A Burst of Color Weaving Dreams

“Ani, wake up, it’s time for school, dear,” my mother gently called out to wake me. I slowly got up and sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes as I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was four in the morning. “Oh no, I’m still so sleepy and tired,” I thought, already dreading the challenging journey to school.

Due to our family's financial struggles after my father lost his job, we were forced to move in with our grandparents who lived far from our school. My six siblings and I had no choice but to stay, as transferring schools was not an option because of our financial constraints. That day, my younger sister and I had school starting at seven, and because the journey took almost an hour and a half, we had to start getting ready two hours in advance.

After bathing, praying, and having a modest breakfast, my sister and I hurried off on foot to the bus shelter. In the early dawn, we walked through rice fields and narrow alleys between residential houses to reach the shelter. We arrived at the shelter at around 5:30 AM and boarded a city bus heading towards the city center. From there, we walked again—along busy streets and through neighborhoods—until we reached our school. This was our daily routine, as our parents could only afford two bus rides a day.

We often felt exhausted and on the verge of giving up, especially since we were still in elementary school at the time. But the universe seemed to support us through our mother’s constant prayers that accompanied us on every step of our educational journey. Sometimes, we returned home after sunset when school started in the afternoon. Fireflies flickered, frogs croaked in the fields, and crickets chirped, accompanying us as we walked through the darkening rice fields and plantations.

“Girls, come take shelter! There’s a lot of lightning,” called out the motherly owner of a small food stall near the fields during a heavy rainstorm. We never really saw it as dangerous—on the contrary, we often felt happy. Once, on our way home from school, a kind man paid for our fare and gave us extra money, equivalent to around a hundred thousand rupiah today. We imagined our mother’s joyful face, knowing she could now buy us better food. Thinking of that, my sister and I danced and sang in the rain, lightning, and thunder.

“Girls, wait until the rain stops. Come have some fried bananas and warm tea. Once it clears, you can continue your walk,” the stall owner said. Alhamdulillah, that was one of the many signs that the universe always had our backs. So many kind-hearted people still cared for those less fortunate like us.

Another time, my sister was swept away by floodwaters; her foot fell into a hole hidden beneath the water. Thankfully, she was rescued by the kind parents of a friend. They cleaned us up and offered us warm, delicious food we had never tasted before.

“Teh, I’m scared!” my sister screamed one morning while we were walking through a shortcut in the plantation on our way to school. A man suffering from a mental illness blocked and chased us. I held my sister’s hand tightly and ran as fast as we could toward the neighborhood until we finally reached the bus shelter safely.

Days turned into months, and months into years—we grew up without realizing it. My sister, who had always been by my side, eventually became a medical worker at a local hospital. I completed my postgraduate degree and became a government employee in a different region. Alhamdulillah, our life journey, full of trials, bore sweet fruit—thanks to the prayers and tears of our parents, especially our beloved mother who worked tirelessly, taking on any job she could to support our family. Our father, unfortunately, could no longer fully fulfill his role as the head of the household after losing his job.

The prayers, support from our parents, our cheerfulness, and unwavering belief helped turn our dreams into reality. Every time we traveled—on the bus, walking along the dikes, through fields, neighborhoods, and sidewalks—we saw ourselves reflected in the lives of the happy, fortunate people around us.

“Sis, someday we won’t have to walk in the rain, we’ll eat good food, and we’ll have a comfortable home,” I once said to my sister on one of our walks.

There will always be a burst of color in every attempt to weave our dreams—bright colors, deep blacks, gray blues, blushing reds, calm whites, joyful yellows, and even gradients of darkness and light—all of which will paint the canvas of our lives. I believe nothing is impossible. Everything will unfold as it should, through our best efforts and prayers to the One who holds the heavens and the earth—Allah, the Almighty.

This is the belief I now pass on to my children, the next generation of our hopes, dreams, and struggles.