Sydney, 9 March 2017
I just got another message from my another half-sister telling me about my father's last condition. I guess they kept sending me the messages since I never replied them. This time she said my father's health condition is worsening. He had gotten surgery twice because after the first one the doctor found a blood clot inside his surgical wound. She said he is weakening despite the surgeries went successful. He couldn't wake up from the bed and he only could do all his activities on it, like for eating or cleaning himself. My sister said she ran out of money to take care of him. She said this may be his karma since none of his children wants to take care of him. She asked me to forgive him, and asked me whether I can give a financial support or at least a prayer for him.
Previously, I never replied their message not because I didn't forgive him. I didn't reply because I am respecting my mom's feeling. I know how hurt it is for her. I can remember all the memories of my mom's effort to raise us by only herself. I remember all very vividly in my brain. I remember when I slept on a piece of newspaper on the floor beside her when she made some donuts to be sold in small food canteens. I remember when she took care of us every morning and when she went home very late every night after working as a servant in our relative's canteen. I remember when we could not afford a text book and she wrote the book for me so I could study. I remember her last tears when she fought with my father. We had been through it all and even we forgot how it feels, until he came back again in our live and reopen the wound.
Then, today, I decided to reply my sister's message. I told her that I have forgiven him since so long time ago. I remember the last time I met him was about four or five years ago when I visited my uncle's house in Jakarta. At that time, I held my father's hand and kissed his hand just like what the children do to their parents. I took him to a restaurant to have a lunch before we walked together to my uncle's house. I never told this story to my mom. I guess I have forgiven him, but I can never forget what has happened with my family. I wish I could forgive him to fix everything, but it never can do.
The feeling that I have for him is the mix of missing, hating, compassion, and sick. Sometimes I feel so sorry for him for having nothing and living a poor life. I am not sure whether or not he really loves me. I know he always tried to find me at least once a year after we separated. I am amazed with his ability to successfully find me even though I never told him where I lived (p.s. I moved from one to other cities regularly for my study and job). But is that enough to show his love? Is that all he can do? I mean he is a man; he should do better than what my mom has done for her kids. I don't ask anything to him, since I know he can give me nothing to support our life. Instead of travelling around and begging for a place to live, he'd better to take care of himself and improve his life better.
He never changed. All he had in his mind was only about religion. He always told me to pray punctually and not to skip it. I remember when I was a kid, he never allowed me to play outside before I recite the holy Quran, otherwise, he would undoubtedly whip me with a broom. He always brought me to a mushola in our neighbourhood and asked me to carry an adzan while he would take the position as imam of the prayer. He always took me with him to his Quran recitation organisation in the town. He ordered my mom and all my sisters to cover their head with veil whenever they went out. But he didn't have any vision to improve our family's life better. I remember when he said to my mom that he wanted to send me to Islamic boarding school, and the fact that all his daughters from his another wife are matched and married just right after they finished their high school (while my mom send us to college so we can live well and independently). He never got realistic about the life; he was so obsessed with the life after death only. I think that is the problem of most of Muslims.
My childhood memory, along with all the facts and reality I witnessed when I grew up have made me lose my faith to the values of the religion that my father and the society had planted in my brain. I saw how those values fell apart and no longer relevant with the life. To me, they look outdated and full of contradiction (I'll probably write more about this in another post). My life has shown me another perspective of life which religion always denies. Now I see this world is filled with hypocrites.
Thus, I don't believe in karma, destiny, fate or whatever it is mentioned by my half-sister on her message. I believe what we have today is the consequence of our decision in the past. People learn the knowledge and technology to understand how the nature works. We are improving our life quality and expecting a longer life. An epidemic was considered as a God's condemnation now we can make its antidote. We are deciding our own future ourselves. Are we playing God now? Many Muslims in Indonesia are forced not to question too much, nor to think too far, but how can they have a faith if there is still a doubtfulness in their heart. They keep denying it for the entire of their life. It is also hard for them to accept the changes or new ideas. Maybe this is the reason why Muslims are now left behind. This is also what happens to my father. He accepts the situation as a God's plan, while actually he always has a choice to choose in life of what he wants to be.
To me? I do not regret with what I have been through in my life. Everyone must dream a perfect life, but if had a different life, I probably could never understand how it feels to be the people like me.
And another thing, as an Indonesian, who lives in Indonesia, who works for Indonesian government, and who gets scholarship from Indonesian government, I have been asked to be devout to the god. But again, anyone can force anyone else to have a religion, but can never force a belief in someone's heart.
The feeling that I have for him is the mix of missing, hating, compassion, and sick. Sometimes I feel so sorry for him for having nothing and living a poor life. I am not sure whether or not he really loves me. I know he always tried to find me at least once a year after we separated. I am amazed with his ability to successfully find me even though I never told him where I lived (p.s. I moved from one to other cities regularly for my study and job). But is that enough to show his love? Is that all he can do? I mean he is a man; he should do better than what my mom has done for her kids. I don't ask anything to him, since I know he can give me nothing to support our life. Instead of travelling around and begging for a place to live, he'd better to take care of himself and improve his life better.
He never changed. All he had in his mind was only about religion. He always told me to pray punctually and not to skip it. I remember when I was a kid, he never allowed me to play outside before I recite the holy Quran, otherwise, he would undoubtedly whip me with a broom. He always brought me to a mushola in our neighbourhood and asked me to carry an adzan while he would take the position as imam of the prayer. He always took me with him to his Quran recitation organisation in the town. He ordered my mom and all my sisters to cover their head with veil whenever they went out. But he didn't have any vision to improve our family's life better. I remember when he said to my mom that he wanted to send me to Islamic boarding school, and the fact that all his daughters from his another wife are matched and married just right after they finished their high school (while my mom send us to college so we can live well and independently). He never got realistic about the life; he was so obsessed with the life after death only. I think that is the problem of most of Muslims.
My childhood memory, along with all the facts and reality I witnessed when I grew up have made me lose my faith to the values of the religion that my father and the society had planted in my brain. I saw how those values fell apart and no longer relevant with the life. To me, they look outdated and full of contradiction (I'll probably write more about this in another post). My life has shown me another perspective of life which religion always denies. Now I see this world is filled with hypocrites.
Thus, I don't believe in karma, destiny, fate or whatever it is mentioned by my half-sister on her message. I believe what we have today is the consequence of our decision in the past. People learn the knowledge and technology to understand how the nature works. We are improving our life quality and expecting a longer life. An epidemic was considered as a God's condemnation now we can make its antidote. We are deciding our own future ourselves. Are we playing God now? Many Muslims in Indonesia are forced not to question too much, nor to think too far, but how can they have a faith if there is still a doubtfulness in their heart. They keep denying it for the entire of their life. It is also hard for them to accept the changes or new ideas. Maybe this is the reason why Muslims are now left behind. This is also what happens to my father. He accepts the situation as a God's plan, while actually he always has a choice to choose in life of what he wants to be.
To me? I do not regret with what I have been through in my life. Everyone must dream a perfect life, but if had a different life, I probably could never understand how it feels to be the people like me.
And another thing, as an Indonesian, who lives in Indonesia, who works for Indonesian government, and who gets scholarship from Indonesian government, I have been asked to be devout to the god. But again, anyone can force anyone else to have a religion, but can never force a belief in someone's heart.
