The Garlic Peanut Story

I have a confession to make: my greatest fear is of going blind. Perhaps because of that I have developed the gift of memorizing my surroundings, the people who inhabit them, their expressions, and the colors that emanate from them, right down to the tiniest detail.

When my sister came through the doors of the Dharmawangsa in Kebayoran Baru, South Jakarta, on that last day, it was as if this was another version of my beautiful childhood protector, the one who had always taken the pain out of my world and rekindled the love in my heart. Now she was almost ephemeral, like an angel, about to fly away at any moment. Her eyes shone, but her body had shrunk, and her colors had almost run dry. This was a sepia-tinted version of my bright and vivacious sister Wewe, the angel of my life, and she was now moving in a damaged body, every step filled with pain.

This time, it was my time to support her frail body,
the way she did mine when I was just a child, resting fully on hers, arms intertwined. As we turned the corner of the lobby, the air was heavily scented with melati flowers, the jasmine of Java that grew in our childhood garden. We both looked at each other, far beyond the iris of our eyes, deep into each other’s souls. No words were necessary—our hearts were so heavy, yet filled with love. That scent always took us back to our past, memories of our grandma’s chignon and her pillow filled with jasmine petals and buds as fat as the
gecko eggs we used to play with.
Tonight, as candles and chandelier reflections collided,

shimmering dimly as if they understood the pain in our hearts, a path opened towards the restaurant’s majestic doors. Kind strangers and hotel staff lined the hallway on both
sides, their smiling eyes upon us, offering understanding
and support as they showed us the way. They seemed to
be holding their breath and giving us their energy, hands gesturing as if they would carry us through the door. Silently they witnessed our passing as we took one unbearable step after another, struggling to reach the doors. Little did my sister know, her loved ones awaited on the other side of those doors for her arrival, just as the eager spirits of our dearly departed aunts, uncles, cousins and ancestors awaited her on the other side. They all waited to greet my angel, my dear sister Wewe. It was then that I finally knew… I no longer had a grip on time, nor could I hold her much longer in my arms.