Dear little me.
I know you want the whole world to know about your feelings, but you're afraid of being seen "playing victim".
People may ask me why I keep crying. They think my tears today are due to what happened today, but it's not true.
I cry because I see you cry.
You're not a rebel or a troublemaker. You're just soft-heart-girl.
I welcome you and want to hug you.
I know you've been hurting for too long.
Dear little me.
A sweet, quiet, and obedient child like you has witnessed youthful egos and parental fights.
You see the faces of your parents that your younger siblings don't see.
Your memories capture your mother's depressive moment and the shadow of fatherlessness.
People say parents should have exclusive time alone with each child, but you had very little. The only exclusive time you remember with your father was when he took you to college. And you remember about a little good time with your mother when she taught you to crochet and do laundry.
I saw how the love arises and sinks from your parents—because of being the firstborn.
Dear little me.
I also know you've had so many difficult times. You often fainted while far away from home. You graduated without a celebration.
Perhaps you also feel that being born and welcomed so casually, being named with a hospital name—unlike your siblings' thoughtful names—makes you worthless.
But you should know that you're a great person with beautiful soul, as beautiful as Fatimah, the daughter of the Prophet.
Dear little me.
I apologize for the sexual harassment from school environment that you kept to yourself.
I never imagined the bloody scenes of Ambon 1999 that you witness still terrify you. I'm sorry no one stopped you at that time.
Thank you for staying alive. I'm sorry I just came to hug you now.
You are safe now.
From now on, you're life will be fine.
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