You walk your own path.
There was no reason to go, and no reason not to.
Yet somewhere inside, he thought: “Go.”
It wasn’t a dream, just instinct.
And somehow, he found he could trust it.
Deciding on his own
What would he do after finishing school?
He hadn’t thought about it yet.
Just then, a sending organization happened to be visiting his school.
At first, his family did not agree with his going to Japan.
Still, his mind did not change.
At home, he had never really been told what he had to do.
In time, his family, too, told him:
“If it’s what you want to do, why not go ahead?”
At the heart of memory
At the heart of his childhood are his grandparents.
His mother ran a shop at home and was always busy.
So it was his grandparents who were always by his side.
To the sound of drums and flutes, dancers ride horses woven from bamboo, dance, and crack their whips.
Kuda Lumping.
His grandpa took him to see that horse dance.
The tip of a dancer’s whip struck his face as he watched.
“That’s why I still remember it. It’s my last memory with my grandpa.”
After that, his grandpa died.
His grandma was always by his side, ever since he was little.
She slept beside him, and brought his food to his mouth, one bite at a time.
That warmth, perhaps, is what “home” means to him.
His father has worked on a faraway island.
Kalimantan, across the sea.
Since he was a child, he had hardly ever seen him.
At home, he lived with his mother.
He grew up without talking much with his father.
He once worked for his uncle.
“That’s where I trained my mind.”
Fully focused, then at ease
What first surprised him in Japan was the rhythm of the day.
Japan is precise. But precise is not the same as confining.
“The way things work is different from Indonesia, so I was a little surprised. People in Japan do everything according to plan. They keep strictly to the time. Every job is worked out in advance, and nothing is done carelessly.”
Before he came, the Japanese workers he saw in videos looked like “robots,” toiling in silence.
The reality was different.
On the job, they are quiet and serious; at break time, the jokes start flying.
Fully focused, then at ease.
In Japan, that switch has a name: kejime.
The dream lies beyond today
When we asked whether he had a dream, he answered honestly.
“I’ve never really thought about a dream. I’m still young, and I don’t have much experience yet. I can’t see it yet.”
Building up the present, with care.
Beyond it, something takes shape of its own accord.
That seemed to be the order in which he lives.
Just one thing ahead
At the end of the interview, we asked whether there was anyone he wanted to thank.
His mom, his grandma, his dad, his big brother.
One by one, he thanked each of them.
Finally, we asked him for words he wanted to pass on, to anyone at all.
His words were for his father and mother.
“Thank you for raising me to be who I am today.”
“Don’t die before I come home.”
A man who says his dream is still out of sight
spoke of just one thing to come.
The bamboo horse. The dancer’s whip that struck his face.
His memories with his grandpa stand still on that day.
Afterword
We had assumed that people who cross the sea carry a future they want to realize, or something they want to achieve, before anything else.
So throughout the interview, we kept searching beneath his words for that reason.
Why did he come to Japan? What does he want to do in the future?
What came back was always short.
“I have never thought about a dream.” “I can’t see it yet.”
Whether he has no big goal, or simply hasn’t put it into words yet, we cannot say.
But there are also people who choose this country first as a place to live their days, before any goal.
Going to the site, working, jokes flying at break time.
For him, Japan may be less a place to achieve something than a place to live “now.”
Beyond those days, there is a place to return to.
“Don’t die before I come home.”
Short words, from someone who has lost his grandfather.
The person you meet at the work site every day also has a family far away, waiting for them to come home.
Until the day they go home, may each day in this country be warm, if only a little. That is what we hope for.
