Marjolyn Lotte Van Dijk
A Narration about A Glinting Floweret Blooming in the middle of A Hellish Dessert
By Sabrina Zuliza (Sabrene Calanthe)
(Introduction To College Writing Project)
Dutch East Indies, 1935—a young lady in white kebaya—seemed to be in her late 20s—was moving her soft slender fingers on raven hair of a beautiful mixed lassie sitting in front of a huge hickory wood mirror. “Oh poor Marjoly”. “Why is papa hiding us?” the girl looking into the mirror deeply. The mother takes a white calanthia off of a vintage vas on their dressing table and put the small scentful flower between her daughter’s ear and hair “how soft” she whispered. She adored having orchid flowers at home. Right after the calanthia prettified Marjoly’s look, she she soothed her sad daughter with poetic answer, “because you are an alluring calanthia, sweetie”, “rare beauty, and rare beauties like you are supposed to be hidden in a pearl cage so that no menace will ever hurt your heart and tarnish your charm” the lady perfected the words. The little girl kept the words in her first page of her years-old diary book until her teenage and she always rcmembered that she was a calanthia flower.
Marjolyn Lotte van Dijk was a mixed girl born and raised in Batavia, Dutch East East Indies of Portuguese-Indian from her mother’s side and Frisian Dutch from her father. She had extremely unrealistic Indo-Aryan beauty, such a perfect mixture of different colors, she was to be called the alexandrite gemstone if it were a human. Her mother, Melicia Diaz was born to a Keralan Mardijker (freed slave) and a creole Portuguese clerk, Van Dijk married and christianized Melicia after Marjolyn’s birth to give the baby his last name so Marjolyn had rights for European education. Marjolyn inherited her parents’ good features into a dreamy harmony. Vibrant basil eyes, long and wavy raven hair, curly lashes, thick pink lips and defined cheekbones. Small but long and pointy Caucasian nose, bright clean skin, a tone darker than her father, imagine well-cared Southern European skin.
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Marjolyn steps her mary jane off the pedal of her cycle, parks the raleigh and walks gracefully to a white Indies building, on the picturesque building, written “St. Gertrudis Zusterschool”. Out of nowhere, a blonde girl grabs her hand gently—her bestfriemd she thinks is a half of herself, Elena Wijnaldum. Marjolyn is now 16, she has been studying at a nursing school for a year. Quite a normal life the young lady is living. She speaks creole Portuguese, Dutch and Petjoek (Creole Malay-Dutch). Serving at a church every Sunday, picking berries with her mother at golden hours, sewing fabrics until it turns into a cute wear in house yard with Elena.
While they are walking to their class room, Elena breaks the silence between them, “Oh, Marjolie, i received a lovie dovide letter from Henk. I am making him a cute sweater tonight!” Elena’s cheeks turns into a couple of apples. The blonde’s behaviour tickles Marjolyn a little too hard that she giggles.
“Oh, Elene, the entire boy’s dorm sent me hundreds” Marjolyn pinches Elena’s button nose, downwards her upwarded curved lips. “My dear Marjolie, can’t you just celebrate my happiness for once? That thing is such a silly question to ask because the whole earth knows you are the wanted beauty” Elena looks like the firefly queen above flowers having its tail extinguished and leaving the flower field.
“I’m sure just kidding my lovely best friend. Of course i am full of joy seeing you found your lovebird pair” Marjolyn draws back the blonde’s smile. “But, Marjolie, why don’t you have a lover? You pull all kinds of boys even the finest ones” Marjolyn brushes her raven hair using her red nails, her smile fades a little, “I don’t understand, Elene. My mama always tells me i am a calanthia that allures so i have to keep myself hidden, my papa ashamed of me every time he is around his family and friends so i never get by his side when people are around us just because my mama is a child of a Keralan slave with her creole Portuguese husband. And every day i told my ex lovers about it, they suddenly insulted my mother, they were all white boys, i left them instantly. So i think i have always been supposed to be hidden and not born for sweet love”. Elena stops the clip-clop sounds of their shoes, grabs the pair of Marjolyn’s skinny hands, “You have told me that many times since we picked our first rose together in the garden, dear Marjolie. Look at your gorgeous green eyes, yes, make them stare into mine. Listen to me, they are just entitled arrogant piece of sh*t. And you just are not that lucky now, i know, one day you will go somewhere and find someone matches your personality”. Elena spreads her arms asking the girl in front of her to be in. Marjolyn hugs her loveliest friend so warmly, not caring about the time keeps running.
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