There is no timeline for grieving, and the same goes for the gratitude I feel for being able to call you Bapak

I am a keeper – a memory keeper, at least.

I always remember the birthdays of those closest to me, even though I also add them to Google Calendar to make sure I don’t miss the chance to say a word to them.

I keep the memory of competing in a badminton tournament while still recovering from getting my hands stitched.

I remember waiting for a bus to stop in front of my home at 5:30 AM because it took me an hour to get to school during junior high school.

I hold onto the memory of walking from the court to the mosque in front of Nabila’s house during a break in the badminton tournament.

I remember going to a boarding school in Yogyakarta – enrolling, taking the entrance test, and stepping into the dorm for the first time.

And I keep the memory of trying to figure out what was wrong with me and working to fix it during the first semester of high school.

As a memory keeper, I can’t help but hold onto the fact that, in everything I’ve shared here, you were always there, Bapak. Whether it was accompanying me to badminton practice and tournaments, making sure I had breakfast and milk before catching the bus, or walking with me to the mosque near Nabila’s house between matches so you could pray and encourage me to do my best on the court – you were there.

You came with me to take the high school entrance test from Semarang to Yogyakarta, and even agreed to rent a house for my first semester of high school because I wasn’t ready to move into the dorm yet. You did all of that so I could take things step by step, figuring things out and slowly fixing what needed to be fixed.

You were always there, Bapak. Always there in the memories I hold closest to my heart.

Wasn’t my Bapak amazing? To me, he absolutely was. He always tried his best to be the greatest Bapak, even with so much on his plate. He rarely missed any of my badminton matches – countless ones – starting all the way back in elementary school.

So now, when November 23rd comes around, but you’re no longer here, I can’t help but feel a little lost.

I need to live with is, but sometimes being on was is all I need, because I can live with the sound of your voice, the warmth of your smile, and the kindness of yours.

But on your birthday, I want everyone to know that I hold onto the memories of you because they were filled with kindness that bloomed at just the right time. I’m not saying this because I’m your daughter, but because when I meet people who knew you, they always share such wonderful stories – and most of them are about your kindness.

So, I hope you know that, even though you’re no longer here, your kindness will live forever.

And with that being said, I will continue to be a keeper – a memory keeper. But I will try my best to live in the is while cherishing the was, not living and being trapped in the was. Watch over me, Mama, and Ibra from wherever you are right now, will you?

There is no timeline for grieving, but there is – also – no timeline for expressing the gratitude that, out of millions of people, my Bapak was – and still is – you.

I am a proud daughter, Bapak. This will last forever.