by Adriana Rezal
by Adriana Rezal
This is the space I remember the best. My memories in your kitchen are soaked With durian and curry And sunlight warming the tile floor And laughter and jokes and melayu. L a s t y e a r, I b e g a n t o r e b u i l d The bridge that runs over This great divide that stretches between you and I. But you and he share anger and stubbornness that makes the divide run deep. Kakak Nana, the first-born grandchild, Made her reappearance after seven long years Of no communication. H e r m o t h e r, t h e d a u g h t e r- i n - l a w, e v e n c a m e a l o n g , But your son refused. Here I sit, the daughter of your beloved eldest, At the same kitchen table where you Raised him into a man. One day he left you, headed for a foreign place; You w a i t e d fo r h i s re t u r n . I don't know what caused such a destructive explosion That left your relationship with him Obliterated. But I feel emptiness and grief In your kitchen. Yo u a r e s l o w n o w, y o u r b o n e s a c h e . The other grandchildren help you walk. E v e r y d a y, y o u m a d e m e b r e a k f a s t , t e a , l u n c h a n d d i n n e r. You e n j oye d w a t c h i n g m e e a t In his place, in your kitchen. I know that you love me. I am your blood, The first-born of your first-born, I am polite and grateful, and I have his face. B u t h e r a i s e d m e f a r a w a y. I don't speak your tongue, I don't practice your faith, I don't share your customs. You d o n 't k n ow w h o I a m . I c a n ' t h e l p b u t w o n d e r, Every day you cooked for me in your kitchen, We re you d i s a p p o i n t e d To t u r n a r o u n d And see me sitting at the table Instead of him?