When everyone was home
in every house I grew up in
When it comes to migration, I often felt like I went through it a lot.
I frequently changed residences, back in the past. Every 2 or 3 years, we would change our place of residence, and I didn’t fully understand why because I was little back then. Was it because of rent payments, and my family was searching for a more affordable place to live? It could be.
Due to the frequent changes in houses, I have accumulated many memories. The first house I lived in was my grandmother’s, which was quite impressive. It had a spacious front yard with large trees that allowed sunlight to filter through the branches every morning. Although my memories from that time are a bit blurry as I was a child, I recall the house having generous spaces, including two large dining tables, a spacious living room, and even a semi-swimming pool in the backyard. Upstairs, there were approximately 3 bedrooms, each with sizable beds.
I remember that the house also had many old yet unique ornaments and decorations. Well, it was an old building after all. I have no idea how old it was, but it was so ancient that we even experienced some paranormal activity there, or so the stories go. But maybe I’ll save those spooky tales for another time.
But regardless of its age, this house holds a special place in our hearts. It’s where we gather, celebrate, laugh, share meals, tease each other, where I used to compete for toys with my cousins, and more. This house often served as a gathering place for our extended family because of the various spaces it offered for different family activities.
That house also used to be the place where my grandmother entertained her foreign business guests. I used to disrupt my grandmother’s business meetings with them, probably just out of curiosity about her guests. However, my mother would always pull me away and tell me not to disturb my grandmother when she was working. Yet, my grandmother’s guests never seemed bothered; in fact, they always said I was an adorable granddaughter. It was a delightful memory from the past.
Our first migration
I can’t recall the exact timeframe, but we eventually moved to the outskirts of the city to a smaller house. It was still close to urban areas but far from my grandmother’s house. Looking back, it seems that my parents wanted to enroll my sibling and me in a good school, which unfortunately was quite far from my grandmother’s house.
I was pretty sad back then because I missed my grandparents’ home. Even though we could still visit them every few weeks, it just wasn’t the same. Their place was always bustling with family members and relatives dropping by and spending time there. In the new house at that time, it was quiet, and we had to adapt to a new environment. But we did it eventually. I tried to embrace my new life, with a new school, a new environment, and new neighbors as well. I even made new friends in our new neighborhood. I endeavored to enjoy this fresh start, by going on bike rides with one of my young friends — whose whereabouts are now unknown.
Then came the time when my parents had to go on a pilgrimage (Hajj) to Saudi Arabia for a few weeks, leaving their children at home. I remember when my mom and dad left, I just waved goodbye and didn’t think much of it. I also recall my sister crying when they departed, but I wasn’t too concerned because I knew they would come back anyway, not realizing they would be gone for so long.
That’s when we had several nannies, initially just until my parents returned from Arabia. However, it continued until my sibling and I started school because my parents had to work. Many unique yet funny incidents happened when we had different nannies, and there were frequent changes for various reasons. Again, I might share those stories another time.
Our second migration
We briefly moved to another small house nearby, but it didn’t last long, not even a year, as far as I can recall. We stayed there while my father went to work in Australia for a few months. I forget the exact reason, but it was probably due to economic considerations. We had to move to a smaller house, and my father took a higher-paying job in another country to continue supporting our family.
I remember the day we said goodbye to my father at the airport. I was grown enough to understand that he would be gone for a long time. He was migrating, and we didn’t know precisely when he would return. I felt sad, but my father promised that my life would be just fine in his absence.
The initial plan was that our whole family would relocate if my father’s job in Australia became stable. However, for reasons unknown, my father ultimately chose to return and reunite with us.
Our third migration
As my father had returned, and our finances had improved, we moved to a larger house than before. What I remember most about that house are the enjoyable things. There were many activities I could do there. My father had a computer and installed interactive games for me to learn. We had a television, a radio, and a collection of cassette tapes with songs from my favorite musicians at the time. We even had a piano, where I started to learn a few notes. Eventually, my mother enrolled me in piano lessons because I played and learned “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” almost daily. Unfortunately, those piano lessons didn’t last long as I went up to second grade in school.
In that house, my room used to be very spacious. It was on the second floor, and I had two beds and a large wardrobe. There was even a balcony where I could look out at the view, although there wasn’t much to see at that time. I was happy when friends or cousins came to play in my room as I had so many toys. We could even play hide and seek because of how big my room was.
We lived in that house for quite a few years until several issues arose within our family, leading to numerous complications. I’d rather not delve into too many details as it involved many parties. I’ll mention one of the consequences: both of my cousins ended up living with us because their parents were unable to care for them at that time.
I was thrilled, for several years we spent our time together with my cousins. We played together, went to school together, did homework together at our large dining table, went to the park or game arcade together, swam at the clubhouse near our house, and enjoyed many other fun activities. Even though they could be mischievous at times and often made me cry, well, they were kids back then, and I still consider those memories to be cherished.
I also remember back in elementary school, I was occasionally bullied. Sometimes, when luck wasn’t on my side, I would find myself on the same school bus as my bully, which made me uncomfortable both on the way to and from school. My two cousins were aware of this, and every time the school bus arrived in front of my house, they would shout, “Boo! You’re a loser!” or similar phrases, addressed to my bully. The adults around us weren’t initially happy about their actions though, but we didn’t care. Each time that happened, I felt like I had ‘won’.
A year went by, then came the emotional moment, the moment when my two cousins were picked up by their other family members, and it made me quite sad because I had no idea it would happen so soon. I didn’t know that our breakfast together that morning would be our last one before they suddenly left. It seemed like I wasn’t the only one feeling sad; other members of my family were also sad, and it appeared they didn’t expect this to happen either.
My days became quite gloomy after that. I, who once knew nothing of emptiness and only knew happiness, now understood the depths of profound sadness. I missed my two cousins, and I didn’t know how to contact them because back then, communication technology wasn’t as easy as it is now, and there were no social media platforms, so we had no way of knowing how they were doing at the time. We could only wish them happiness and contentment wherever they are.
Our fourth — and final — migration (hopefully)
The aftermath of our family issues destabilized our family’s finances, and my grandmother’s business wasn’t as strong as it used to be. For that reason, we moved again, this time to Jakarta, where I’ve been living until now.
And my grandparents started living close to where I live, so we didn’t have to drive long distances to meet them. My sibling and I also switched to a new school, adapting once again, but it was easier this time because we had become adept at adapting quickly due to our previous moves.
I had new friends, a new environment, new routines, and had to learn the way to my new home — again. I grew fond of this house and the city, where I was pampered with all the conveniences of the capital.
My grandmother also moved her business here; she opened her shop in one of the shopping centers near our home. The shopping center was incredibly comprehensive, and it wasn’t the only thing that was complete — everything was. From my favorite snacks available everywhere to the abundance of internet cafes that made internet access easy, to the many game arcades that left me unsure of which one to play at. When we got bored, we’d just drive around the city at night, marveling at the ever-awake, bustling metropolis.
I was happy, but some things still felt strange, and at that time, I didn’t know what they were.
A few years later, my grandfather passed away. You have no idea how sad I was at that time. My grandfather and I were quite close; we often sat on the porch together, spending time breathing in the relatively clean air of Jakarta at that time. If a cat passed by, we would feed them.
When he passed away, I felt an incredibly tangible emptiness. The feeling of knowing that my grandfather would never come back, that we would never sit together on the porch feeding passing cats again. For the first time, I experienced profound grief.
“But what is grief if not love persevering?”
Then, many of our relatives came to visit my grandfather’s house, which was close to ours. That’s when we reunited, reminiscing about the good times we had in my grandmother’s large house back then, reliving strange, funny, and even supernatural occurrences.
I was happy, despite the sadness, because we were able to come together again. I missed them.
A few years ago, we reunited with our two cousins who had lived with us that long time ago in the past. Thanks to the existence of social media, we can reconnect at last. The moment we met, there were no other feelings than storming them with hugs. Oh, how I missed their hugs. They had grown up and were living their own lives, with lifestyles quite different from ours. I felt proud and happy when they said that their lives were going smoothly and much better.
Still, in the end, we said goodbye again, parting ways for a while, allowing them to return to their city, and we continued living our respective lives. But it’s okay; at least we know we’ll still be able to meet, even though distance often complicates things.
They also promised to attend my sister’s wedding, so that we could meet again. And true to their word – they came. Along with other family members, we gathered joyfully and tearfully on my sister’s special day.
However, in the same year, we experienced grief once again, feeling the departure and loss of loved ones. But once more, it brought us together, making us appreciate each other’s time when we gathered and supported one another. That rekindled my longing for them once more.
I miss them. I miss the people who once were part of my life, adding color to it.
It turns out that the strange feeling I once had was the loneliness from the absence of the people who were once in my life.
Back then, I was delighted that my father always came home with toys for me or took me to fun places. When my father said that my life would be just fine, I believed it at that time because that’s precisely what I felt: joy. Or perhaps it was because I was still young, so all I could feel was joy.
Back then, I used to be happy when relatives came to visit our home. There were many things we could do and talk about, and everything was enjoyable.
Back then, I used to be delighted when there were celebrations like Eid that we celebrated because it meant we could gather, even staying overnight at my grandmother’s house. We would sleep on rows of mattresses on the floor and talk late into the night, sometimes until 3 in the morning.
Back then, I used to be happy when I woke up, left my room, and found my cousins already sitting in the TV room, having breakfast while watching SpongeBob. I would join them and have the same cereal.
Back then, everyone was home. Everyone was around me, as if shielding me from the harsh realities of the outside world. I felt safe, comfortable, and happy.
However, life led us to live our own lives. We all grew apart, and some of us even stopped talking to each other. They began to leave one by one, embarking on their migrations.
But I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that people indeed come and go. And as someone who has often moved, I can easily understand that.
People have to migrate on their own, but eventually, destiny will crossed our path again. We will all meet again, even if not frequently. That’s just life.
Now, I still live in Jakarta, more than 20 years since I last migrated anywhere. I feel comfortable and love this city, despite its strengths and weaknesses. My grandmother’s shop has long been closed in that shopping center for various reasons, so you could say the business no longer operates. It has since been carried on in a small way by my mother, who only works on it if there’s a request from my grandmother’s loyal customers from the past.
Nevertheless, we continue to live in comfort. We cherish the ultimate purpose of our migration.
Moving frequently forces me to adapt to new environments, cultures, and communities. This adaptability become a valuable life skill, making it easier to navigate change and uncertainty in various aspects of life.
We possess the capacity to bid farewell to someone and welcome someone new into our lives. Leaving behind friends and familiar places, then making new friends and building relationships quickly. It grew resilience in ourselves, helping us bounce back from adversity and develop a strong sense of self.
Exposure to different cultures and lifestyles can broaden our perspectives and foster open-mindedness. Frequent movers like us tend to be more accepting of diversity and more willing to embrace new ideas and experiences.
Not to mention that my parents often need to be resourceful in finding employment, housing, and necessities in the new location. No wonder this develops their problem-solving skills.
But most importantly, migration can strengthen family bonds as families rely on each other for support during the transition and may become more tightly-knit as a result. The experiences and challenges encountered during migration can also contribute to personal growth, self-discovery, and increased self-confidence.
Perhaps every migration teaches many things, finding the best place to settle, and maybe this is my final stop. Like a flock of birds or other animals, life involves moving until you find the right place to stay.
Migration has valuable lessons; one can offer numerous benefits.
Primarily, it taught me that humans must adapt readily. We never know what awaits us in the future, good or flawed occurrences, and we must face it, whether we like it or not.
In response to the September Writing Prompt: Migration. Thanks to ADEOLA SHEEHY-ADEKALE for this wonderful prompt!
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