Finish the Story Contest - WEEK #15 from @f3nix

my name is: @muzawir85
I come from: Indonesia
to translate the language, I use
https://translate.google.co.id

FATHER RAISING, MOTHER MAKE ME

MY FATHER is the moon orchid, white from the forest. My mom's red roses on park, near the yard fence. Meet one morning at the harbor.

Bore me. Baby pink frangipani. Flower grave.
My ancestor was a pirate man from inside the no-man's island forest go wandering near the high seas, intercept and rob the ship containing gold. If only. But my ancestors were Makassar's sailors who came
trading. My ancestors are Chinese merchants who fall in love with the headland and a cape woman clan to live with her in cape staring waves rolled.

Generations after generation, coming and going, born
clan off. At one time, my grandfather appeared. Two grandfathers. They are disappointing, not as I imagined. That one big tall white-robed white turban-on a sheet black and white photo. He stood tallest among the men in white robes another, there are also two men in black robes. Underneath the photo was written hand-who knows whose hand, but beautiful writing is neatly coined-my grandfather's name and his friends, from right to left.

quoteBlack ink has changing orange inasa. partially faded into orange streams did not explain anything. The period, which also consumed the glue of the photographs ancient in the album. so I must be careful to open each The sheets: the photos are falling everywhere. The late meets face, even those who have never met face to face. Events, places, objects, human, overlapping, half-visible, negate. Black and white disconnected sepia overlaid the colors on orange inked white paper faded to the edge. Inside the photo album, my baby brother was crushed my grandmother and two old granny who knows who. My father stood dashing.

just half, blocked by Oma was a young girl sitting on a lap The oldest child. My mother and my aunts were sitting on the beach picnic,
an invisible beach. transformed my iron fence plate with Father held me and my younger brother. I turned the photo over, facing my face and my little sister in the picture of my grandfather black white. We met face, old communion, in an old album. Another photo shows Opa: the father of my mother, the measurer, the penis violin. The photo is dark brown, Opa is standing with his head tilted plays violin.

Not far from her stood my mother, and two sister aunts, their hands clasped in front of the flower petals skirt, smiling sheepishly. Four uniformed Japanese soldiers sat down listening in the corner of the photo.

IF MY ancestral ancestor walked long shamans with bare feet down the valley up the mountain. But my ancestors a woman on a promontory, sometimes counting a clove mound merchandise of her husband, summing the numbers on the head. The men first
married four-four, four wives, I have four grandmothers. A my beloved Belancla's grandmother who knows what her job is, besides raising the son of a child honey child misan child uncle.

quoteof a lifetime and also children who are not brothers. So many of them, children ride, children come to school, all bring it up to mature enough to work. Another grandmother Alifuru people from the hinterland of Halmahera, I just know him in a photos are colored: white berkebaya, hickingnya clogged white cotton, his face was almost as white as cotton on the nose-had died. Another one my grandmother whoever I did not ask. I never met the grandmothers, except my mother's mother, Oma,tailor.

Oma often comes with my mother to look after us, if my father was out of town or abroad. I remembered Oma cooking, making cakes, sewing our clothes and doll clothes, pants, singing Gala Ibi's song, teaching dominoes, smoking-remember me the cigarette packs of a large ship in the ocean. clan writing Gold Bond, ever baked a cake. At night, my sister and I slept piled near his feet, listening to the saga Siti Zubaidah, Laila Majnun, Orphan, One Thousand and One Nights. Omaku likes to give pocket money, which he took from inside a cloth bag tied in a circle his waist. And clever to make jams of luscious lobbies, as well as jams walnut. To me Oma was great, after all, he was once a domino champion.

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