Prologue
In a shared hospital room, three patients lay on their beds, two of which are being visited by their families. As curtains in-between them give little to no privacy, they give each other respect and try not to disturb one another; speaking in soft whispers and light chatters. At the very corner of the room, lies a weak man, staring at Jakarta’s orange sky through the window of the room. Beside him, his wife, sitting on a chair and lightly holding his hand. Silently, they embrace each other’s company.
The door to the shared room slides open, revealing David Li. Carrying his bag, he’s wearing his school’s batik uniform, but as kids nowadays do, the end of his uniform isn’t tucked in. The boy diverts his eyes from the other patients, respectfully whispering “excuse me” at every chance he gets. Soon, he arrives at the corner, standing still at the end of the weak man’s bed. David’s black tired eyes lay on the lying man who gives him a pained smile.
“How’s school?” The weak man asked softly.
“I got physics homework,” David replied. “I’ll do it once I’m home.”
“That’s my son…” The weak man chuckles.
David’s body slouches forward from a wreck that is his school. The weak man puts his hand in the air to the direction of his son. Not wanting to disappoint his dad, David reluctantly walks to his side and grasps his rippled hand. Understandably, the light chatters and whispers from other families do not sweep them from their sadness.
The family hardly speaks of their day as they’re waiting for the inevitable. But amidst the silence, the weak man smiles brighter than the days before. His hands rub the hands of his wife and son lovingly and tenderly. His wife followed suit, but her tears showed she couldn’t possibly match his enthusiasm. She notices another thing, her son doesn’t smile or even shed a tear. He hardly looks at his dad, and instead reserves himself to the comforting floor tiles he’s on.
“David,” the mom called in a raspy voice, “say goodbye to papa.”
For reasons unknown to his parents, David does not speak a word. He continues to divert his tired eyes from his own dad. As much as his mom would like to raise her voice, she realized it’s not the time… not in front of her dying husband.
“Son… Be a good boy, okay?” the man’s voice heightened. “Listen to your mom and be a good boy, you hear?”
“Yes, papa…” the young man’s-tired eyes were still glued to the ground.
“Say, David… Was I a good papa?”
As soon as the young man heard his voice, reluctantly, his tired eyes were fixed on his dad’s. David finds it hard to control the heat on his chest or his legs from falling.
“You were alright, papa…”
