The mornings of my childhood were simple — far from luxury. But that simplicity is what I miss the most, and it is something I still return to every time I visit my parents in Sidemen.
I would wake around six in the morning, and the first place I always went was the kitchen. If I was lucky, I would still catch my mother before she left for the market — or find my father already sitting by the simple wood-burning stove. We would light the fire together, heat the water, brew coffee for my father and tea for me.
We would talk about small things. And it was that habit, I think, that made me someone who loves to communicate — someone who enjoys conversations about everything from the lightest to the heaviest. The coffee and tea would be ready, and we would enjoy them with boiled cassava left over from the day before, when my mother had been making coconut oil. She would boil the cassava together with the coconut milk — and always set some aside, on purpose, for my father and me to enjoy in the morning. Cassava with the soft fragrance of coconut, warm and tender. Enough for our breakfast.
A cup of tea, cassava boiled in coconut milk, and easy conversation — that was our beautiful morning before we each went our separate ways into the busyness of the day.
My father would bury himself in the rice fields, making sure we would not go hungry. And I would make several trips to the nearest water source before starting work — I had already been working since I was in fourth grade.
If wealth is togetherness, then I declare we were wealthy. If wealth is measured in money, we were far from it. What we had was only each other — the sharing, the ears that always listened, the words that always made sure we children were alright, and the sweat and tired faces that spoke of everything our parents gave every single day for us.
It has been ten years since I left. Ten years living far from them. And yet that morning stays with me — simple and beautiful, something I have never quite found again in all the years I have been walking alone, far from home.
My parents may have never been wealthy in the material sense — but the richness of their hearts will become a light that knocks on many doors, reminding the world to feel love again.
That is my morning.
What about yours?
PAGI YANG KAYA
Suasana pagi yang selalu menemani masa kecilku cukup sederhana — jauh dari kemewahan. Namun justru itulah yang paling aku rindukan saat ini, dan masih aku lakukan setiap kali mengunjungi orangtuaku di Sidemen.
Bangun sekitar jam enam pagi, tempat pertama yang aku datangi adalah dapur. Jika aku beruntung, aku masih bertemu ibuku sebelum dia pergi ke pasar — atau bersama ayahku di depan tungku api kayu yang sederhana. Kami menyalakan api, membuat air hangat, menyeduh kopi untuk ayahku dan teh untukku.
Kami mengobrol ringan. Dan kebiasaan itulah yang membuatku menjadi orang yang suka berkomunikasi — suka membahas hal-hal ringan hingga yang sulit. Kopi dan teh panas siap, dan kami menikmatinya dengan singkong rebus yang dimasak kemarin saat ibuku membuat minyak kelapa. Beliau merebusnya bersamaan dengan santan — dan sengaja menyisakannya untuk kami nikmati di pagi hari, aku dan ayahku. Singkong rebus beraroma kelapa, begitu lembut dan enak. Cukup sebagai sarapan kami.
Secangkir teh, singkong rebus dengan santan, dan obrolan ringan — itulah pagi yang indah sebelum kami berpisah dan sibuk dengan kegiatan masing-masing.
Ayahku akan membenamkan dirinya di sawah untuk memastikan kami tidak kelaparan. Dan aku akan mengambil air beberapa kali dari sumber terdekat sebelum mulai bekerja — aku sudah bekerja sejak masih kelas empat SD.
Jika kekayaan adalah kebersamaan, maka aku nyatakan kami kaya. Jika kekayaan diukur dengan uang, kami jauh dari kaya. Yang kami miliki hanya kebersamaan dan saling berbagi — telinga yang selalu mendengar, kata-kata yang selalu memastikan kami anak-anaknya baik-baik saja, dan keringat serta wajah lelah yang menyatakan perjuangan ayah dan ibuku setiap hari untuk kami.
Sudah sepuluh tahun aku hidup jauh dari mereka. Dan kebiasaan itu tetap ada — pagi yang sederhana dan indah yang tidak pernah benar-benar aku temukan selama sepuluh tahun berjalan sendirian jauh dari mereka.
Mungkin orangtuaku tak pernah kaya secara materi — namun kekayaan hati mereka akan menjadi cahaya yang mengetuk banyak pintu hati untuk merasakan lagi cinta.
Itulah pagiku yang aku ingat.
Lalu bagaimana pagimu?