The Hermit

I’ve always thought myself as a socially awkward person. I don’t really like being among a lot of people. In short, I’m that old friend you see sitting by herself at the bar with a glass of drink at a high school reunion. Most of the days, you don’t see me at all because I’m always at home.

About two years ago I explained to a friend why I don’t hang out much. It’s because I have the need to hear myself. Hanging out with friends, and lots of them, influence how you think. I realize that when two or more people interact, they tend to copy each other’s speech. Usually they copy the dominant’s. I guess it’s the need to be accepted. That is quite harmless. What worries me is the next stage, when you agree with what other people think to feel accepted and make yourself believe that it is what you believe in. You want proof? Twitter.

Anyway, lately I became some sort of a ‘hermit’. I only go out to take my kid to school and pick her up afterwards. I work long hours at home and only get a chance to meet my few friends once every month or so. Although I prefer spending my time at home than going out every weekend, I don’t really intend to be a hermit.

But the word hermit kept popping into mind that last night I remembered that there is, in fact, a card in Tarot called The Hermit. I googled it up to see the meaning of the card.

So, basically The Hermit is The Fool that feels the need to retreat after leading a busy life. He hides in a house in the woods and only comes out at night to take a walk with a lantern and a staff. During this walk he realizes the things he’s missed in his life; he can now see things he’s never seen before in daylight. As he explores this new world, he also opens up the hidden areas in his mind.

This card symbolizes introspection, a desire for peace and solitude. Time to think and organize. However frustrating it is sometimes, this will eventually lead to enlightenment and clarity.

Now I don’t mind being a hermit because it’s true. It is what I want and need at this point in my life. At least maybe until June or July, when it’s time for me to pack up my life here and really move on. 😉

Sketch by me, made with Paper by 53 (iOS app). More doodles by me here.

Back to the Future

The past that will become our future.

 

Hocus Focus

“Stop fooling around. Focus. You’re almost there.”

That’s the message I got from a friend of mine who reads Tarot cards late last year. I don’t usually listen to anybody. But this is not anybody. It’s only a card. And my friend says the card does not predict the future, it merely reflects your situation. And yes, it happens to ring true.

I think several posts ago I wrote that I planned to relocate to another town, on another island. It started as a dream almost two years ago and was only a plan until earlier this year when all parents at my daughter’s school have known where they’d send their kids to after the last term is over this coming June. Of course I know which school I would like to enroll my daughter to. For the past year I’ve been going back and forth to the island surveying schools for my daughter and one stood out.

Not just one, but many people thought my moving to another town is to look for a man. A foreigner, to be precise, since the island is known as a melting pot of people from diverse nationalities. But no, my main reason to start a life in this island is to give my daughter a better education at a more reasonable price than here in the big city. Frankly, being a single mother with a freelance job, I cannot keep up with this city anymore. Everything costs too much–be it money, time, or energy. Luckily, being a single mother with a freelance job also means I can take my work everywhere and there’s no spouse to complain. And why that particular island? International-standard education and low living cost. So there you go. As simple as that. I’m not a romantic like they think. *chuckles*

As the year end approached, my Tarot reader friend said, “The most important thing is to have faith in yourself and everything you want to do.”

So, with those two card readings in mind, I called the school in January to get a schedule for the admission procedure. And so it began: having the admission forms taken from their office, paid for and sent here; filled out the endless pages and prepared then attached the necessary documents; flew there in mid-February to submit the forms and so my daughter could do a class trial (where I also sat observing) and got her interview with the principal.

We got the news on the same day that she was accepted. THAT was the cornerstone of our future life. Everything went fast after that. On the same day she got accepted, we saw a house for rent across the street from the school and when we took a look at it, it was exactly what we were looking for. It has 3 bedrooms (for me, my daughter, and my Mom), within walking distance to school (think of all the money I could save for transportation), and the minimum rent is only one year so it’s perfect for our plan to buy our own place later. If that is not a sign, I don’t know what is. Unfortunately we weren’t prepared for that. We went there only for my daughter’s school prep and we had to go back here because my daughter had a competition week coming up at her school here. So we left, hoping it would still be in the market.

To cut the long story short, we got the rented house. So last week, mid-March, again we flew there to take care of things for the new house (after my grandma’s funeral and my daughter won four trophies from her competition week at school).

You know, on our fourth day there, when we’ve done most of the first-things-firsts and I thought, “At last, today I could relax a little and probably have a little fun in the sun…” then BAM! In came an email with an urgent job. 5 days in an island that is famous for its beaches and we only stepped on the sands once. Haha. Who says every day is a holiday there? :p

When the news was out that I would move to the so-called paradise, a friend made a comment that I was so lucky. No, darling, it wasn’t luck that brought me there. For me it’s about dreaming big and actually making it come true by doing something about it. The cards just helped me to realize that at the right moment (before I waste money, time, and energy that I can’t afford on something that isn’t even relevant to my dream). Sure, it takes time. But in my opinion, being patient is not at all the same as waiting for things to happen.

So here I am again, back in the city that I will soon leave. I’m working on the urgent job that will hopefully help me pay the bills on time. No hocus pocus. Just focus. 🙂

98

One morning in the year 1994, our home phone rang. She called from Bandung, telling us that she saw my name on the local newspaper. I got in!

For all of us, the grandchildren, Oma (that’s what we call her–our grandma–by) and her house have always been a holiday destination. But after the news came that morning, I would be living in the same town as her. Being 18 and ready for college, it was the beginning of a new chapter of relationship between Oma and me.

I arrived at her doorstep weeks after the announcement and she let me stay in one of her empty boarding rooms at the back of her house. It was my first experience living apart from my parents. This actually reminded me of a time when I was little, about 4 or 5 years old (I believe so because I don’t recall having a sister at the time), and I was left with Oma to house-sit my aunt & uncle’s house while they went away on vacation. We were getting ready to sleep in the master bedroom and then Oma left me for a while to go downstairs. The house was so quiet and I grew scared. By the time Oma got back to the bedroom, I was crying and asking to go home. She had to call my parents and my dad picked me up in the middle of that very night. 13 (or 14) years later, it was already quiet at 8 pm in Bandung (compared to Jakarta, the big city I grew up in). A similar feeling of wanting to go home did creep in, but I didn’t cry. This time I knew everything would be okay.

For the next two weeks I stayed at her place. She woke me up at 4 every morning so I wouldn’t be late for the orientation. She ‘prescribed’ me with toasted bread when I got a bowel problem. She was also the one who introduced me to Lusti, the daughter of Opa’s old colleague who lived just around the corner and was also accepted to the same faculty so I had someone to go to campus with every day.

After those first weeks, I got my own place, a bit closer to campus. She called me every now and then to tell me to stop by whenever she cooked something special, like hutspot, potato salad, pastel tutup (I don’t know what it’s called in English.. it’s like a veggie pie). She usually made all those food to be distributed to underprivileged students that she helped and I got the leftover (which was still a generous portion). I visited her about once a month. I also introduced her to my then-boyfriend (whom she liked because he was not ashamed to carry an umbrella) and some of my college friends. She usually showed (and gave) us her handicrafts: cross-stitched stuff, rag dolls, and many more.

Also in 1994, Oma celebrated her 80th birthday. We held it big since we thought it was such a milestone (who were we to know that she set the bar high for her peers, creating the real milestone almost 20 years later). Every single family member came and my sister and I got to sing at the event.

To this day, I remain the only grandchild who went to Bandung for university. And it was not any university. It was the same place where Opa taught for many years of his life (I never knew him, he passed away long before I was born). Despite the difference in faculties–he taught Engineering Physics and I learned Graphic Design–when I graduated in 1998 I went straight to his laboratory (Laboratorium Adhiwiyogo) and had a picture taken in front of it to show Oma. It also marked the end of Oma (and Bandung) chapter for me.

Oma moved to Jakarta not long after that (I think it was in 2000) and her house was sold. It was a sad decision but also for the better because she lived by herself and was not getting any younger. We couldn’t bear to think what would happen if she fell (like she did) and no one knew (unlike what happened). And so another chapter began.

In Jakarta, Oma lived at my aunt and uncle’s. She had her own room and it was never tidy (I guess now I know where that trait came from). Scraps of fabric, framed photographs, and cute knick-knacks everywhere. She kept herself busy sewing bags with applique and cross-stitch designs, which she sold and then donated the proceeds to fund ‘nasi murah’ (cheap meal) program. She also sew cushion covers, drawstring pouches, and the likes that she proudly gave away to us, her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, whenever possible. If you were ever invited to one of her birthday lunches in April, you would get one for sure. Usually after she enjoyed herself watching us compete in a game (which I was almost always appointed the host–don’t ask me why). Once, I was asked to do a speech about her. I told them that she was an inspiration for me. With no time and talent wasted, how could she not be?

In 2011, Oma outlived my husband despite her being diagnosed with breast cancer and had undergone mastectomy a couple of years earlier. Apart from being a fighter, she had a good taste in men, saying “I’ve always liked Manadonese men!” (referring to my late husband). That made the two of us, Oma. 😉

I went to visit Oma a week before she was admitted to hospital. She was unusually weak and silent. Every now and then she would say, “Ik ben moe.”–I’m tired, in Dutch. Well, I guess if you have lived for almost a century you’re entitled to say that.

The last time I saw her still breathing in the hospital, I whispered to her ear, “Oma, if you’re tired, it’s okay to rest. Really. You’ll be with Jesus, Opa, and Victor (my late husband), so don’t worry. We’ll all be together again soon, anyway.”

Oma passed away later that night, a month before her 99th birthday. She was so blessed to have lived that long and what a blessing she was for us and those who knew her. We bid our farewell to her yesterday at the crematorium. Somehow I could picture her giving away her hand-sewn drawstring pouches like she always did, only now they’re not filled with bars of soap, but good memories. 🙂

Related post on my sister’s blog: http://saxsilverain.wordpress.com/2013/03/09/about-oma/