I spent my childhood in Jakarta. Sometimes, we went for a holiday in Yogyakarta – and we would visit our paternal grandma’s grave. There was only one gravestone there, and that was grandma’s. That was why one day I asked where grandpa’s grave was. Father answered that grandpa’s grave was in Semarang – but we never visited it.
Something happened around 1984, when I was about 8 year-old, third grade, and I always remembered it. One day, father and I were looking through our family’s photo album. When we stumbled upon a significantly larger photograph of grandpa, father told me, “If you see this man when you’re on a bus, or when you’re walking, quickly call him, okay? Tell him that you are his grandson, the son of Bima!” I was confused, and I said, “Really? But grandpa has passed away, right?”
This question apparently struck father and he then kept silent. Only now I can understand the context: that father has always been hoping to find grandpa alive. This is what differentiates a missing subject and a dead one.
Rangga Purbaya
#1965setiaphari #living1965
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