Nobody told me how to be a woman. Except my mother, one and only my "Ibuk".
"Buk",
"Buk",
"Ibuk".
She didn't show me how, eventually. I saw, I listened, I spoke, I watched, I felt, and I learned. Everything she did and didn't.
We hurt, we were happy. We regret. Still we laughed.
I don't know how she faced all things everyday. All of the toughs and the worst.
About her husband, about her son, about her daughters, about me.
She hanged on. She survived. Every single day.
She passed through the storm of morning, the whole day, just to live the night, watching her family fell asleep, after taking a deep breath knowing the men are not home.
Just another the same night.
Nobody told me how to be a man. Except my father.
What he didn't do. What he never did.
What he never ever did to his family.
That tonight I realized how that curse is still burried inside of me.
Stronger by each day.
She makes me wonder whether I would still want having the same love as hers.
In the end she chose to stay, to love, to sacrifice.
For a man who can't love.
He hasn't home yet.
Leaving his three women alone home.
I don't know what kind of home anymore here.
I am sitting beside her, wondering when she would surrender.
Maybe she has been long ago, when nobody knows.
Maybe she's fighting in her lost battle.
Without knowing that she has won long ago. Far long ago.
It was just that,
She was just a woman who loves.
A woman who was three, a wife, a mother, and
a woman.
