Had a strange dream about my late Opah. Or maybe it was actually a memory of a long time ago. I dreamt I was a small kid and I was resting my head on Opah's lap, while she told me stories of our ancestors and the land that they used to rule. Stories of how my ancestors once roamed through the valleys in their horse-drawn carriages to watch their people work in the fields, or craft songkets in the weaving-rooms, or do business transactions at the bazaar; of how the women in the family line are wise and powerful while the men are noble and beautiful. Stories of how our legendary water-buffalo drove away the Javanese from taking over our land and heritage...
In my dream, I could smell her distinct rose smell. I remember this sweet smell. The rose smell suits her well - Opah's name was Mawar (Rose). She looked so beautiful in my dream, with her silvery long hair flowing softly under the moonlight. I remember some of her stories by heart. Maybe I'll write them down for the next generation of our clan. It's unfortunate that we the Minangkabau clan rely too much on our memory that we neglect the importance of documentation.
Opah's voice crooned gently as her pearl-white hand caressed my hair. As I lifted up my head to look at Opah's face, the moon behind her started turning red. Then it grew dark red, like blood... and I suddenly found myself back in my grown-up form kneeling on some damp ground. Scattered on the ground were some rose petals that later got blown by the wind as I tried to reach them. The moon rained blood on me as I knelt there crying for reason I did not know.
In my dream, I could smell her distinct rose smell. I remember this sweet smell. The rose smell suits her well - Opah's name was Mawar (Rose). She looked so beautiful in my dream, with her silvery long hair flowing softly under the moonlight. I remember some of her stories by heart. Maybe I'll write them down for the next generation of our clan. It's unfortunate that we the Minangkabau clan rely too much on our memory that we neglect the importance of documentation.
Opah's voice crooned gently as her pearl-white hand caressed my hair. As I lifted up my head to look at Opah's face, the moon behind her started turning red. Then it grew dark red, like blood... and I suddenly found myself back in my grown-up form kneeling on some damp ground. Scattered on the ground were some rose petals that later got blown by the wind as I tried to reach them. The moon rained blood on me as I knelt there crying for reason I did not know.
"ROSE OF PAIN (MUSIC BOX VERSION)" BY X-JAPAN is playing in my mind today.
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