, I peek outside through the plane window and nervously caress my chin with my fingers. Goodbye Jakarta, I whisper to the unevenly-spread dots all the way down there. As the dots move farther and farther away, I am left with mixed feelings of longing, doubt and excitement. This is the first time in my short 22-year life that I have ever left Indonesia, the country where I was born.

Three weeks ago, right before the sun went down, a letter arrived, telling me about the scholarship grant that I'd received. The achievement of my bachelor's degree was also the work of a scholarship, therefore I had a general idea of how it worked. Still, it didn't diminish the sense of accomplishment that I felt.

I am going to study in Germany.

That very fact danced around inside my head. It has been my dream to study in Germany for the longest time, so why, why am I not jumping around like a broken wind-up toy? I've been accepted to a top university in Hamburg, in my first-choice subject too. And to be honest, getting a scholarship after competing with thousands of brilliant students around the world, has really boosted my confidence. So why am I anxious, instead of excited?

Perhaps I am feeling the influence of my other intention;

I want to meet my biological father, who is supposedly living in Hamburg.

Mum doesn't know about this. The mere subject of him has become taboo. When I asked questions about him, she would shove me away, even becoming violent. But what was worse for me was the withdrawal. I've learnt over time to avoid the subject altogether so that she doesn't give me the silent treatment for days or weeks.

She must have hated him.

As an unmarried single mother, living in the Far East, a place that upholds rigid conservative tradition, being scorned, mocked and even spat at are parts of her daily life. It's understandable that she hates my father, judging by her circumstances. I hate him myself for leaving us, for abandoning us, for not looking after us properly, for not loving us. At times when I was young, I imagined how my life would be if he had stuck around. Would we be a respected family like other families? Would the neighbours talk to me without those sympathetic eyes? Would they not regard my mother as some kind of unfortunate thing that had happened to me?

But he didn't. And my life was always still the same vile life upon my return from my daydreams. And I began to wonder, why did he leave us? What's wrong with us? That's when I decided I needed to hear the answer right from his mouth.

Flying this far to meet a man who didn't want me is pathetic, I know. Still, I can't stop a small part of my brain forming conditionals to excuse him. What if he did want to be with us but couldn't because of the situation? What if he did want to be with us but something happened? Nothing is impossible, right?

But he's alive. He lives. He's breathing. What prevents him from coming back to us?

When I found out his identity, I kept track of him through any media sources I could get a hold of, mostly through the newspapers. Money is a delicate matter in my family, so buying a newspaper is considered a waste. I also visited bookstores and checked the science sections every time I went. That's how I learnt of his whereabouts.

The vast, bright blue sky that spreads out on the other side of this window suffocates me. Taking a deep breath doesn't seem to be enough to ease my tight chest.

There's a huge probability that he won't acknowledge me at all, let alone be happy for my company, but meeting him is the ultimate key to my moving on. Meeting him would lighten the heaviness in my chest. It would free me from all the chains he bound me in, even before my birth. If I don't meet him, the weight of this unresolved piece of my life will haunt me forever.