Jidah

While looking at a photo on the table, memories reach back to the past. The recollections stir the soul – bitter, sweet, joys, and sorrows play in the box of my thoughts, concerning my beloved family.

When I was a child, I was cared for by my jidah. I was nurtured and looked after with full love and affection. The love she gave never wavered. Her embrace meant everything to me, and she left a profound impact on my life. Her sweet smile could melt my heart, just like her beautiful voice. The sweet memories came to an end when my parents brought me back to Singapore.

Upon arriving in Singapore, I had to adapt to life without my jidah. It was challenging, but I managed to adjust because she continued to provide care and love even through phone calls. Despite the distance, she remained an important figure in my life, serving as my strength and inspiration.

Several years have passed, and my family returned to Indonesia to visit my ailing jidah. I had initially planned a vacation there, but little did I know that it would turn into a visit to my unwell jidah. During her illness, I felt like I lost half of the strength and spirit that I possessed.

Our arrival was greeted warmly. Tears wetted the faces as everyone expressed their longing for each other. After releasing our longing emotions, my mama and I hurriedly entered my jidah’s room. I saw her lying weak, and I couldn't hold back my tears, just like my mama who couldn't contain her sadness.

After seeing my jidah, I chose to rest. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. Shortly after, I woke up unintentionally upon hearing the sound of my jidah screaming in pain. Despite my fatigue and drowsiness, I walked over to see her being treated. I could hear her moaning in pain.

After witnessing that, I gathered in the living room with my family. We shared stories while enjoying martabak, one of the Indonesian dishes. Shortly after, everyone retired to their respective rooms to sleep as it was late and we were tired. Unable to sleep, I decided to watch a movie. While watching, I heard the sound of my jidah screaming in pain. Unable to bear it, I tried to close my eyes and sleep.

As the days continued to pass, daylight persisted. Waking up late, I counted how many days I had left to spend with my jidah. I only had two days left there. Despite the sadness, I wouldn't waste time; I would cherish moments with my family and jidah. That day, I bought all the foods I used to eat as a child, such as cilok and bakso. I also met with my childhood friends.

Upon returning from the store, I saw my jidah still lying weak. Her lips were dry and peeling, her eyes were dull and in pain, and her cheekbones protruded. It was deeply distressing to witness her in such a state. Before long, the sun began to fade on the western horizon, casting a reddish hue. Night was about to take its reign.

The night arrived swiftly, accompanied by a sense of silence as my family went out for shopping. It was just my jidi and me left to care for jidah. Sadness lingered for not joining them, yet I could spend more time with my jidah. Sorrow transformed into joy. I saw a glimmer of happiness in my jidah's eyes, and a bud of joy blossomed in my heart, simultaneously dispelling the pounding beats within my chest.

The morning sun's rays gently tapped on the room, and the young sun emitted its light. The night passed swiftly, two days slipped away unnoticed. I went through the same activities, spending time with my loved ones. The beautiful day passed quickly. I didn't want to sleep, afraid that time would pass too swiftly.

The night was short-lived, giving way to morning as swiftly as lightning. Similar activities, but my family and I didn't go for a stroll. Instead, we spent time at home chatting and laughing together. Although time passed quickly, I felt grateful for being able to spend quality time with my beloved family and jidah.

As the rooster crowed, interrupting our peaceful sleep, my family and I had to wake up early to head to the airport and return to Singapore. The shadows of sadness and gloom still lingered on our faces. Everyone appeared somber. With heavy hearts, my family and I bid a reluctant farewell.

Upon reaching our destination, we prepared to board the plane and return to Singapore. The heaviness in leaving our beloved family members in Indonesia grew more palpable. Despite the sadness, I have my life in Singapore – I need to go to school, and my father still has work. Whether I like it or not, I must return to Singapore with a heavy heart.

Several days in Singapore have passed. One night, I couldn't sleep. I prayed for my jidah’s speedy recovery. Before long, I fell into a deep sleep. While I was asleep, I was awakened by my abah. With a heavy heart and a sad expression, my abah informed me that my jidah had taken her last breath in the hospital. Shocked, I ran to my mama’s room.

Mouth locked, heart sealed, and immersed in sorrow, my hopes shattered like millions of wandering dust. That's what I felt when I saw my jidah being shrouded through the phone. I saw the shadows of sadness and grief still etched on my mama’s face. Truly, her heart plunged to a depth too severe, overwhelmed by sorrow.

The event was not as flexible as gold, but amid that formidable crash, I didn't waver or break. My steadfast stance, an unbroken wall, shook under the threat of an emotional earthquake because I had to console my mama. After everything was done, I chose to calm myself and my heart by taking a rest.

Several days have passed, yet my smile can't dispel the clouds enveloping my face. My jidah’s face and voice linger in my memory. Sadness shrouds my heart. The enduring sadness has made it difficult for me to focus at school. During my teacher's explanations, I find it hard to give full attention; I often find myself daydreaming.

Day by day, my grades are declining as I struggle to concentrate during lessons. I feel increasingly sad and pressured due to my unsatisfactory grades. I get scolded by teachers and isolated by my peers, all without them knowing what's happening. It repeats, the same cycle repeats. I feel sad because almost every day I get reprimanded.

I feel increasingly pressured as I know that the End-of-Primary-School Examination is approaching. Drinking water feels like swallowing thorns, and eating rice feels like consuming husks – that's how sad I am about my grades. I have lost confidence in achieving satisfactory results. Sitting there lost in thought, I remember my jidah's advice that my determination and perseverance truly motivate, proving that giving up is not in my vocabulary.

Those words fueled my enthusiasm for studying. I studied diligently, never once thinking of giving up. The day of the End-of-Primary-School Examination arrived. I couldn't hide my fear, but I managed to tackle all the questions with ease. Returning home from the afternoon exam with a bundle of determination, thick and resolute, as steadfast as the Kaaba when attacked by Abrahah.

The week passed, and on that day, I felt scared and lacked confidence. It was the day I would receive my exam results. I could only recall all the encouragement given by my jidah. Though she left me a long time ago, not a single moment did I forget her. Remembering her, I felt relieved and more confident to receive my grades.

My hard work paid off. I achieved satisfactory grades. I know without the encouraging words from my jidah, I wouldn't have been able to stay focused and succeed. I am immensely proud of myself. I am grateful and at a loss for words. The feeling I have cannot be explained or written with words.

I can feel life without my jidah. Life without her feels empty. I've lost everything, starting from the spirit and love she gave me from childhood to adulthood. I can sense life without hearing her beautiful voice, seeing her sweet smile, and feeling her warm embrace – it feels hollow and empty. I hope she can forgive all the mistakes I made from my childhood to adulthood. I also hope she knows how much I cherish and love her. My jidah is precious and meaningful to me. I love her.