Some days feel like they will last forever. Then you grow up and they don't.
A few months earlier, Mom and Dad had followed the kids to the village, trying to build their new life from scratch. They constructed another Woloan style wooden house right next door to Oma and Opa.
But moving out wasn't instant for the children. They already rooted in Oma & Opa Haus. They needed coaxing, negotiation, and the ultimate bribe of "you'll get your own room."
The sisters moved first. They squeezed into one room. Pure chaos, but a chaos they could finally owned. It was their privacy. A luxury they had just learned to crave.
Daily routines followed by endless fights over clothes, shoes, hair ribbons, and the legendary paper Barbie cut-outs they bought at the warung after school. Those Barbie sheets was so popular that the girls even made a special paper house for them at home.
Aldi often got trapped in the crossfire, genuinely confused why dresses and cardboard dolls could start World War III on a weekday afternoon.
While the sisters saved their pocket money for the Barbie sheets, Aldi saved his for marbles. The milky ones. The shiny ones. The heavy ones that made him feel rich.
He played with classmates, sometimes even seniors who didn't treat him like a baby.
And, boy, winning marbles was his tiny version of triumph. A small, round way of proving himself.
The school bell rang on a Friday afternoon, and it was their favorite time of the week. They ran to the warung to see the new arrivals of the Barbie cut-outs and marbles collections.
His sister had her eyes set on the newest Barbie sheet, but sadly she'd spent all her pocket money.
She leaned close to Aldi and asked if he could borrow her some coins.
Aldi hesitated, because he had planned to buy the milky marbles that very day. But he lent her the coins anyway, trusting the invisible rule he thought all siblings followed that his sister would return the money.
But she didn't. She forgot. Or maybe it just didn't matter to her. Aldi waited. As he waited, something he couldn't name began to bloom. A small, sad sting made of disappointment and confusion.
That evening, as Opa is sitting on the balcony sipping his favorite peppermint tea, Aldi told Opa with a shaky voice. No drama. Just quiet honesty of what had happened.
Opa listened and hugged him, and didn't scold his sister.
Opa didn't say much, but he tripled Aldi's pocket money the next Monday.
Imagine if Aldi had ran to Oma, it would've been be the opposite. Oma would have marched into the house, and scolded his sister.
Neither his sister nor Aldi understood the weight of that moment. But for Aldi, it became the first lesson about trust. How it bends, not breaks.
This might be his first quiet wound. His first realization that even people you care can forget you.
While Opa might be his first awareness of a place where nothing was ever forgotten.
Mom and Dad were busy adjusting to their new environment, new island, new everything. They had been thinking about moving the kids to the city eventually, so they could have a better education than what the village could offer.
And, it was time for Aldi's birthday. It was simple, warm, and noisy in the best way.
Oma baked her signature Blackforest cake for Aldi. The spongy chocolate layers, homemade cherry fillings and whipped cream, topped with chocolate savings and curls. A legend in the family, second to her dark chocolate pudding with homemade vanilla vla.
The house smelled lovely, the kids crowded the main dining table while Opa sat ready at the piano. Oma led the happy birthday song with her bright, fearless voice.
When it was time to blow the candle, Mom told him to make a wish before blowing out the candles.
Instead of whispering, he declared his wish proudly, saying "I want to be a Spiderman!"
hahahaha~ everyone laughed because Mom and Dad's gift was exactly that: a bright red Spiderman suit.
A dream comes true, just like that.
The moment he saw it, his eyes widened like he'd seen magic. He wore it immediately and refused to take it off.
While everyone enjoyed the cake, Aldi transformed into a real Spiderman.
He shot imaginary webs. Climbed chairs and windowsills. Crawled under tables. Jumped off steps with the confidence of a boy who believed gravity was optional.
Then he took it seriously. He went to the second floor, tried to climb out of a window like an actual Spiderman. His foot slipped. He fell. Pain hit him fast and real. He cried instantly. Everyone panicked.
They rushed him to the nearby health post but the facility wasn't enough. Mom and Dad took him to the city hospital. The diagnosis was dislocated arm and elbow.
He had to wear a gypsum cast for a month. He hated it. The itch, the heat, the weight, and it became a constant reminder of everything he suddenly couldn't do.
Time passed. The obsession faded.
The cows. The chickens. The marbles. Even Spiderman.
Childhood loosened its grip the way childhood does. Slowly, silently and all at once.
Eventually, they moved to the city. Away from Oma and Opa. Away from the mountains. Away from the cow cart. Away from the cold mornings and the giant ketapang tree that guarded the balcony.
Aldi didn't know it at the time, but he had just lived through the golden chapters of his life. The ones he would ache for much later. The ones that would shape him quietly, deeply, forever.
..to be continued...