"Mei, I've never told you that I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, two years since the incident in 1998. That's why my father made you and your aunt stay in Australia and never allowed you to return to Indonesia." said my father, his tone turned gentle as he realized that I was completely confused by everything he was explaining.
And so he explained that it was me and my aunt that he was most worried about compared to my mother. My mother is the one who knows about my father's illness, and the one who can be under my father's care as long as he wants, but not me and my aunt.
Digesting all of this, I then thought about how my father survived and covered his illness from me and my aunt while protecting us. Despite my disappointment over my dream of traveling the world which I felt would fail, I felt very guilty and sorry for what my father had. The fact that I was one of his biggest worries for the past twenty-two years, but on the other hand I live life without worry and knowing that there is someone who suffers from anxiety over his affection for me and that person is my father, makes my heart feel so broken.
The events of 1998 left a huge scar on our entire family for what happened. If this sounds exaggerated, I'll break down the story here:
I was only sixteen years old when me, my father and mother were enjoying a relaxed dinner but then turned into a tense atmosphere that occurred in my housing complex. From inside the house, I still clearly remember hearing voices in Indonesian saying "burn, burn, burn. Kill the Chinese. Use it." Shortly thereafter, thick smoke appeared which could be seen through the mosquito net curtains of my window. All the electricity in my father's house was turned off, hoping that nobody would pretend so that our family would be safe from the looting, rape and murder committed by elements at that time. In complete darkness, with an unreliable home phone signal, my father tried to contact my aunt who was known to be staying at his shop that night, but received no answer. After three days of securing ourselves at home, my father ventured out of the house to find out how my aunt was and to get groceries that were no longer in the house. God answered our prayers with my father returning in good condition, but what became a big wound for our family was; my aunt was brought home mute, speechless, blank stare, lethargic, and in a state of being a victim of rape committed by three youths on the night of May 13, 1998. On the seventh night after the incident, my father decided for our family to flee to a safer country. Leaving a business that was built for years with great difficulty on the basis of recklessness in belief and leaving the house filled with many joyous stories by coercion of sincerity, living life with images of sad events and ferocity that may never be forgotten.
I have to accept that my family is like this now. The tremendous change that occurred as a result of that event changed my entire life. I accept everything, I face everything. I just hope my story won't happen to other people and to other races on this earth, in any part of the world.
For the person who caused all of this to happen, wherever you are now, I hope your children and grandchildren don't get karma from what you did in the past. It's cruel, how an event kills dreams and messes up the lives of many people.
-I am just someone. But someone like me that day, wasn't just one-
