Beginning

In a place somewhere, the house stood waiting. The Joglo; a vernacular Javanese structure with an almost pyramidal tip of for a roof; is constructed from a combination of two auspicious teak woods; uger-uger and pandawa. The two variants of wood came from two different trees; each distinct in its anatomy. The uger- uger’s trunk splits into two branches, while the pandawa’s sprouts into five; characteristically true to its namesake. Though unclear of its origins, these two differing species planted a belief amongst men; focusing in particular on its otherworldly force.

Legend has it, a man who builds his house out of uger-uger will be granted a peaceful life, whereas a house built of pandawa is reputed to bring patience and resilience into the heart of its inhabitants.

Despite of these tales foretold, the woman however, never intended to choose between one or the other. She is instead quite certain of her decision to build a house with a combination of both woods, for a purpose deep down in her consciousness she knows is certain.

Her intuition pointed towards it. To utilize both woods and devour all the powers of nature contained within them, as much as possible, exhausting its potential to the very last drop.

Aware of her limitations, the woman knows she desperately needs to be in mother nature’s mercy to realize this house. She cares not if help comes from the realm of reality or that of the supernatural;

from sources which are visible as well as mystic. This sense of urgency comes after an awareness of something which is yet to happen, a future overflowing with darkness and agony. She knows her desire to change this course of fate could end in vain, but she is certain of one thing; that her special powers exist for a reason. She is certain, that all which is within her were bestowed upon by Sang Hyang Widi for a purpose. At that exact moment, she believed the reason was to protect herself, and her future descendants.

It has been a month of restless nights, where she has been woken up at three in the morning. She steps out and sat on the porch of the house; a house built upon many periods of abstinence. Amidst the silence of the early hours, she gazes towards the twilight surrounding the house as a quiet murmur of hopeful prayer resounded in her heart; that the roof above her head may be a lifelong fortress to her and her descendants. This hopeful longing has clouded her consciousness for a few months, ever since she left the house in her hometown. A place she once called home which was burned to ashes by her neighbors upon their discovery of her supernatural powers. “Such is the nature of humans. To be afraid of things which are beyond their understanding”, she murmurs painfully as she steps out into the backyard. Slowly and quietly, she squats down to grab a pinch of soil. Soundlessly she blows the pile resting on her palm empty. Again, she chants a prayer in her heart, that she be given strength to safeguard the house from an unforeseen future. She is reminded yet again of why she built this house in the first place. A strong and sturdy structure, equipped to shelter every single one of its inhabitants. Every single soul who longs to be protected and consoled. Every single one who glorifies immortality.

One

On one corner in a house, Dayu stood listening intently to the voice on the other end of the phone. The only other audible sound comes from the liquid slowly dripping through the Vietnamese- style coffee filter; filling the cup beneath it. The topic of their conversation is one which ignites much excitement to Dayu. It is about a house, one which holds a special importance to her.

“Are you absolutely certain that the house is up for sale?’’ “Yes. Affirmative. So you really are still looking for a studio?’’

“Of course! You are well aware that this house is no longer adequate to contain all my artworks”, says the young woman as she removes the coffee filter from the cup.

“Very well, then. I guess it is meant to be, Day. You have been looking for this type of property for a while now?”

“Yeah. From the photos you sent me, this house seems perfect. It is exactly like what I have in mind.”

“Alright then, what else are you waiting for? You better seal the deal before anyone else does. The price is too good to be true after all…”

“Ok, I will get back to you by tomorrow. Need to look into my savings and see what I can come up with.”

“Pffftt! As if I don’t know the extent of your personal wealth, hahahh!!’’ the man at the other end of the phone exclaims. The young woman can only grin at this statement. Touché , she thought as she sips into her warm coffee.

“Well, regardless of how much I have I still need to recalculate and weigh in my other expenses.”

“I know, I know. Very well then, I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow morning. Preferably before I leave for Jakarta. I have so much work piling up.”

“Alright, I’ll call you in the morning”

As Dayu end the phone call, a mixture of different feelings suddenly flood her consciousness. She is worried, excited, uncertain, and astonished; all at once. She has dreamt of owning a Joglo-style wooden house for a while now. She has always been visually struck at wooden elements incorporated into structures, especially houses. To her, a wooden house exudes both warmth

and coolness. This is especially true to wooden houses which were designed in a classic manner. To Dayu, this kind of houses give her an invaluable source of creative inspiration. As an artist, Dayu is also an introvert and a certain quietness matters greatly to her creative processes. A house is not merely a place to live, but also a shelter which provides the much needed distance from the outside world. To make a house as comfortable as possible, no matter how big the expense, is all completely justifiable within her terms.

Another reason why she has been longing to own a Joglo house is one which is completely sentimental. When she was just a child, her father brought her along to visit the house of a village elder, which is located near her grandfather’s tobacco field. The memory of this trip is clear as if it happened yesterday. Her father held her hand, and the seven-year-old Dayu stepped into the house, she

was introduced to Mbah Drajat. As they sat on the veranda, she glares into its wooden flooring and examines the shadows on the roof imprinted on the floor. Meanwhile, her father discussed some matters which was far from her comprehension, something along the line of her father’s wishes for Mbah Drajat to recruit the young people of the village to work at the tobacco field.

Mbah Drajat was a respected individual in the village, and he is known to have a great influence to the villagers. Dayu remembers this house vividly, also because it is not very often that she spends time with her father, just the two of them. That afternoon, they spent a significant amount of time together. They left the house right after lunchtime, and they went around Ambarawa before making their way to see Mbah Drajat. Every once in a while Dayu would look far into the empty distance as she gets lost in her own thoughts, and her father would glance at her in adoration. He knows very well that little Dayu is never fussy, but she often gets lost in her daydreams; especially after a long tiring day and when she has to wait for an extended period of time. That afternoon is such a case, and as her father caught her deep in her daydream he poured tea into her cup and said and smiled teasingly, “Please have some tea, princess.”

Dayu finds great pleasure from that afternoon. She can rarely spend that kind of light-hearted, quality time with her father at home. This is also one of the reason why she associates the Joglo house with a pleasant memory from her past; a longing which intensifies her desire for the house. She hopes that the ownership of a Joglo house would bring back all the good and pleasant memories that once brought her so much real life joy. As she snapped out of these flashbacks she calls Ariaji – her manager and best friend – as she could not contain her emotions after seeing images sent to her of a Joglo house around Purwodadi. According to Ariaji, that house belongs to a widow who recently passed away.

“Ji, how did you and Nilam come across that house?” asked Dayu on the phone as she scrolls through the photos on her email inbox.

“It was actually such a coincidence. Nilam needed to go to Solo to photograph a fort and temple at Tawangmangu, and as she was driven around they coincidentally drove past Purwodadi. I was still at Lasem at the time to take care of some family matters. Based

on Nilam’s story, her car caught a flat tire and it was at the car technician that she was told of the house and its story”, answered Ariaji.

“What exactly did they tell her of the house which made her so curious, Ji?”

“Day, you know very well that your friend Nilam could not leave news of this kind alone. She is always so drawn and curious towards architectural ruins and old buildings. As a photographer, finding these things are the equivalent of discovering a treasure trove. So naturally, she visited the place to see for herself if the house lives up to its stories.”

“And the house really is still in a pristine condition?” ask Dayu.

“Affirmative. It looks exactly like it does on the photos. This is why Nilam was puzzled by its ridiculously affordable price tag. Seventy million Rupiah! It’s practically nothing! Nilam even said that if

you would not take the house, she would. But she knows that you desperately needs a new studio, so she asked me to pass on the news to you.”

“Yeah, I do really need a separate studio space from my house. Besides, there is that leftover space behind the house and with that kind of price, it would be foolish not to buy it”, says Dayu enthusiastically. At that particular moment, she wanted so bad to confirm the purchase right away; especially after hearing of Nilam’s interest on the property. However, for some reason there are still doubts from within her that needs to be addressed. This is why when Ariaji called her this morning, she again asked for another day to make up her mind.

For a mere seventy million rupiah, that wooden house is in a condition which exceeds its monetary value. It has been

awhile now since she started searching for a Joglo house to be refunctioned as a studio space. It was also a fortunate coincidence that she was able to purchase the land behind her current home, and destroyed the gate in the hopes of building a compound where a studio space would be collected to her house. After calculating logistics and construction costs, Dayu was certain that the funds she has is sufficient to realize her dreams. This is also due to the fact that she has successfully sold five paintings. She could not think of a better opportunity to invest her savings, to finally make her dream of working under the roof of a Joglo house a reality, and most importantly to relive the beautiful memories of her father who is long gone.

The next morning finally comes, and Dayu could not be more certain of her decision to purchase the house. She calls Ariaji to inform him of this good news.

“So is the house going to be disassembled or sold as it is, Ji? I think I need to know more of its origins before I decide to seal the deal.”

“They were actually planning to destroy the structure, and sell the land where it stands. The owner of the place passed away, she was a widow who has left the house early on and moved in with her daughter in Surabaya. Ever since the house was uninhabited, it was taken care of by one person from a nearby village who was employed by the owner’s family. When the widow passed away, her daughter decided it would be best to destroy the house and sell

the land. She thought nobody would’ve wanted to buy an old house anyway. Well thankfully there are peculiar people like you and Nilam who takes interest in rundown houses.”

“I see. Ok Ji, I have to tell you that I have been captivated by this house ever I laid eyes on the photos you sent me. I’ll take it. I’ll transfer you the funds and I trust you would take care of the rest? Please also find somebody who would take care of the shipment”, says Dayu.

“Ok, boss. I expect no less than a massive house warming party!”

“You and your love of parties… Please send Nilam my gratitude. She is so difficult to reach sometimes.”

“I think she is still in Tawangmangu and her mobile is out of service.”

“Oh that explains it… Are you not going after her in Tawangmangu?”

“I would but I have to take care of your house first, boss.” “You really are an accountable employee”, tease Dayu.

Ariaji replied in protest, but he could not contain his laughter at the same time. “Employee? How dare you!” They proceeded to end that conversation on that humorous note, and Dayu got out of hit house to take a look at his backyard once again. Her imaginations run wild and she could see the picture perfect wooden house standing tall and framing the landscape in the nearby distance. ‘I must be crazy to have made such a bold decision in a whirlwind. But when else would such an opportunity come by? When else would I be able to relive the memory of that fine afternoon with dad on the wooden house? When else would I be able to own a space to commemorate those beautiful memories with dad?’ These thoughts streams through Dayu’s mind as she walks back inside her house.

***

As she has thoroughly planned with Ariaji, in a matter of a moth, the old wooden house stood charming on her backyard. It didn’t take much effort to consecrate the antique structure on the premises of Dayu’s backyard. Arjiaji hired the same men who disassembled the wooden house back in Purwodadi to re- assembled it in its new location.

“I think it saves us time and resources. They disassemble and reassemble antique structures such as this on the regular. They know perfectly well what they are doing”, explains Ariaji to Dayu’s questions.

But it turns out Ariaji miscalculated his forecast. Some workers got into an accident and were injured during the process of assembling the joglo house. One of the workers was curiously dropping a bunch nails in on his colleague’s path as they were carrying a heavy slab of wood. Another one was nailing his own hand onto the wooden wall, although that part of the wall did not even need any pinning at all. When asked to justify his action, that worker seems like he had no recollection of ever committing these oddities.

“I don’t know, Sir. I think I felt like I was holding something which needs to be pinned to the wall”, said the man to his friend who came to help him out of the situation. Ariaji immediately offered to bring these men to the hospital for a closer examination of their injuries.

“How did this happen, Ji? I thought you said they are experienced builders?” ask Dayu. She was both annoyed and concerned at the situation.

“Maybe they were just exhausted and distracted, Day. Don’t worry, just wait inside your house. I’ll take care of this”, said Ariaji as he tried to reassure Dayu.

Though intermingled by a series of mini accidents, the wooden house finally took its perfect form and stood as a proud accompaniment to the main house. From the kitchen located at the

back of the main house, the joglo house could be seen through the kitchen’s glass door.

The joglo house stood a mere 3 meters away from the what used to be the back gate of the main house.

‘’It turns out great, Day”, said Nilam as she stood inspecting the new studio from the kitchen. Dayu nods in agreement to this statement as she takes a sip from the ice cold bottle of beer, which she then taps onto the side of her cheek. The heat outside is scorching, signifying a typical day in mid-July; despite the odd rain pouring three days ago. From where they stand, Dayu sees some of their friends walking in and out of the house. From their expression it

is apparent that they are quite taken by the interior of the wooden house; which was left partition free, leaving the interior as one big empty space. Within this space Dayu displayed some of her

artworks, alongside a work table, and a few pieces of of her friends’ artworks she purchased for her own art collection.

“This is all thanks to you, Lam. If it wasn’t because of your discovery, I would not have had a studio by now”, expressed Dayu in gratitude as she clutches her friend’s shoulder.

“Anything for you, bestie. Although I must say, even if you weren’t interested in the house, I wouldn’t have let it go. I would buy it myself. Such a beauty isn’t it?”

“Yes, I was surprised as how strong the wooden panels are, despite its age.”

“That’s why I thought it would go to waste if the house was to be destroyed.”

Dayu nods in agreement. “Is there a particular reason why they wanted to demolish the house?”

“I’m not so sure myself. I have never personally met the owner of the house. I think even Aji only met with a middleman on behalf of the owner.”

“I haven’t had the chance to ask Aji myself.”

“Truthfully I was not expecting you to be so interested in antique Javanese houses. I even thought it wouldn’t suit well with your main house. But their juxtaposition works well in the end. I do think it has a spooky feel to it, though. I was interested to buy it just to save a heritage structure from destruction, not to actually inhabit the space.”

“You are such a scaredy-cat! I tried working there yesterday and my artwork turned out well. No disruption whatsoever.”

“Well that’s good to hear. Im just glad to see you’ve found peace. I hope no thoughts of others are bothering you anymore?”’

“Did you mean to say Cakra…?”

“Hmmmm…” answer Dayu reluctantly. She shakes her head in affirmation. She has succeeded to gradually get thoughts of Cakra out of her head. Thoughts of the man who once made her not want to continue living.

Two

There was a man, and Cakra was his name. This is the man who brought her prosperous rain to her life, but also what now seems like an unending drought; and even at times, treacherous storms. Cakra came into Dayu’s life exactly one month after her parent’s death. She was 16 at the time, and her uncle Mahesa moved in to become her legal guardian. However, it is not the consolation she hoped for in Mahesa which she found, it was instead a man more broken than the teenage girl he was supposed to care for. Mahesa did not only lose his older sister, but also was forced to leave behind the life he treasured in Bali. Dayu often finds Mahesa locked away in his bedroom, and verbal exchanges were scarce between them. They only spoke to each other when necessary, and Mahesa did little to manage the inherited tobacco business which was passed on to him following his sister and brother in law’s death.

“But isn’t life so unfair? What about me? He is the adult who is supposed to be stronger, more stable in dealing with this tragedy. But instead I was faced with a 35 year old man who was more crushed and hopeless than the 16 year old niece who needed his support”, murmurs Dayu quietly, responding to the non-existent uncle who spends most of his time in isolation.

The two characters were strangers to one another, and conversations between them don’t come naturally. Mahesa’s presence did nothing to get Dayu out of the misery and episodes of depression following her parent’s death. Due to reaching a dead- end at both their home and the tobacco field business, one of the

company’s supervisor demanded that Mahesa took action. He insisted that Mahesa decide whether the company should continue or cease operation. At that moment Mahesa decided to seek the help of his business-savvy friend, Cakra.

“Dayu, starting from tomorrow I hired my friend to come here and help manage the tobacco field.”

“Is that so? Who is your friend?” ask Dayu.

“His name is Cakra. You may have forgotten him, but he was also a friend of your mother’s when we were children. He used to live in this town before he relocated elsewhere.”’

“Ok, Uncle Mahesa”, answer Dayu, uninterested. The truth is Dayu has always felt indifferent about the house, the tobacco field, or whatever inheritance her parents left her with. She prefers to dive deep into her mourning and trying to cope by focusing on her painting.

Dayu is well aware that Mahesa’s decision to bring in his friend to help with the tobacco field is because Mahesa himself knows nothing about the family business; nor does he care about its livelihood. Mahesa has never shown interest in being involved or taking over; and he instead chose to live in Bali to run his own hotel and surf shop. He was always convinced that his sister and

brother in law would take care of the tobacco business. As it turns out, fate says otherwise.

***

Cakra arrives one morning, just as Dayu was halfway through devouring her butter-slathered toast and cup of black coffee. He was escorted into the house by Mahesa, and was a little startled upon seeing Dayu for the first time that morning.

“Dayu? Wow.. you really resemble your mother…”

Those were the few words which came out of Cakra’s mouth, and Dayu thought it was nothing less than odd. She only made sense of them the following day.

“Yeah, she really is a splitting image of Anjali”, interrupted Mahesa as he walks pass Dayu towards the storage cabinet to reach for a mug.

“Care for some coffee, Ra?” asked Mahesa as he fills two mugs of coffee to the brim. Cakra took a seat across from Dayu and nodded in response. Every now and then Dayu steals a glimpse at the

man sitting opposite from her, as she catches him looking at her intensely. Nonetheless, Dayu keeps her composure and finishes her toast quietly.

“You must’ve forgotten about me already, Day. I used to carry you around on my back when you were a toddler”, says Cakra while resting his back on the chair. Mahesa took a seat next to his friend and placed the mug on the table.

“Day, this is Cakra, the childhood friend I was telling you about. He used to live here in this town up until he was 17. He visited us a few times after he left, and have even met you when you were a toddler. You rarely visited after those years right, Ra? You spent way too long in SF’,’ says Mahesa as he pats his friend’s shoulder.

“What can I do? I had to complete my post-graduate degree. If I don’t take it seriously my father would be furious. You know how he is…” Cakra defends himself.

“And now? You sure it’s fine that you help us out and work over here?”

“It’s fine, I got my father’s blessing before I left. Besides, my brother is now helping out with the family business”, says Cakra in reassurance.

While listening to the conversation between the two old friends, Dayu observes the soft curves of Cakra’s face; carefully tracing it with her gaze. Although he is ethnically Chinese, the guy who looks at least five years younger than Mahesa has a pair of large eyes which are hidden behind a pair of glasses. His sharp nose is rather thin at the bridge, and it frames his thin lips perfectly.

Compared to Mahesa’s sturdy facial textures, Cakra’s face curves in to a soft oval shape.

“Mahesa told me you plan to attend a university in Bandung. Is that true, Day?” states Cakra as he looks directly into her eyes. Dayu was caught off guard and felt immediately flustered. For some reason Dayu felt as if his eyes projected a hint of sadness. She was unsure of why these thoughts came to mind. All she could do was to nod in response.

“Dayu is a talented painter, by the way. That’s why is plans to pursue a Degree in Fine Arts”, chimed Mahesa to lighten the mood.

“Exactly like Anjali…. Much like you are now, your Mother loved to paint. I frequently went aaround the tobacco field with her because she felt the need to paint everything and anything. Whether it be trees, insects, the your grandfather’s employees… she painted them all”, recalls Cakra.

Cakra’s story interrupted Dayu’s stillness. She never knew that her mother loved to paint. She knew her mother as a solemn character who spent most of her time taking care of the family business, a stark comparison from her father’s warm personality. Nevertheless, Dayu grew up witnessing how much her father worships his wife; so much so that he had little attention left for her.

“I never knew my mom can paint”, replies Dayu softly as she stood and leaves the two men in the kitchen.

***

Though she is an only child, Dayu never felt close to her mother. Dayu’s mother always kept a distance; with her daughter, with her husband, and most people who tries to come close. From what she can remember, Dayu never recalls her mother being worried even when Dayu fell ill or got into trouble. Both Dayu’s mother and uncle was raised to develop a typical Javanese aristocratic finesse; always polite but never friendly.

Dayu’s father, Samudra Adyaksa, on the other hand is like an open book. Whatever he feels and thinks would be immediately apparent to those around him. Due to this reason , early on in Dayu’s life she notices how much he adores his wife; who despite never expressing her responses explicitly, Dayu was well aware of the fact that her mother enjoys the adoration.

Their relationship manifests how the opposing characters compliment and fills each other’s souls with content, that there was barely enough room to accommodate the presence of a child. Samudra dedicates his whole life’s worth of time and energy in adoration of Anjali; whose own life is filled with duties pertaining to her responsibilities running the tobacco field.

Cakra and Mahesa’s presence gradually provides pieces of information on Anjali and the mother Dayu never really knew. Through Mahesa, Dayu discovers stories of an older sister who is picture perfect. Never once did Mahesa ever see his sister shed a tear. Even after she becomes a mother, Mahesa saw very little change to her character. Composed, elegant, and cold.

Characteristics which made even her own brother feel distant.

But Cakra’s recollection shows another side of the woman. He retold stories of little moments which made Dayu hopeful that there exists a humane side of her mother.

“Anjali may be quiet, but not because she lacks empathy. She

just prefers to listen. Although she doesn’t say much, she is quite predictable. You can immediately notice when she feels sad or otherwise. That’s about the limits of her expressions though, either she is sad or not sad. You wouldn’t ever describe her as cheerful”, explains Cakra as he exhales smoke into the air.

“I often even thought that Mom didn’t love Dad. I seldom see them converse. But I wouldn’t know much, since I was sent to boarding since elementary school. I come back home only during semester breaks.”

“I can assure you she loves your father, albeit in her own unique way. She loves him in silence, it’s a quiet but steady stream. I think she also loves you the same way.”

Dayu could not understand Cakra’s views on her mother and her ways of loving. To Dayu, she always kept a distance. She is never one to embrace her child, or even serenades her to sleep. Dayu remembers well that once her hear of thunder made her cry and her mother did not even try to comfort her.

Calmly and silently she held her hand and walked Dayu back to her room. Once back in her bedroom, her mother turned on some jazz music; which Dayu later found out was Count Basie and Ray Charles. Her mother suggested she pull up her blanket and close her eyes, as she sat silently near Dayu’s study corner; occupying herself with a book until Dayu fell back to sleep.

Anjali is not somebody who is easily triggered by someone else’s ego, no matter what it may be. She confronts Dayu’s anger, irritation, and complaints with silence and then waits for all the emotions to subside; only after which she would address the situation. This is how Dayu started learning of what it means to negotiate and compromise.

It turns out Cakra’s stories reveal otherwise. There is a different side of Anjali who is afraid of heights, who is meticulous about returning items to its original place, who is fond of the colour gray,

who despises being late, who gets lost in her daydreams and fell asleep on the porch. Cakra retold these stories as if they happened yesterday. In fact, Dayu got the impression that her mother is still very much present in Cakra’s life. Staring at the distance, Cakra’s gaze reveals an emotion which was stuck in the past. That was the moment she realized that Cakra loves her mother. And upon this realization she feels a rush of jealousy streaming into her system.

I want to be remembered the way my mother did. Remembered way passed the boundaries of time. Remembered by somebody who no longer belongs to me. Somebody who remembers me even after I cease to live.

***

When it comes to getting Cakra’s attention, it seems as if Dayu is competing with the shadows of her mother’s past. Cakra soon becomes an important figure to Dayu, because in him she finds

pieces of history she never could find anywhere else. Things about her origins, her parents, and most importantly, her mother. Cakra is an important source of information because as it turns out, Dayu’s mother opened up to Cakra more than anyone else. She had no such inclinations towards Mahesa, her own parents, not even to her husband. Dayu realizes that Cakra was the only one who holds the key to her mother’s trust.

“Your mother was like a big sister to me. I came here quite often to accompany her, especially when Mahesa was off on a work trip

with your grandfather. I think your grandpa really had high hopes for his son to continue the family business. That’s why he was groomed as such, and almost everyday after school he would go to the plantation with your grandfather. During those times I come here to keep your mother company”, said Cakra, reminiscing.

“Did you also know my father well?” ask Dayu.

“Not really. I already left for University in Jakarta when Samudra and your mother started to be close. He really loved Anjali. Even more than his own life, I think”, Cakra’s voice softens into thin air; a sense of defeat soon follows these words.

“I think also more than he loves his own children hahaha”, replied Dayu with a bitter grin on her face.

Cakra looks over towards Dayu with the most puzzling gaze on his face. He sighed and lit a cigarette. As he inhales softly, hi shifts his gaze towards the yellow patch of geranium which circles around the gate of the house. They are sitting silently on the veranda, looking towards the incoming sunset, waiting for Mahesa to return from Surabaya.

“I can neither confirm nor deny your statement, as I was never close to Samudra. But I don’t think there is any parent who does not love their own offspring. Especially because you resemble Anjali so much. Once when I visited this house when you were perhaps five years old, I was so astonished to see how much you looked like young Anjali.” Cakra disposed his cigarette on the ground, and resumes his story.

“I was not the only one who questioned your mother, but also Mahesa and your grandparents; when she decided to enrol you in boarding school at such a young age. I remembered her telling me: ‘One day you will understand how it feels to love someone so much, that even sharing him with your own child is unthinkable. Dayu looks too much like me. I can’t possibly share my world with her’.”

As the sound of those words touched her earlobes, Dayu feels the sunset before her completely drained of its orange hues. The winds stopped its quiet murmur, and she feels like even her heart stops beating. At that very moment, the veil of sadness was lifted off

her consciousness, and she stops mourning the car accident which took her parents away as they drove to pick her up from boarding school that one early morning.

***