Vol. VI — Big Shoes, Small Present, In Transit
Welcome back to Weekly, Maybe, a non-ambitious newsletter by Christabelle, Avi, and Rara. Well, at least it used to be. Chris and Avi have moved on to establish their newsletter solo careers, and it’s just going to be Rara here from now on. That is a lot of shoes to fill: while reading their drafts I would often complain to them half-jokingly, “You guys throw around em-dashes in your sentences like a pro and I’m here struggling to string three words together.” So no hard feelings if you wish to leave—even I admit that they both are the better writers in this trio—but also feel free to stick around, maybe?
A Family Affair - Part 2
When I heard that they found a tumor in Mama Ida’s breast and she was to undergo surgery within two days, I rushed to the mall to get her a care package. I knew I was pushing my luck: there was no overnight service available from here to Pangkep, where the surgery was going to take place. I asked Mama Wana if I could send the package to her home in Makassar instead, so she could bring it with her to Pangkep on the day of Mama Ida’s surgery. Mama Wana happily obliged.
But if you’ve read part 1 of this story, I think you have a pretty good idea of what happens next.
***
Those who have read any of her reviews know that Lauren Oyler holds a passionate disdain for a wide range of literary styles. Besides apparent in her infamous Jia Tolentino takedown (“I get the sense that she must feel overwhelming pity for ugly women, if she ever met one”), she once called Sally Rooney’s body of work “representatively representational”, and Otessa Moshfegh’s sentences “intentionally overwritten, highly controlled but thick with exaggerated language, often illustrated with over-the-top setups that feel more tedious than titillating”. On the other end of the spectrum, highly readable or accessible works like Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist—or to a lesser degree, Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird— are lowbrow, “annoying”, and “repetitive”, so I guess you can’t really win with her.
Lauren Oyler also hates fragmented narratives. In fact, Lauren Oyler hates fragmented narratives so much that a whole chapter in her debut novel was written entirely in this format to prove a point, a level of mockery even the pettiest among us can only wish to attain. According to her, writing in fragments “insinuate utmost meaning where there was only hollow prose, and in its attempt to reflect the world as a sequence of distinct and clearly formed ideas, it ran counter to how reality actually worked.” (Actually, it was the main character in the novel who said it, but who can really tell? Especially considering Oyler’s review of Jenny Offil’s Weather).
***
Most days, I don’t know how “reality actually worked”. One minute I was in the pajamas section of Uniqlo, trying to guess if Mama Ida was an S or an M, and before I knew it I was in the backseat of our family’s Carry van, on our way to Parepare for cakar hunting. Parepare is a major port town in South Sulawesi, about 100 km away from Pangkep. Every two months or so, a ship would dock there bringing used clothes from overseas that came in bulks—hence the name cakar (cap karung)—and the port transformed into a lively pasar malam.
Eastern Indonesians have been thrifting way before it was cool in Jaksel. In our family, cakar hunting is a favorite pastime, a road trip to look forward to, a bonding activity. It was how I learned about Mama Ida’s affinity for pastel colors (“warna bule”), Papa Enal’s preference for sports sunglasses and leather jackets, Mama Wana’s particular taste in jeans (“They have to stretch, like rubber!”), and Mama Ci’s love for handbags.
One time, in a gigantic pile of secondhand clothes under a sign that said LIMA RIBU I found a navy blue plain t-shirt and handed it over to Mama Ida for inspection. She took a look at the label and ran her hands through the fabric before nodding her approval. That night, I took home my very first Uniqlo, a treat from Mama Ida.
***
I found myself looking up distinct calcifications, SNA, IDC, DCIS while simultaneously trying to keep track of which one(s) Mama Ci (a clinical pathologist) said Mama Ida had or didn’t have based on preliminary tests. Besides, Mama Ci said, we’ll know more once the PA results come out. Besides, Papa Ilham (a radiologist) said, it wasn’t the death sentence it used to be ten, twenty years ago. Nowadays people even take pills as opposed to, you know, intravenously. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. So far, the tests are looking good. It’s looking good.
***
In the Before world, things were a lot more straightforward. One time I got a call from Mama Ida. She was waiting outside the doctor’s office, nervous about being on medication again. “Remember when we would go to Nasi Campur Nyoto right after my sessions? I wish we could go right now,” she said. So I simply flew home the next day. The entire time, we talked about everything, so many things, conversations that lasted into the night without a single mention of The Thing. We didn’t have the language to express what we truly wanted to say back then, nor the framework to navigate it, but being there despite not knowing the full picture was all that mattered. It was only when I was about to leave for Jakarta again when she finally brought It up. “Dr. Wempy said it’s perfectly common for women going through, you know, this, to be like… this. I should be fine.” And I trusted her, and she was. I left Pangkep feeling like I’d accomplished a mission, without having googled a single word.
***
When you’re tracking a purchase from Tokopedia, it’s four simple milestones:
Menunggu Konfirmasi,
Pesanan Diproses,
Sedang Dikirim, until you hear a knock on the door and
the package has, safely, Sampai Tujuan.
When you’re tracking a package you’re sending through TIKI:
Shipment Data Entry at BANDUNG,
Arrived at TIKI at BANDUNG,
Departed to MAKASSAR, as Mama Ida finished her pre-op consult
Transit at JAKARTA, as Mama Ida started fasting
Arrived at TIKI MAKASSAR, as Mama Wana phoned to say she had to leave for Pangkep now if she wanted to make it in time to see Mama Ida before her surgery
With DELIVERY COURIER, as Mama Ida was ushered to the OR
SUCCESS, around the time Fila texted to let me know that Mama Ida was out of surgery
***
When Mama Wana announced that she was driving back to Makassar to pick up the package and bring it to Pangkep that same day, I told her under no circumstances would I allow her to do such a thing. Kodong, jangan mi! Bukan ji ikan kukirim, Mama Wana. To which she replied, Awwweeee…. which is a Bugis expression for a multitude of emotions, and in this particular context roughly translates to “Dear God, don’t even start with that shit. That joke is too soon.”
But as with all of our other family affairs, I rarely have a say. Mama Wana was already in Maros, halfway between Pangkep and Makassar. Besides, she said, button-front pajamas would make it easier for Mama Ida to move around the IV lines and tubes. If we throw them in the washing machine tonight, she’ll be able to wear them tomorrow morning. In that moment, I understood that Mama Wana was on a mission, and nothing could stop her.
Shout-outs*:
To our friends whose birthday is this month: Paulista, Basten, Rara, Fila, Fika, Ichi, and Mike, happy birthday! Thank you for existing, and I hope you guys got to celebrate your birthday in good health, with your loved ones, despite *points aimlessly at everything* this. I acknowledge and appreciate you guys so much.
To our dear friend Ega, one of the strongest motherfucker and hustler I know: get well soon!