“Is it really your sister? Like the sky with the earth?” A joke from my friends that I try to cover with a bitter smile.
I’m afraid to look in the mirror. The face I saw was not as beautiful as my younger sibling’s face. I was always compared to the sweetness of my sister’s face. I’m tired of that. Beauty must always be carried by a woman. Beauty is only seen on a layer of human epidermis. Jealousy? I do not know that this covetous heart will always froth every time there is praise coming for my sister. They will be amazed at the difference of face between my little sister and I.
I was fully aware. Though there were always envious outbursts when I see my sister being the subject of conversation. Painful, I do not know. My tears had dried and my ears were numb. As a child I once cried every time my little sister was praised. Mother only gives a wise saying by mentionaing God created all human beings equally and never wasted.
I know she never discriminates me with my sister. But it was the time trip that made me have to be trapped in a corner that was suffocating with that treatment. I know my sister loves me very much. Her attitude is always trying to divert every praise given to her.
I once tried to push out my lips along with my sister’s face. It’s different. Mother’s facial beauty was fully inherited by face of my sister. I as her first child feel there are no parts of beauty that exist in mother’s face together with me.
“Is Tina not mother’s child?” My courage shocked my mother who used to make batang buruk cakes to feed the three of us since father had gone with the nature.
“Who says that child? Tina and Tini are all my children. God created His creatures never in vain,” mother gave an answer that was always soothing and I have always heard since childhood.
“But why is Tini so different from Tina?” I chirped as I watch mother blend the ingredients to make batang buruk. Mother just stayed silent. I will always lack courage if mother do not answer every question asked to her. The silence for me was an answer I did not have to pursue.
I have looked for answers to my friends and neighbors. Various answers I received. There is no answer that leads to the reason that I am not my mother’s child. Always a counseling answer that God never created His creatures in vain.
I as a woman had felt the vibration of the heart whenever I look at my opposite sex. There was a man who had filled this heart. I can only worship and keep a taste of this. Nervousness of the night shackled me and carried away to the land of heaven. Together permeates honey rich with hope.
“Oh… that man.” I cupped my hands when the vibrations of my heart could no longer match my emotions.
My hope is shook when courage expressed the words I have honestly was answered with the scorn of the man I dream of.
“Seriously… look in the mirror! Who are you! Who am I! Look at your face!” For a moment I seemed to sink into the depths of the earth. Insulted. Severely disappointed
Time is a wounded heart’s healer I anticipated the most. I rise up in time to learn how to make batang buruk cakes that Mother have been struggling with to support us. Mother taught me with her fingers that have been showing blue veins.
I was taught the meaning of a batang buruk cakes which aroma fills my nose all day. Mother said that batang buruk cakes are not the common cakes. Batang buruk cakes have deeper meaning. They are often interpreted as “let it burst inside your mouth not erupt in your hands,” illustrating how a Malay person’s good ethics when eating so polite manner and behavior is taught in tasting food showing a hasty and careless behavior in another word. The cake is eaten in crumbs, reflecting how bad respected people in their everyday behavior. Since then, the cake was named with “batang buruk” in which between the name and the taste they are very different. Its name is “bad”, but the highly delicious taste made us stunned.
The turn of the night has made me even more adept at making batang buruk cakes. Diving batang buruk cakes was like a mirror to me. Let its name be “bad” but it tastes delectable.
“Let my face be bad, but my heart is not.” My heart pushed a sentence of passion for me to dare look at the day ahead.
Travel through time took me to be famously known as a batang buruk cake baker. I know many customers who bring my batang buruk cakes for snacks and holiday gifts. Apparently many still consider my batang buruk cakes were made by my mother. Let it be, it does not matter who made it, what is important is that my batang buruk cakes are well liked by many people. The public’s fondness with my batang buruk cakes became the talk of conversation. My efforts and hard work paid off. A beautiful house manifested.
“Tini… there is a man who is looking for you.” I heard mother shouting a little.
I was in the kitchen listening to my little sibling’s steps. I knew it was Tini’s steps, my little sister who had been brought up like a Malay woman of the royal era. While I am accustomed to the kitchen, my hasty steps are the old host trail. I do not care about that, what I care about now is raising my esteem with my batang buruk cakes.
Mother asked me to deliver the tea and batang buruk cake I had just finished. My old host steps went to the living room slowly. I heard Tini’s loud voice replying to the heavy voice of a man. I brought the tray to the table and put the tea and batang buruk.
“Sister, this is Tini’s friend, Joni is his name,” Tini’s voice averted my eyes to the eyes of the man Tini called Joni.
It was as if I was drawn towards the bottom of the earth as I was humiliated first.
“Oh… so you’re Joni!”
I took the plate filled with batang buruk and tossed it at the face of the man who had insulted me.
“Go away!!!” I yelled.
I let Tini scream about my attitude. I do not care.
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Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA: 08117595971.