No matter how bad your relationship is with your dad, everything's going to be fine again.
It’s so hard to write about my dad because honestly, I’m not close to him. Maybe shooting him on film is easier.
Hi, you can call me Epin. I am the son of a Minangnese mother (from West Sumatera) and a Sundanese father (from West Java). However, I identify more as a Sundanese because I was born in Bandung and I love the culture even though I’m not that familiar with it. It’s because I moved to Ujung Pandang (now Makassar, South Sulawesi or Celebes) when I was five years old, and then to Semarang (Central Java) when I was in senior high school. I only went back to Bandung in 2002 as a college student and experienced culture shock for a quite long time because I grew up as an anti-social and quiet boy who didn’t smile much, which aren’t really Sundanese characteristics at all.
But let’s now go back to the theme. My dad is a quiet man, but I get really scared of him when he’s angry. When I was child, I smashed my Nintendo out of the frustration of always losing at a Mario Brothers game. My dad got angry at me and submerged my head underwater in the bathtub. That was the first time that I really got angry and scared of him.
There’s also another instance when we had a trip to Surabaya and he placed the airplane ticket inside my pocket. When we went somewhere by bus and then asked me for the ticket after, I couldn’t find it anymore when I put my hand inside my pocket to get it. He was really angry at me all day, even when we were at the police station. I cried that day but he pinched my nose hard, which made me stop my tears.
Last was when I dropped out of my master’s degree in communication because I didn’t make the last chapter of my thesis for about two years. We fought, and that was the first time that I spoke rudely towards him because he kicked my canister stock bottle while saying that it’s a useless thing. Later that night, I left home after hearing my favorite song by The Beatles, “She’s Leaving Home.” I walked away from home and spent the night until dusk at the mosque, praying and then sleeping for only an hour because I couldn’t really sleep. My dad called me many times but I never answered any calls, not until my mom called me. She was crying and asking me to come back home. I couldn’t stand hearing my mom cry, so I decided to go back. But I didn’t talk to my dad for about six months, until the end of Ramadan month last year. Thank God we have already forgiven each other because I still need money from him for my analogue hobby, and I also love it whenever he asks me to visit his dad’s hometown in Parigi, Pangandaran, Jawa Barat (West Java) in Indonesia.
Sorry for making you read my boring private issues above. Let’s talk about what I admire about my dad. He was very angry when his brother went to our house and told him that he had sold the rice field of my late paternal grandmom. I never saw my dad as angry as he was that time because he loves all of his family very much, especially since his dad already passed away when he was in sixth grade. He was the first child and son in the family.
Thank God my father and his brother already forgave each other also after the end of Ramadan. I heard he had told his relatives in Parigi that the heritage that our ancestors have passed down to us should be kept and never sold because the ancestors got it through struggling very hard.
I became a fan of Persib Bandung ever since my father took me to watch a Persib match at the Siliwangi Stadium when I was three or four years old. It was a sweet memory, on a Sunday, that I still remember. Unfortunately, I never watched another Persib match again in Siliwangi because the number of fans coming from all over West Java grew. It was beyond the capacity of the stadium, so watching games there became uncomfortable. But thank God I was able watch Persib again with a big help from @vespa66. My dad has influenced me to love Persib, which is not only a football club but is also a symbol of the identity of the Sundanese.
One routine event that we do on Aidil Fitri is visiting the grave of my dad’s father at the cemetery. This is a photo of the old cemetery near his home at Tol Mohammad Toha, where his remains were interred before being transferred to my paternal grand mom’s family cemetery in Desa Drawati, Majalaya. He and my paternal grand mom are at the same plot now.
In Sundanese culture, we call eating together at a zoo or park as ngabotram. But in this case, it was unusual because me, my dad, his brother, and sister had ours at my paternal grand mom’s family cemetery.
It’s been four years since my paternal grandmother passed away, and during this time, her siblings passed away one by one, too. This is a photo of her older brother.
Last week, we went to my dad’s father’s hometown. It was already my third time going there but I never get bored because I love the beach and being able to escape from the city to the village. My dad admired the surfer who conquered the big wave at the pantai (beach) at Batu Karas, Parigi, Pangandaran.