A Faded Flower

Sorrowing. Sobbing. Screaming. Tears falling without any signs of stopping. Uncontrollable wail intertwining with short gasps and dry coughs. She was lying flat on her bed. Her black long hair was tangled and wet from all the tears. Her brown eyes looked dimmed and swollen. Nobody could ease her pain. Nothing, truly nothing, could mend that shattered heart. Two hours passed by… the cry suddenly turned into silence. Absolute silence. Not long after the family realized that she was there no more. She had run away. Sixteen-year-old Malia, alone in the cruel and unforgiving metropolis.

When she was finally found a few months later, Malia had changed her look. Bold and dark makeup was all over her face, sending a don't-mess-with-me message to all people around. She dressed differently, too. Dark top with tight shiny pants on high heels, just like Olivia Newton John’s in the old Grease movie – not the innocent Sandy, but the altered girl at the end of the movie. A mix smell of cigarette and alcohol permeated the air every time she opened her mouth. She looked high; oh wait, after she said something actually people would know right away: Malia was high!

Her mom begged Malia to come home. She didn’t budge a bit. Her mind had settled. In her heart she believed that the awful thing happened to her was all because of her mom. So, going back to her family was not an option. Who would live with a family that causing all the troubles and humiliation? Malia convinced herself that the new lifestyle was the answer for all life's problems. She also kept saying how great life had been for her since she left home. No one was able to convince her to get out from the darn night club where she was found that night. Not even her dad, who loved her very much!

I remember Malia as a sweet girl. We always played together when we were little. Our favorite game was congklak. It was a fun board game. Malia and I could played that game for hours... or even longer if our parents didn’t forced us to study. Hollering to their children and telling them to study was one of our busy parents' daily communication methods. Malia was also my singing partner. When we were not playing, we would carry some children tunes together. Malia had a beautiful voice - and I just had a voice. But when we sang, we sang wholeheartedly (or just very loudly). I could vividly recall the moment when Malia and I were sitting in the back of a pickup truck on our way to a villa in a mountain. All the way we sang out loud to all cars behind us. We laughed at their annoyed faces behind the wheels. That trip was also memorable because I saw Malia accidentally kicking one of the villa’s windows. A big piece of the broken glass cut through her foot. She was run to the hospital immediately.

Did I tell you that Malia was also strong? She was my protector! (I was short back then and she was much taller.) Malia and I went to the same school. No students dared to mess with me because of Malia. With her sweet face and sweet talk (and strong muscles), she charmed (and threatened) any students in school. Lucky me! In return, I saved her from school homeworks and projects. Yeah, we were like a pair of the beauty and the geek. Malia always had difficulties with some serious subjects at school. I knew she was smart but too lazy to pick up her books. Yet, Malia always found a way to pass through those classes - even when we were finally going to different schools. In middle school, a little bird told me how she flirted with some male teachers to get good grades. Oh, Malia!

Moving to Bali split up our ways. Malia and I never talked since then. But, when I moved back to Jakarta, I met Malia again. Certainly, she had changed. She entered her adolescence time faster than me. Her world was filled with ideas about appearance: being accepted and, if possible, being adored. When I started getting involved in a church, I asked Malia to go with me. Surprisingly, she agreed. However, she didn’t want to join the youth group where I belonged. She decided to join a young adult choir. Malia somehow thought of herself to be more mature than the teenagers in the youth group. Yet, I was still happy for her! As long as she was surrounded by good Christian people she would be okay - my thought exactly at that time.

It didn't take long for Malia to, again, become popular in the choir group. Her presence sparked delightful admiration from the male members and fiery jealousy from the other female members. In their musical show, Malia was picked as one of the main stars. She sang, acted, and danced exquisitely. And in that choir group she met this man. Not long after, they started dating.

I would say Malia was dating a music genius. He composed many wonderful songs and wrote some musical performances for the church. He once wrote a pop song. The song soon made to the top chart and won an Asian musical award. Malia and that man looked like a match made in heaven. With their talents they both presented many entertaining shows for all to see - inside and outside the church. Their relationship was covetable - frequently Malia received a threatening call from mysterious jealous fans of this man. Once I had a chance to be in the same car with them. I could immediately smell love was filling the air. What a happy couple! I was really happy for Malia and wished her the best in that relationship.

But a storm came...

This man came from a "noble" family - a rich and (supposedly) happy Chinese family, while Malia came from a broken family. Her parents were divorced and, later on, her mom married another guy. In Chinese culture, which the guy was brought up into, a good seed should be with another good seed to make a good family. Mixing a good seed with a bad seed, like one from a broken family, would only produce bad seeds for the next generations. Most of the time, they would value this belief above Jesus' teaching about love and forgiveness. So when this man’s mom found out about Malia's broken family, she strongly despised their relationship. The mom convinced her son to break up with Malia. Under hard pressure that man finally caved in. He broke out the bad news to Malia. The sky went dark over Malia's life...

That unfortunate event marked the day when Malia's life made a jump off a cliff. She was frustrated because nothing she could do to fix the relationship. Who could select which family to be born with? Malia was a bad seed, not by her choice, but from a careless decision made by her parents. Whom could she blame? Of course, her broken family! That was why she left home - a home of bad seeds! Like a cattle, she was branded by fire as a bad seed on her forehead. This bad seed brand haunted Malia's mind wherever she went. On the wild world out of her home, Malia tried to find the remedy in all the things this world would offer. She would try anything to soothe her bleeding heart.

Malia's life soon was filled with cigarettes, alcohols, drugs, and sex. Surely, none of these could ever give her the comfort she longed for. Instead, like drinking sea water she became thirsty more and more. Her guy friends (those bastards! – please pardon my french, I found no better word to describe them) took advantage of her situation. They wanted her body, but none of them would want a committed relationship with her. Malia had also been hospitalized a few times because of OD. When she was sober, she would smoke and drink, and sometimes cut her arms and legs. She believed the pain from cutting would make her forget other pains in her life.

When the night came, my mind often wandered...

"What is Malia doing out there?", "Is she safe?", "Why did our parents decide to have a divorce? If they knew what mess they brought into their children's lives, would they still do it?"

Our parents had brought a beautiful flower to this world, but the flower faded away. Who could make the flower beautiful again?

I whispered a little prayer for Malia,... my friend and my sister.