Kopi susu

My little son is not a newborn anymore…. he is not just eating and sleeping, eating and sleeping, quietly and innocently staring into the wide wild world…. he has changed so much, and I need to let go already, so many little things slipping away…. the way he clenches his fists while eating – now he prefers to fidget with his ear…. sleeping peacefully – now he is restless and squirming…. looking for me as he is inching his way around the bed in this very moment as well.
He has started communicating and interacting. Nature is smart, just before parents go nuts because of sleepless nights (not me…. we do sleep a lot….), babies learn to smile whenever they see a face. and we do take it personally, though I read it’s not. but I prefer to believe anyway that it is. that even in between two bouts of fighting with the stomach genies he is smiling at me because he is genuinely happy to see me. he does tend to recognise me. my mother means fun. I mean food. he can also stare at my boobs and smack his lips in a really funny way. the munching and piggy grunting still goes on 🙂 he does know now where food comes from. he likes to listen to voices and sounds. he makes his own little sounds, really really putting a lot of effort into shaping his lips and getting it right. he has tried “talking” while eating when he is happy 🙂 he is fascinated by colourful moving Himalayan Buddhist prayer flags and everything green. the rainbow ducks can hold his attention for five minutes. he can push himself to be near me at night in bed. he can push himself forward when lying face down in his cot. he already knows where he wants to be and what he likes to look at.


He has his father’s easy-going smile and sunny disposition. nothing can make him scream and get upset for long. the next minute he is already smiling. he does take after me a little – he can sleep all night and eat all day. like, all day, really. but I still don’t see any of me in his features. I don’t see his daddy’s features either, only certain faces he makes and the way he holds his hands sometimes while asleep.


boring, isn’t it? he is my little world now. I’m still waiting for lightning to strike. if it ever will.
by the way, I never understood why people like Obama and Lewis Hamilton are referred to as “blacks”. they are just as white as they are black. why aren’t mixed race and mixed heritage people referred to as such? as if blackness was like a stain. like in the old times, even a single drop of blood can ruin it.


Now my little son is just smiling at everybody and has no idea that he is a mixed kid too, and that there are people out there who will hurt him for it. I have no idea how I can help him to be strong enough to deal with it. I’m not strong enough myself. I cannot teach him to be Indonesian, he won’t have much to hang onto. his father, well he’s not gonna be part of our everyday lives for sure. I’ve read stories, seen movies… but I guess the stories that go all right don’t make it into a book or movie. only when something goes really awry.

Looks like there is something small to learn every day. now it’s how not to go nuts being attached to him so many hours a day, with so many things that should be done, but tied down, just the thoughts running wild, in circles, chasing each other desperately. a few weeks from now I will need to childproof the bed. there will be something for every day. one day I will need to deal with the coffee latte situation too. –  still many hours of nursing while I can think about it. maybe it would be easier if he had been born with his final skin tone. I don’t know. I still need to deal with all this in my heart 😦


so many things I would like to write about the cultural polar opposites that collided in a moment, I even have sentences half ready in my mind during the day…. but not by the time I get here 😦  in many ways, I wish he could be a child for some time out there, running wild with the other boys on the beach, chasing crabs, climbing coconut trees, carefree and crazy… but then, that godforsaken place doesn’t even have books or milk. or anything resembling a decent education, for that matter. but it is still so far away. we’ll go back sometime… he needs to see his other family. I’m already shattered into so many pieces. he can hold all those pieces together now, in his own way. I’m crying and he doesn’t know yet what tears are. he looks into my eyes and gives me a huge smile. nothing and nobody scares him yet. that’s my son.


I see now that this last photo is not sharp. but I still like it anyway.


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