Journeys, Part 2 (The End)

Legacy

My uncle picked us up that Wednesday morning at our hotel. After packing our luggage, we moved out and headed straight for Wonosobo and Banjarnegara. Conversations were aplenty during the journey, but I stayed out of it most of the time. Participations were only when inquiries were made (usually by my uncle, or my mother who at one time succeeded in upsetting me by waking me up when I was about to doze off). The rest of the time were spent dozing off into broken dreams (thanks to my mom) and the occasional admiration toward the green views that surrounds the landscapes that we passed through.

I had always loved the colour green. Not in the superficial sense of ways (think fashion and design), but more into the natural sense of ways (think trees and mountains). For some reason, they have a calming effect on me. And the landscape itself were often beautiful and a sight to behold. It was such a shame that it rained most of the time. For if it wasn't because of it, I would have asked my uncle to stop the car for awhile so I could step out and take some picture with my currently favourite digital camera.

Banjarnegara was our main destination. For it was there that my father originated from. And it was there that the graveyard of my ancestors was located (albeit from my father's side of the family). I couldn't remember how long it took to get to Banjarnegara from Jogjakarta. All I could remember was that it was early afternoon when we got to the cemetery. The sun was shining brightly and the day was hot. My mother had to use her umbrella to block out the heat.

My father had mentioned this during quite a few instances in the past. And there at the cemetery he mentioned it again. It was about legacy. My name was put in both tombstones (on one as a grandson, and on the other as great-grandson). For those who have what I would term as normal core families, this might not be a significant matter. But to me, whose family did not fall into the 'normal' category, it was quite a significant matter.

The father that I mentioned in this narrative was not my biological father. He was a stepfather, married to my mother around two years after I was conceived. Biologically speaking, my name did not deserve to be engraved on the two tombstones. However, it was there, small and insignificant, but ever present. My feelings were vague concerning the matter. My feelings were alwasy vague when it came to matters concerning my stepfather.

On one hand, there was warmth. The engravings were a small token, a sign, that in a way my stepfather's family accepted me as part of the family. But on the other hand, trust was not something that is common in my relationship with my stepfather. For I had learned through the history of my life and also his that he did not do something or pointed out a matter without expecting something in return. His siblings did not exactly have a clean bill either in this regard.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was just trying to win my love and trust. Personally, I would consider the chance of such possibility to be a lot smaller than a decimal, knowing him and his history. To think optimistically would of course be the best option (for the mind and body). Alas, distrust will always lurk in the back of my mind when the matter concerns my stepfather, like an itch that you could not scratch away. I could be wrong to distrust him. I could be right. Only time would tell. I just hope that Time would not be late in this regard.

I could not, however, try to discern as to what his true motives were, to frequently mention about the engravings. It could possibly only to make conversations. Something that I tried to keep in minimum amount with him.

Flower petals were poured, prayers were said, and finally we left the graves of grandparents and great-grandparents whose memory I could not clearly recall anymore.

The night was spent in a hotel in Bandungan, a town just outside Semarang. The scenery and weather would remind anyone who came from Jakarta of Puncak. We arrived in Semarang in the afternoon on the next day.

During our stay in Semarang, we paid a visit to an old relative from my mother's side of the family. He lived in a small house. It rested just around the corner of a three-way crossroad, small like a footnote at the bottom of a page, almost forgotten. The house was properly kept and it was clean enough. However it was not exactly a feast to the eyes. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the state of the house's looks did not trouble him at all. Appearance is not held in high regard when you're blind and half-deaf.

It was a good thing that he had a loyal nurse to take care of him. Unfortunately, he found such loyalty from his children quite lacking, non-existent even. His children did not pay visits, did not make calls to him, did not want to have anything to do with him. The matter has got my utmost attention.

There were times when I wonder about what I would do about my parents (my mother in particular). Would I take them under my wings. Or would I leave them. Would I be able to put up with my mom when she was starting to become a nuisance in matters concerning behaviour and speech. Would I be able to handle matters that may arise from having my parents and my own family in the same house. I know that I was not the only child in the family, for I have a younger brother. However, such matters usually fall in the hands of the eldest. And in my case, having two fathers did not help to enlighten the matter either.

In our beloved country and culture, the thought of leaving your aging parents in one of those houses for old people was so horrible that it could be considered blasphemy. However, I would not deny the fact that the thought crossed my mind in a few instances. I knew for a certainty though, that when the time comes I would not and could not bring myself to do such thing. At first, I felt ashamed and evil for letting such thought cross my mind. But later in an intimate disclosure made after the holiday was over with an old and very close friend, I knew that I was not the only one who had put such thought into consideration.

We left the old relative with his loyal nurse, and continued on with our journey.

It could be said that it was not the holiday that I had expected it to be, especially when matters above were taken into considerations. I found little peace and solace during the journey. The green landscape did little to enlighten my already dark mood. There were only more musings, considerations, and disappointments. And the fact that I'd be starting my new job the next week only made it worse. The whole affair only succeeded in waking up old ghosts and demons.

I found going back to Jakarta to be a relief. Watching the landscape disappears again under a blanket of clouds had always been a special kind of amusement for me. And it was quite fortunate that I once again got the window seat. There was a feeling of peace, looking at the land far below. It felt as if all the troubles in the world meant nothing from up here, insignificant in size.

However, as surely as everything that goes up will come down, so does the landscape would greet me again. Like old ghosts and demons, coming to greet me from the deep within my past. Old ghosts and demons, with whom I have not made my peace.

Jakarta greeted us like an old friend who does not know what to say to you anymore.

I could only hope that one day, I could come to terms with these old ghosts and demons. I hope I could one day have the courage to accept the fact that these old devils were only manifestations of my darkest side. And that to make peace with them is to accept them. Maybe in avoiding evil, I have become evil.

And I could only hope that the next destination in my journey is Bali (a place to which I have never been). Without my parents.

There it was, the end of my journey. The end of my ignorance.

(Author's note: Shortly before this writing was published, the author had made a different version of the writing that was principally the same in content. Due to the author's carelessness, it was lost during editing. The author had to cool himself down for a couple of minute before he could bring himself to say that if he could do it once, he could do it again. The end result was satisfying, however the regret was still there: the author still feels like banging his head to the wall for his carelessness).