55
Tshabina
6 January 2014
It had been several days since Tsabinu and I had returned to Indonesia. We decided to fly home two days later once we heard Dad had been admitted to the hospital.
The plan had been to spend the whole holiday there, but as always, life had other plans. What was meant to be joyful turned into chaos. On New Year’s Eve, not only did Dad fall ill, but Mama Nadine’s medical test results came back.
Thankfully, it wasn’t what we had feared.
At first, we suspected Mama Nadine had a heart condition, especially after the day when she clutched her chest in pain, breathless, and we had to rush her to the hospital.
But it should have been good news when the doctor dismissed Zioh and Zeraiah’s fears. Yet, judging from their faces and those of Grandpa Ethan and Grandma Morag, it clearly wasn’t.
As usual, I didn’t know much—just fragments. Phrases like Mama Nadine needed a new doctor or being moved to another hospital. Then, I was sure a fight had happened between Grandpa Ethan and Uncle Bakti over the phone. Grandpa Ethan was furious, berating him about something.
New Year’s Eve was the last night I saw warmth on Zioh and Zeraiah’s faces. It was the last time their expressions carried light before Mas Bibu, and I had to return home.
Even when Zioh hugged me and said goodbye at the airport, I knew it was only a mask—a cover for a soul that was anything but whole. He’d brushed my cheeks, but his touch was shaky.
I wanted to stay. Gosh, I really wanted to. I couldn’t bear to leave him, but Dad needed us.
I remembered how tightly I held onto him and Zeraiah, trying to tell them, without words, that I would always be with them, even if my body had to be away for a while.
When we returned to Indonesia, we went straight to the hospital. The hospital corridor carried the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic, a scent that had become familiar after I returned from London, and it burned my throat. We’d kept walking in rigid silence until I saw Mum and Uncle Bakti talking there.
Mum’s face was haggard and worn down, making my brother and me rush into Dad’s room. But once it was explained that Dad’s blood pressure was dangerously high and he needed rest, I forced myself to stay calm. However, my twin did not.
Lately, my brother had grown quieter, as if his mind was filled with something he couldn’t shake off. Whenever I asked, “Mas… is everything alright?” He would only give me a faint smile and say, “Yeah. I just need rest.”
But I knew he was lying.
They were all lying to me.
None of them were fine.
Nothing about any of this was fine.
I wanted to scream, to shout at them, to make them stop shutting me out and make them see that I was one of them, too.
I wanted to understand.To do something.
But they kept trying to keep me in the dark.
Uncle Bakti kept coming to the hospital and meeting me because I spent almost all my time there, staying with Mum while Mas Bibu had his lessons. The man often brought food and supplies, though we told him Mbak Mayang had already done so. He would still come and sit with us in the evenings onceDad was asleep.
Yesterday, he even offered to buy iPads for Mas Bibu and me so we wouldn’t be bored at the hospital. Of course, we refused straightaway.
Yet strangely, my chest tightened with a dull, heavy hurt.
Because the ones who needed Uncle Bakti most weren’t us. It was his family in England.
His children, who had been hurt and broken in London.
His wife, who had been ill and bedridden.
How busy could Zioh’s father be that he never went to England when his wife and children needed him most? Zioh’s family there had everything: comfort, security, anything money could buy. Grandpa Ethan’s people could handle everything. But…
