Elysium

© Copyright 2013 Sashia Tjia.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4669-9091-3 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-9090-6 (e)

Trafford rev. 05/01/2013

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Contents

Part I

Part II

Part III

For Nathaneal Christian Rusli

For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

—Ecclesiastes 1:18

The Miracle of Audrey

Audrey was a healthy three-year-old toddler until a single course of event changed her life and her family forever. She fell down the pool at her own house. I am not a reporter. I don’t do fact checks. Some parts that I wrote are based heavily on memories. I learned about her back in the States one night while I was flipping the channels. How reliable is memory? This is how much I remember.

Audrey came from an upper-class family. On that fateful day, she went missing. Her family realized her disappearance a little too late; by the time they pulled Audrey out from the pool, she was already lacking so much oxygen that it left her brain severely damaged. She had to rely on life support. The doctor left the option to the parents whether they wanted to pull the plug or let her remain in the same condition as a living veggie. The father agreed, but the mom, a devoted Catholic, said only the Lord has the right to take her child’s life. They sold the house in order to bring the life support home. She remained faithful that someday Audrey would wake up. Time went by. Audrey reached her twenties. She grew partial and distorted over the years, but she remained in a coma.

The miracle of this story was not that she actually woke up as her mother always believed but the statue of Lord Jesus in her room started to drop tears of blood. As the story broke out, the TV stations began a documentary on her. They installed twenty-four-hour cameras around the house to make certain that it wasn’t fabricated. A priest who performed mass at her house experienced another anomaly. By the time he reached the breaking of the bread, it consisted of blood. But Audrey remained in the same condition.

When I told Father about the story, he asked, "Why did the statue cry? If he cried because he felt sorry for the mom, why didn’t he just take her away, knowing the fact that the mother would never pull the plug for Audrey and waited only for his time?" Can we ever ask? Do we have the right to ask?

Part I

Kupang

June 2011—TDM

Indonesia is the largest archipelago in the world and consists of over eighteen thousand islands. Apart from the major islands, such as Bali, Sumatra, Kalimantan, Jawa, Sulawesi, and Papua, I don’t even know the rest of the names of the remaining islands. I had no idea what Kupang was gonna be like. How remote? How secluded? There was only one reason I was determined to go to an unknown and unfamiliar place: to seek a miracle for Chris after hearing what the healer said last year. I believed him. I believe in miracles. I always have. What compelled me the most apart from such great hope for Chris was what I read in the pamphlet that they distributed to the newcomers that stated that we could pray according to our beliefs.

Eight months after Father passed away, I told my sister that I wanted to give it a try. The healer was asking me to stay for six weeks. The only time I could be out of town for that long is the beginning of June, when the majority of my students, based on past experience, take their summer break to travel with their families and only return for their lessons in late August. On May 31, 2011, all was set. I was ready to go in search of a miracle.

After a three-hour flight from Jakarta, the plane was finally ready for touchdown. What a different view Kupang has while seeing it from the air compared to the many cities that I have seen in the past, such as Bandung, Bali, or Jakarta, which are nothing but supercongested buildings—highly overpopulated just like how we experience them daily on the ground. How strikingly open the land in Kupang still is. By 10:00 am local time, I, Chris, and Ibu arrived safely at El-Tari Airport. We had to take a short walk to the arrival building. It is the smallest and most modest airport I have ever seen by far.

Someone was supposed to pick us up there, but he couldn’t come. So we ended up taking a taxi. It was such an old car that must have been made around the 1960s. It was that old that I was worried that the car would suddenly break down any second. But we made it just fine. The driver didn’t know exactly where the guesthouse was. We went to the wrong inn at first, but he finally managed to find the house that we had rented two weeks prior to our departure through the generosity of a stranger, Marcel, whom I never met in person. He was introduced briefly via text by his friend who lives in Bandung. He knew I was heading to Kupang but lacking sufficient data to prepare the trip. If I had gone backpacking, it would be a different matter. I could improvise. But traveling with a child with a condition is another thing. Marcel was very helpful and friendly throughout completing the process. He was willing to find the time to meet me online to answer the tons of questions I had and got back to me with all the information I highly needed even though he was on a tight schedule. He was willing to visit the location to take a brief look whether it’s an acceptable place to stay, negotiated the fee and secured the house. Without his help, I don’t even know how we were going to make it once we got there. God bless your kind heart, Marcel. Thank you! After a week went by, I learned that people in Kupang didn’t go by street addresses. If I did that, they were more confused than knowledgeable on exactly where we were going. I had to mention one specific place, such as the name of a market or a pharmacy; from that point, they would be able to narrow down the location or ask people around if we still could not find it.

Close to noontime, we arrived at the guesthouse and had a brief chat with the superintendent as he gave me the key to the house. I immediately unpacked everything. Traveling with a child with a condition needs extra diligence. I had to move fast and work fast. What I needed badly was to find gas to light the stove to cook Chris’s daily meal. I had no idea where to find it. I asked the super, but he was too busy to help me. I had to wait for the next day for him to get it for me. I could not afford losing another day. Chris could not wait and just rely on bottles only. The heat was unbearable as the clock struck twelve. I asked him where I could go to buy lunch. He pointed the direction. I started walking down the narrow path under the blazing sun that led to the major street; thankfully, on my way down, I saw there was a gas store nearby that would deliver and a tiny store that sold rice as well. So the most urgent matters for that morning were solved in no time at all.

* * *

I went to Kupang practically clueless. I had no idea how the healing process for Chris would be done. I could only go with blind faith that Chris would be healed through his grace alone. Even though I had walked away from my belief, I still believe in the Higher Power. I still believe anything is possible if only he allows it to happen. Around 1:30 pm, about the same time the gas was being installed, suddenly a person showed up at the door and said he came to pick us up so we could go the place where Bapa lived. We were slightly behind with everything. Originally, I was going to search for another cab to TDM, but I didn’t expect anyone would drop by to get us there. Later that evening, I learned that his name is Rian; he continued to faithfully pick us up and drop us off day after day for the next six weeks to what he called on the second day as paradise on earth.

Major streets in Kupang are in much better shape compared to the ones in my hometown. Perhaps the fact that cars are still few meant the road condition could stay intact. There was practically no traffic, it took us only about a ten-minute drive from where we stayed to Bapa’s place. From the moment I arrived and stepped outside the car, there was a tremendous peace vibrating from that sacred place that almost made me cry. It’s such a humble house. Such a quiet place. All I heard were the sounds of the wind and the trees. I wasn’t sure where to go. There were already some people sitting at the porch when suddenly a middle-aged man walked out and greeted us. I only met the healer very briefly almost a year ago. I had no recollection of his face. So when he offered his hand, I asked if the pastor was around. He replied by saying that the pastor was inside while the rest started giggling and pointing at him to me as he was the one I was asking for. That was quite embarrassing. I arrived at his place dead tired. I didn’t sleep the whole night as we left Bandung past midnight and headed to the airport in Jakarta to catch the early morning flight. For the first two days, I almost fell asleep while listening to his soft voice talking. He asked me to sit down at the veranda. There were more and more people coming as the clock struck two. I had no idea what I should do next when I suddenly heard someone clapping quite a few times. Everyone became very quiet. After a moment of silence, Bapa started the pelayanan by making the sign of the cross and reciting the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Blessed be our Lord Jesus Christ now and forever and ever. I was completely stunned. I had no idea that he was a Catholic.

Right after he finished his prayers, everyone started to drink the water. The person who sat next to us told me to give as much as I could to Chris. It took me days before I started picking up the pattern that what we did there is practically nothing apart from sitting there, drinking the water, and listening to Bapa as he moved around to speak to different groups that were scattered around his house. Bapa jokes around most of the time. But when he didn’t, when he started talking about something more serious in nature, his voice would go down lower. It’s kind of magical actually. He had many beautiful and profoundly touching lines that spoke volumes to my restless heart. I found great comfort in listening to him during the weeks I was there. There was something sacred and holy about that place. I can’t describe it. I could only feel it. There was one particular day when the wind was blowing real hard for some time that I couldn’t help feeling how biblical the atmosphere was.

* * *

Rian is a quiet fellow. He seldom talks. As the weeks went by, however, he would occasionally throw lines at me in the car. There was one time when he said that everyone has their own guardian angel. I have heard that line many times. That’s part of the notion that always made me wonder that if everyone, indeed, has a guardian angel, how could we explain the so many sad stories about missing children or children who got hurt by pedophiles or those who were the victims of violent crimes? Where were their guardian angels when the most heinous crimes were being committed? One time he said that Satan offers pleasure while the Lord offers happiness. If I never went to Kupang, if I never had those two minutes of a brief encounter with him last year, would I have continued to be who I was in terms of my own faith? I could only go as far as believing in something higher—the giver of life, the sole creator of life. The rest would always be beyond my grasp. My priest said that our human brain is not adequate enough to reason things that are beyond our ability to reason. I had tried for years to come to terms with my own faith. I failed. No matter how hard I tried, I ended up in the same repetitiveness that brought me back to an endless inner cycle of torment. Has he designed this Kupang journey not only for Chris but for me as well?

* * *

Day two in Kupang. I started my morning by going to the local market to buy vegetables and other groceries. It has a cute name: Paris—Pasar Inpres. My main transportation was an ojek, which basically is a motorcycle with a driver. The sky was amazingly beautiful that morning. It continued to stay that way till the day we left. Traffic was light as it would always be no matter what time I left the house. After living in Bandung and facing nightmare traffic most of the time, it was such a welcome change. There were two different occasions on our way home from Bapa’s place where we saw cattle crossing the street. I asked Rian where they were going. Home, he said.

Without the shepherd? They could do that?

Yep, he said.

I enjoyed the view very much. Where in Bandung could I see cattle crossing?

Back in March, I was entering the final few weeks, preparing a recital in remembrance of my father one year after his untimely passing, when my hair started to fall so massively that by the time I got to Kupang, I was practically bald. When I took a cigarette break in the backyard of Bapa’s house, the children from around the neighborhood would approach me shyly but