Leaving the Nest: A Universal Bittersweet Moment

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.

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.