“You have to support my opinion when we get home later. Don’t forget.”
My eldest sister’s voice lodged itself inside my head and stayed there, even as I dozed off during the 16-hour-45-minute flight from Prague to Jakarta. It was useless trying to knock myself out with the white and red wines I kept asking the flight attendants for. Every time sleep and alcohol began to weigh down my eyelids, her voice buzzed in my ears, endlessly, pushing my anxiety to the edge and managing to distract me from the fact that Father had died.
Father died. I received the text on WhatsApp while I was drinking a Velkopopovický Kozel in a small bar on Kozy Street. I hurriedly paid for the three large glasses I had emptied and called my
sister who sent the message. I agreed to her suggestion that I immediately book a flight home and asked when Father would be buried. “We’ll wait until everyone’s home. You’re the only one who’s far away. While waiting for you, I’ll discuss Father’s burial with our other sisters. If they’re still stubborn, remember—you must support me”, she said in a firm, pressing tone.
“Oh God, what are you all fighting about now?” I snapped, annoyed. I had already guessed this would come up.
“Maybe it’s not a problem for you. But it is for us. Because we have religion. Unlike you.”
When she gets like that, it’s better for me to stay quiet. Arguing with her is pointless. Besides, what good is debating over the phone when grief over Father’s death and the lingering alcohol in my head already had me wanting to pack and leave immediately. And so, I went home.
Father was the first one I told about my decision to leave Indonesia.
“I want to learn about Grandfather’s life there, Dad. Even though he’s gone, I can find out from his friends who are still alive.”
“I’m not against your plan. But your sisters will oppose it.”
“Let them. What matters is I’ve already asked for your blessing.”
Father’s prediction was spot-on. All three of my sisters immediately scolded me at length.
“Your parents are old, Bram. Don’t overdo this search for Grandfather. He died ages ago. What’s the point?” my second sister said.
“To learn about him, obviously. You’re the weird one, Sis. We’re his grandchildren, aren’t we? Don’t you want to know your own family’s history?”
“Why dig up a bitter history? Have you forgotten how Grandma suffered after Grandfather left for Prague?”
“I haven’t forgotten. But you have forgotten the cause. Exiles can’t return, Sis! If Grandfather had been able to come home, he never would have let Grandma suffer.”
The endless argument only strengthened my resolve to go.
I arrived home right before dinner. As expected, everyone was already gathered—or had intentionally gathered—knowing exactly when I would arrive. Mother burst into tears the moment she saw me and hugged me tightly. Her youngest son, her only boy, who hadn’t come home in five years. My three sisters looked tense, although their longing showed plainly in their eyes. I missed them too. Most of my nieces and nephews didn’t recognize me; some had been born while I was still in Prague. My brothers-in-law were warm and enthusiastic. We ate together, and everyone asked about my life. I answered briefly and intentionally asked about theirs in return. Mother remained
mostly silent, lost in thought. She must have been imagining how happy Father would have been to see me home. I avoided meeting her eyes—I was too busy cursing myself for not seeing Father even once in the last five years.
“Where is Father’s body being kept, Sis?” I asked, opening the subject they had surely been waiting for since I finished eating.
“At the funeral home. We’ve all been waiting for you to decide how Father should be buried”, my second sister said.
“Shouldn’t Mother be the one deciding?” I replied, looking at her. She didn’t seem prepared for my answer.
“I think… you children should decide”, Mother murmured, her voice faint. Her hands twisted the edge of her blouse. I couldn’t push her. I turned to my sisters. My eldest gave me a meaningful look—reminding me of her warning back in Prague.
“Why don’t we bury Father according to his own beliefs?” I finally said, gathering my breath and courage to voice the opinion I’d been holding in since I left Prague.
“You mean… Kejawen? Are you out of your mind?!” my eldest sister exploded. Of course she was furious—she was the one who insisted I support her. But how could I take sides when each of my sisters followed a different faith? My voice would tip the scales in favor of one of them.
“What’s wrong with it? That’s what Father believed all his life. Why can’t we honor that?”
“You want the neighbors gossiping? Don’t you care about Mother? It’s easy for you—you don’t live here. We’re the ones who will face the social consequences. And you? You always run away from problems, just like Grandfather”, my third sister snapped.
Her words sent heat surging through me.
“How many times do I have to tell you Grandfather didn’t run away? He was exiled! How long will you keep refusing to acknowledge our own family’s history?”
“Stop! Don’t fight!” Mother suddenly said, her voice trembling. We all turned to her in shock. She was never like this; she had always stayed silent. “I choose to support Chitra.” My eldest sister looked stunned to hear her name. Even she hadn’t expected Mother to side with her.
I stood up. “Fine. My opinion doesn’t matter, does it? I’m going to bathe, then I’m heading to the funeral home. I want to see Father.” Mother watched me with sorrow as I walked out of the dining room.
At the funeral home, I looked at Father’s body lying in the casket. I touched his cold palm and felt something inside me collapse. I sobbed, my vision blurred with tears. I realized how deeply I had missed him—missed our conversations.
“Once I was angry too, wondering why your grandfather didn’t take your grandmother with him to Prague. But later I realized…
maybe it was better she stayed here. It’s even more heartbreaking when you can never return to your own homeland”, Father once told me, when I asked if he resented his and Grandma’s fate.
Especially considering how families of exiles often faced pressure from the government and neighbors. Yet Father never once complained. His circumstances never pushed him to choose one of the official religions, though his refusal made it hard for us children socially. “Words can’t hurt you if you can ignore them.
Trouble comes when you can’t respond with words of your own. Ideas with ideas. Concepts with concepts. If you have a strong argument, you shouldn’t have to fear anything”, he said calmly.
Father’s calm and wisdom—sadly—were nothing like mine. My sister was right: I chose cowardice. I chose leaving whenever problems arose. And my decision to leave wasn’t purely about learning Grandfather’s history. I left because I was sick of my own alienation. At home, among friends—everywhere. I wasn’t as strong as Father. He lived inside a bubble of his own making, one no one could penetrate.
As my tears dried, I opened the letter Father left for me—one Mother had handed me before I left for the funeral home. “Your father gave me this a year ago. He told me to give it to you when he died”, she whispered as she hugged me. The letter was only one page. I read it quickly, folded it, and slipped it into my pocket.
“Yes, Dad. I’ll do as you asked”, I whispered, stroking Father’s palm.
Dawn was just breaking when I reached the beach. Faint light fell on the water—still gray, frothy waves slapping the sand. I carried Father’s body toward the pier and laid him gently in a boat moored there. The beach was empty. No one was around. Perhaps the fishermen who’d gone out during the night wouldn’t return for hours. Or maybe it wasn’t fishing season—I didn’t know. It was better this way. If anyone saw me, I would be in trouble. Sneaking Father out of the funeral home after bribing an attendant had already set my heart pounding.
Before the sun fully rose, I pushed the boat out to sea. The waves pulled it away from shore. Watching it drift farther and farther, carrying Father’s body, I shivered in sobs that tightened my chest.
Father’s words echoed in my head: “I am a child of the coast, Bram. Cast me into the sea. Do not weep for your father’s old body. I am no longer in it. If your sisters are angry, or your mother cries, tell them I don’t want to burden anyone with my death.
Let the sea be my grave. A place where all of you can always remember me.”
***
