When we tried our hands at wax-resist batik with heritage preservation organization Jelajah Pusaka, Indah noticed her grandfather growing frustrated with his design and said emphatically, “Babu, the goal is to explore what is in your mind,” lightening the mood. I could tell each activity was a struggle. But he would never surrender. In a busy market, where random hands reached out to pinch Indah’s cheeks, he cracked, “I feel like I’m in Taylor Swift’s entourage.” But at Prambanan, an enchanting 9th-century Hindu temple complex, Indah ran up thigh-high candi (temple) steps leaving me to quietly face dad’s mobility struggles. Ultra cautious, he stayed mostly on the dusty earth, commenting, “If I fell up there it would be a disaster.” He looked visibly peeved—I read it as anger at his body’s betrayal. This is a guy who’s tackled the Camino de Santiago three times.
At Borabudor, we took it slow, with the guide weaving Buddhist tales of suffering—playing to the audience—and nirvana as we spiraled up heavily carved levels to eventually reach a stone forest of 72 Buddha-encased stupas. Up there, orange-robed monks took photos, Indah skipped around, and my father reached something like enlightenment, courtesy of our 63-year-old Muslim guide who sat peaceful and pretzel-like performing mudras as he explained eight precepts for becoming Buddha. Barefoot Babu listened attentively as Hariyanto described the need to be brave: “we can’t be nervous, we need to try new things.” My dad’s appetite for adventure and living on his own terms is stronger than ever, and I hate to see his body holding him back. Asking Hariyanto to please repeat it, Babu recorded the moving speech.
He’d earned it and the glorious Amanjiwo, our lodgings for two nights, provided a well-earned respite: a windy swim in the zero-edge pool, memorable meals, naps in our paras-pillared beds, and delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies, refilled frequently by the hyper-attentive staff who also arranged a Javanese blessing with their resident guru, Bapak Kunjung. Kneeling between my sarong-ed dad and daughter, I choked up at Babu’s wish: More healthy years to enjoy his daughters and grandchildren. Amid melodious chanting I recognized “panjang umur,” meaning “long life;” words that sounded like “moogey moogey” apparently meant “we hope.” I felt my eyes wet.
