A few days ago, when I was at my home back in Jakarta. Me and my whole family was going to the district to proceed our new e-ktp (ID card). That means me, my mum, and my step dad. My mum was driving. My step father has been sick for years because of who-knows-what, and the sickness has made him function less and less as the day goes by. When we arrived, I had to help him to get off of the car and walk and everything else. So he held my hand.

Mind you, I’ve been avoiding to even look at or answer him for who knows how long. I actually wanted to refuse when my mum told me to help him, but I didn’t want to piss her off or something, so I helped anyway. And it felt so strange, you know? When he held my hand, I could feel his physical weakness. His hopeless and helplessness of his own being. It was strange because when I held his hand, I could actually remember how strong his hands used to be. I could actually recall how those hands used to punch me, hit me. I could remember these hands lifted me and threw me against a wall when I was little. I could remember how those hands were often against my neck, trying to crush my throat. I could remember how I once tried to stab him using a knife. Because I hated him, I hated him so much.

When we were walking, I had this imagination in my head of how it would feel like if I pushed him away. With just a little strength, he’d be thrown at the street; weak and helpless. He wouldn’t be able to stand up by himself. He’d be begging me, asking for help. A man who once used to hit me all the time, begging for my help to stand up. How great would that feel, huh? I could imagine how satisfied I’d be if I did that. I could feel the urge to make it happen. Just one movement. Easy.

But I didn’t. I didn’t, because the man I was with the other day was not the man who used to abuse me. I didn’t, because there’s just something about him that day that made me feel like it’d be useless. I’d be mean and heartless. I’d be breaking my mum’s heart, and maybe his heart, and most probably mine if I did that. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who hurts people just because they once hurt you. I didn’t magically turn into loving him and accepting him as a family. It’s just that, I’m tired of always keeping hatred within myself. It’s been really consuming my soul. And eh, maybe it’s just time to forgive, you know?

Maybe. I’ll try.

3 months ago