Some roads are rocky, but they lead to the softest memories
Morning always came early in Oma-Opa Haus. The cold breeze slipped through the wooden planks long before the sun fully rose, making the entire house feel like a giant fridge. At that time, even without air-conditioning, dawn was always icy.
Oma-Opa Haus was a wooden house from Woloan, handmade, built like giant Lego pieces that could be assembled and disassembled by hand. Every plank had a clean fit, every joint clicked into place, and every creak told you exactly where someone was walking.
Wooden house made in Woloan, Tomohon
The balcony of the house held everything, the old radio, dining table, living area, and enough space for the kids to run circles around Oma without getting caught.
From this balcony, Mount Klabat stood calmly in the distance, tall blue-grey, wrapped in morning mist. Coconut trees stretched across the landscape below, swaying gently with the cold morning wind.
the view from Oma Opa Haus
And right in front of the house, there was a huge ketapang tree whose wide branches sometimes reached into the balcony itself. During the day, that tree was a blessing, shading the whole balcony from the sun and keeping the house cool.
The downside? Red ants. Everywhere.
Marching along the railings, sneaking into corners and occasionally dropping onto the balcony floor like uninvited guests. Well, it was both protector and troublemaker, and the whole family just lived with it.
Except from the ants, none of the kids cared about any of that. To them, it was just home.
Inside the room, Aldi slept squeezed between his sisters under a thick blanket. Sometimes they hugged him in their sleep, sometimes they pushed him off the pillow, sometimes they teased him until he cried. Guess what, Oma would rush in to defend her only grandson.
To Oma, Aldi was the prince of the house. To the sisters, he was the crybaby. To Aldi, it was just love he didn't know how to name yet.
Morning always started in chaos. Oma clapper her hands loudly, trying to wake everyone up. Ollie opened the windows, letting the cold mountain air rush in. The wooden floorboards creaked under their footsteps. The staticky radio hummed in the background, switching between morning news and old songs without warning.
Meanwhile, Ollie was already ironing their school uniforms with the traditional charcoal iron. It sizzled softly each time she pressed it down. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and kept going. Calm, steady, young but more mature than her age ever suggested.
the traditional charcoal iron
Downstairs in the kitchen, Oma prepared breakfast. She stirred simple congee in a big pot over the wood-fire stove, the flames cracking loudly beneath it. She cut fruit with sharp, quick motions. She poured warm milk into enamel cups. The smell of burning coconut husk drifted up by the stairs and mixed with the morning cold.
By the time the kids stumbled out onto the balcony, sleepy and half-awake, the sunrise behind Mount Klabat painted the whole sky gold. Back then, they didn't realize how precious that view was. To them, it was just... there.
Part of childhood. Part of the world. Maybe they thought that view was a permanent backdrop that would never change.
Aldi sat closest to Oma, always. He ate congee with big, eager spoons. Oma smiled quietly each time he reached for more fruit. The small joys only grandmothers understand.
After breakfast, Opa climbed up from the first floor carrying buckets of hot water. It was part of his daily routine, making sure everyone could bathe with warm water before it ran out.
The sisters usually got more of it, while Aldi... well, he mostly played with the water. He splashed, made small waves, dipped his hands in and out, completely forgetting that warm water was limited. Hence, Opa always stayed close, guiding him gently, helping him rinse, and topping up the bucket whenever Aldi's playing emptied it too fast.
It was slow, it was messy, but it was their little morning ritual.
Once the kids were bathed and dressed, it was time to go.
The sisters squeezed into a small pickup car, with Oma as their lovely driver.
Aldi, of course, went with Opa on the cow cart. Just thinking of preparing the cart already giving a headache.
But Opa?
He moved calmly. checking the wooden wheels, tightening the ropes, adjusting the wooden yoke, and whispering something into the cow's ear that sounded suspiciously like negotiation.
The rocky road clacked loudly under the wheels as they left. Dust lifted with each step of the cow. Coconut leaves rustled high above, forming shadows that swayed across the path.
Dogs stretched lazily in the sun. Chickens walked as if they owned the place. Aldi never once complained about the slow ride. To him, the cow cart was freedom...
But school? School was a different story.
On his first day, he cried the whole way there, sitting on the cart, wiping tears and trying to persuade Opa to take another road so they could go a bit longer on the cow cart.
Opa patted his back gently, promising he would return to pick him up later, with the same cart, same cows, same everything.
Ollie always came to accompany him at school, holding his hand tightly and whispering that she would stay by the windows, waiting and watching him from outside his classroom.
He entered the classroom with red eyes, trembling voice and his small bag dragging on the floor. The teacher introduced himself to the class. He was still crying.
Shy, confused but brave enough to say hi to his new classmates.
The teacher tried everything, and nothing worked. Not toys, not comforting words, not jokes.
Until, finally, she remembered how he came to school, and took a piece of chalk. Slowly, she drew a giant cow across the entire chalkboard.
Aldi stopped crying. The classroom laughed, relieved.
Apparently, in a world that often confused him, cows were the one thing that made sense.
When the school bell finally rang, Aldi ran out to Ollie and couldn't wait to hop onto Opa's cow cart.
Opa arrived and Aldi hugged him as if they'd been apart for years, proudly telling him how his teacher drew a huge cow on the chalkboard.
Well, that's pretty much Aldi's kindergarten era in the village, held together by cows, grandparents, cold mountain mornings, and routines he didn't realize were shaping him quietly, softly, deeply.
Where one day, he would miss all of this so much it would ache.
But for now, he was just a small boy living in a big world.
..to be continued...