Posted Monday, June 22nd, 2009
Raised without a garden
Jennie S. Bev
I was raised without a garden. I never woke up refreshed. I never looked out the window where bright green lawn blazed in the sparkling sun rays.
Instead, I woke up to a cramped bedroom with my grandmother in a small bed by my feet and my grandfather in another by my right. I slept in
the same bed with my mother, who was single until I was ten.
Mother re-married and left me sleeping in a king-sized bed alone. With grandma by my feet and grandpa by my right.
I was raised without a garden. Grandparentsí home was my only home until mother asked me to join when I was fourteen. Both grandparentsí and mothersí homes didnít have a garden.
I was raised without a garden. I was raised in downtown of Jakarta, the Mecca of upside-down thoughts and deeds.
Jakartans smile a lot. They smile meaningless smiles. They grin and bear it. They were numb. They were pessimists with an optimist facade.
They were forced to believe and to forget many things. Bloodbaths. Cultural genocides.
I was raised without a garden. The city of Jakarta was polluted and noisy. Smog and car horns choked trees and flowers. Even they lived without a garden.
I was raised without a garden. Sometimes I walked to school, sometimes I took the three-wheeler. All the times, I was choked by smog and car horns.
Without a garden, I used to live. No other options were available. Must live otherwise die. Must keep smiling otherwise be bullied.
Adults and children were bullied. Equal opportunity bullying.
Without a garden, I used to contemplate. Sometimes while inhaling smog. Most of the times without knowing where to go and what to believe.
Without a garden, I used to raise myself by rising after each fall. No father to hold my hands, but mother always cared and grandparents always hugged.
I lived without a garden. Literally and allegorically.
Today, my garden is green and lush. Well irrigated and well fertilized. I wake up every morning refreshed. I look through the window. Voila, here they are. Sun rays penetrating. Fresh breeze
flowing. Hummingbirds pecking flapping wings millions times per second.
That garden is America. My adopted garden.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Kim Townsel [ email@example.com
] on Wednesday, July 29th, 2009 at 4:59 PM
Well done. Excellent visuals. My favorite line is:
the Mecca of upside-down thoughts and deeds.