I was 13 years old when my sister, Priti, moved out of the
house and into her college dorm. We were sitting in my parent’s minivan about
to roll out of the driveway when she said, “My whole life is packed in this
car.” She sat with her chin in her hands thinking about the boxes and
suitcases in the trunk behind us. It was a bittersweet moment. I was sad to see
my sister leave the house, but I was also happy that she was starting a new
chapter of her life.
After my parents and I helped Priti move in, we hugged her and
packed ourselves back into the minivan. The car ride was quiet and I’m certain
my mom was holding back tears in the front seat. At home, I avoided the empty feeling in my
heart; I distracted myself by rereading my favorite parts of Harry Potter.
I was reminded of Priti’s move because my host sister, Diah,
left for college today. For days my host family has been helping her pack and
preparing for her departure. Although my ibu (host mom) tried to hide it, I
knew she had been crying for weeks. One day I joked with her saying, “We can’t
let Diah go. She must stay here with us forever!” I hugged Diah tightly as she laughed
and struggled to get out of my arms. The family laughed along with us, but my
ibu accepted the sad truth. “No, she has to go. She won’t be happy if she stays
here forever,” she replied.
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| Diah (left), Nova (right) and me (middle) on my 24th birthday on May 17. |
This morning my host family got up before sunrise. I could
hear their footsteps around the house as they readied Diah’s bags. My host
parents were not able to accompany Diah to the city of Malang, so they hired a
driver to come pick her up. The wait for the driver was pure agony. My ibu kept
busy by sweeping the house 2, maybe 3 times. My bapak (host dad) made sure all
of Diah’s paperwork was in order. My other host sister, Nova, followed Diah around
the house making sure she had everything she needed.
When the driver finally came, we loaded Diah into the car.
In Indonesia, children will take their parents right hand and put it to their
cheek as a sign of respect. Diah did this to her parents and tried doing it to me.
I stopped her and hugged her instead. “I’m your sister, not your elder,” I
whispered. Once Diah was seated comfortably inside the van, we stood off to the side waving our last goodbyes. The four of us watched the van roll down the street
and turn right onto the main road.
Afterwards Bapak went into
the house and turned on the TV. Nova cried in her bedroom. Ibu and I sat on the
front porch. Several minutes of silence went by when finally Ibu turned to me with tears
streaming down her cheeks and asked, “Do parents in America feel sad when their
children move away?”
I took her hand in mine. “Setiap orang tua di dunia- every parent in the world,” I
said.
