It is said that there’s always a first time for everything. I had been through a lot of firsts in my whole life. The first time I came out to this world, the first time I cried, the first time I saw my mother. Of course, I don’t remember those moments. 😂 But how amazing is it to remember everything from the moment you were born? Well, I don’t think it’s possible, though.

Talking about the beginnings, the firsts, I remember the first time I realized that my father loved us, his 4 daughters. My parents had lived separately since the very beginning of their marriage. My mother had to stay in Bandung, and my father had to move from one place to the other because of his job. My 3 sisters and I stayed with our mother. The absence of our father in our lives led us (or at least for me) to think of him as a stranger. I would meet him at least once a week on the weekend, but I didn’t think it was necessary. I thought I didn’t need his presence in my life. My life was fine with my mother by my side.

When I was in kindergarten, my father picked me up from school one day. It surprised me because it was a weekday. My father was not supposed to be in Bandung on a weekday. Then, he took me to a playground in a supermarket near our house. I was happy that day, but I still had a weird relationship with this man. So I had mixed feelings at that time. 😂 It was my core childhood memory with my father. It was confusing but memorable.

Fast forward to the year I was in high school. My father had lived and worked in Bandung for several years. Then he got a better job offer and had to live so far away on Natuna Island. He had a project to build an Islamic center there. The last day before his departure, he took me to school. At that moment, it hit me. That was the last time my father lived near me and took me to school. In the car, my father said several things for me to remember in his absence for the next few years. They were standard advice every parent would say to their kids. Things like I have to be a good kid, I have to be good to my mother, I have to study diligently. But I sensed a little bit of sadness and worry in his voice and expression. As an empath, I felt him and felt sad for him leaving, too. At that moment, I knew, even with his poor communication skills and his inability to show his love to his children, he loved us and felt sorry for leaving us. He had to fulfil our needs, and he sacrificed everything he could to give us better lives. And I respect him for that.