firdhaussi

I remember when we used to cook opor together,
the kitchen alive with the smell of coconut milk and spices,
her hands moving with a grace I always admired,
chopping, stirring, teaching me—
“Not too much salt, just a pinch. Cooking is about balancing and harmony,” she said

We’d go grocery shopping,
her with her list, me with my wandering eyes,
choosing the youngest tempe in the stall
the freshest green vegetables,
and I’d drift off, looking at things we didn’t need—Food street I always loved:
klepon, gethuk, lupis, es kacang ijo,
all the treats she let me sneak into the cart.

And the garden…
she loved getting her hands in the dirt,
planting moringa and ginseng leaves,
She told me plants are healthy,
and she knew how to tend to the plants,
making sure everything grew just right.
We’d spend hours outside, side by side,
pulling weeds,
feeling grateful at how Mother Earth gave us so much,
just like Koes Plus sang:
“Orang bilang tanah kita tanah surga,
tongkat kayu dan batu jadi tanaman.”

But now…
now she doesn’t remember the kitchen,
or how much salt is too much.
She walks through the aisles of the store
and forgets why we’re there,
forgetting the laughter we used to share.

The garden is quiet,
the moringa and ginseng leaves still grow,
But  I pull the weeds alone now

Sometimes 
We still go to her favorite restaurant,
having nasi padang with gulai kepala kakap
and I was happy, she laughed from ear to ear,
just like we read “Bobo” magazine together back then
reading every page like it was the best story ever told.

I sit beside her, still,
holding on to the pieces of her that remain,
to the way her hand still feels warm in mine
she looks at me with eyes that I don’t quite recognize,
but then, in a quiet moment,
after she prays, she looks at me,
and I see her again,
if only for a fleeting second.

And yet, even now,
there’s still love.
In the way she smiles, even if she doesn’t know why.
In the way she reaches for my hand
even when she doesn’t remember my name or who i am

And i said to her
I hope we can take care of you, Bu,
just like Bapak always took care of you
With the same patience,
the same tenderness.
And I really wish life was easier for her, for us

This is the longest goodbye,
and I’ll keep saying it,

over and over,
until one day,

it is, the last bye.

A Long Goodbye
Firdhausi, Sept 2024

this poem was performed in Indonesia International Book Fair: Open Mic Jakarta Poetry Slam x Pear Press, 27 Sept 2024 at Jakarta Convention Center

feature image: pinterest