A Letter to My Twelve-Year-Old Self
“My world has stopped.”
I finally resumed counseling a week ago, following an almost three-year hiatus. This year has been difficult for me because I was so distressed due to my work that it bled into every single thing in my life. My therapy sessions this time concentrated on the inner child and trauma healing. anything I wasn’t able to address in depth at my prior counseling session
“My world has stopped,” I told my counsellor when she asked me to recreate the memories of Papa’s death. I recall four people carrying his comatose corpse into an ambulance, and I recall Mama panicked and being left alone at home to wait while they transported Papa to the hospital. My neighbor came to the door less than an hour later and told me that Papa had passed away.
I didn’t cry; I just stood there, indifferent. I was perplexed and unsure how to respond. When my therapist inquired how I was feeling at the time, I said, “My world has stopped.”
Even after 18 years, I still feel a slight twinge in my heart whenever someone mentions Papa. What I normally tell individuals close to me is that I have an unfilable void in my heart. But, ultimately, when I spoke with my counselor and she asked how the 12-year-old Chos felt when they told me Papa was gone, I felt as if my world had come to a stop.
And from that point forward, I was not actually alive.
I felt as if a piece of me had been ripped away suddenly and without warning, and I didn’t know what to do with the rest of my life except to protect others from the extreme sorrow that I felt that day.
“It did make me feel different. I think a lot of the time I feel incredibly embarrassed because no one knows how to react, and I think to myself, “Oh well, I’ve created a very awkward situation now where everyone is uncomfortable.” I don’t think I ever did something about it during my first two years since I didn’t want to draw attention to myself or be unhappy about it. I just never really talked about it because everyone who has been through it is obviously trying to figure themselves out, so it’s difficult to do. I didn’t want to upset Mom, I didn’t want to upset my sisters, and I didn’t have anyone else to properly discuss it with. Now, however, I can talk about it without feeling bad, almost as if I’m making someone else worried that I’m sad when I’m not. I overheard grownups saying things like, “She’ll get over it shortly,” and other such platitudes. “Children are resilient,” I heard people say around me. I heard those things, but no one said anything to me. I’m not looking for sympathy. I don’t like how it makes the situation unpleasant. I prefer informing them after I’ve gotten to know them rather than telling them straight away because with some of my friends (I only told a couple of people), when I did tell them, their behaviour changed and they didn’t enjoy it. It’s just that when you tell them, they look shocked, which makes reason; that’s quite something; you wouldn’t anticipate it.
– Excerpt from “Voices of adults bereaved as children” by Winston’s Wish, the first dedicated childhood bereavement charity.
September 8, 2004 is the date. Papa died when I was 12 years old. I was alone with Mama, who was so overcome with emotion that she collapsed numerous times. My two older sisters were both away: Kak Mita was in New Zealand, and Kak Vika was studying in Malaysia. We all met in Bali, and I recall his body being placed in a casket; he looked like he was sleeping, and we all poured soil on his body to represent that he was buried as a Muslim. But, after all, he is a Balinese — the oldest son, no less — and he had to go through the procedure of Ngaben, also known as Pitra Yadyna, Bali’s Hindu death ceremony. A Ngaben is conducted to free a deceased person’s soul so that it can enter the above realm and wait to be reborn or be released from the cycles of rebirth. Mama fought with Papa’s family about him having to go through the process, because in her stubbornness and love, she always thought that my father was a Muslim, Ngaben wasn’t a choice.
Mama then brought me home, and I missed Papa’s Ngaben rite because I was a 12-year-old kid with little choice, and everyone else thought I was too young to absorb it anyhow.
Every day after Papa died, I’d come out of my room to find Mama sobbing in front of the TV. And I remained silent, returning to my room so as not to upset her any further. I had no one to talk to about it. My sisters were away, and my extended relatives always felt sad for me or burst into tears when they saw the extreme resemblance of Papa in me.
Nobody ever came over to console me or even inquire how I was doing.
So here I am, a 30-year-old woman whose “death father” has taken on her entire personality as a result of my inability or unwillingness to grieve properly. And for years, I was unaware of how Papa’s death affected my interactions with love partners, friends, and others. I didn’t see death as an end or something to be afraid of, and I became morbid and upsetting to everyone around me because I always said, “Well, I don’t care if I die or I wouldn’t mind dying because it means I get to see Papa.”
But, along the way, I’ve damaged people because of my delayed grieving and the fact that I was wounded as a child because I lost my soulmate and wasn’t able to fully grieve for him. And I despised hurting others because I was hurt; I was in pain with every breath I drew after September 8, 2004, and I never wanted anyone I cared about to feel the same way.
So this is a letter to my 12-year-old self, who has been severely wounded and whose world has come to a stop as of September 8, 2004.
Hi 12 years old Chos,
I’m so sorry your world has been shattered, that you’ve lost your soulmate and role model, someone you love with your entire being, and that you feel you have no love left for anybody else.
But haven’t you always been a weakling? You’re a sweet, sensitive, and naive child like Papa, too trusting and easily manipulated, and you always let it go because you’re also forgiving. And you are also a kindhearted person who always goes out of her way to help people like your mama. You have a great deal of love for everyone and everything in the world, but you never know how to express it correctly.
I’m sorry you’ve felt isolated for so long, that you’re frightened of upsetting everyone around you, and that you’re perplexed as to why no one ever asks you how you’re doing even when you’re mourning. I’m sorry you have to bottle up all your feelings and have no one to share them with. I’m sorry that every accomplishment and important life event in your life makes you think about Papa and makes you worry whether he’s proud of you or not.
I’m sorry you can’t talk about philosophical and existential issues with Papa anymore, and that Mama would shut off or disregard your never-ending questions about how the world works.
Forgive yourself for your years of selfishness and anger toward Mama because she is a person in her own right and you get to view her as an adult, whereas Papa will always be seen as a saint. Remember that she’s a distinct person with her own baggage, and it’s unjust to keep her at a distance just because she’s not Papa. Forgive her for being unable to meet your emotional needs when you most needed them, since she is also grieving the loss of her other half. Please forgive her for leaving you out of Papa’s Ngaben rite. Mama always shows her love for you by babying you and always having her back for you. Her love language may not be to your liking, for you want her to discuss this grief with you and ask you how you are doing instead of babying you and making sure that you won’t lack anything in life despite Papa not being around, but please forgive her; she has done her best. Forgive yourself as well for not recognizing her love until you’re an adult.
Please remember that you are greatly loved despite your peculiarities and that you have met individuals who love you unconditionally despite all of your shortcomings. You’ve encountered folks who love you despite your inability to be fully intimate with them. Remember that you are now safe, with support mechanisms that allow you to still grieve even though Papa died years ago.
Remember to be compassionate to yourself and recognize that protecting others from pain is in your nature since you grew up trying to protect others from the agony you experienced. But, first and foremost, remember to love yourself; realize that you cannot prevent pain for everyone; and try not to absorb all of the world’s pain and injustice to the point that you forget to love yourself.
Remember that you don’t have to fulfill every single demand from others or help everyone; stop being a people pleaser and overcompensate for everything. Be fair to yourself, even if you grew up with folks who implied or openly told you that you had to carry on Papa’s legacy. You are an individual. You were formed by both Papa and Mama to be who you are today: compassionate, delicate, sensitive, innocent, and naive. You stay full of optimism and joy despite all the hardship.
I hope you always find the courage to love yourself and honor your emotional needs, even if you were never taught how. Thank you for your courage. When you had so much to deal with, you continued smiling and being friendly. Even when you were in pain, you made people feel seen and heard.
With compassion and all the love in the world,
– 30 years old Chos.
