A long time ago, when our country wasn't yet so demoralized, in Borneo, right on the shores of the Indian Ocean, lived two people. They were my parents, Samantha and Jim. They loved each other very much and lived in harmony. The fruit of their love is me, Nicole.
Our house sat on a slight hill, surrounded by a small forest. Huge, ancient trees protected our cottage from the wind and tourists. The property was quite large, made of thick wooden logs, with a tiled roof. The interiors were neat, tastefully decorated, and very well-maintained. The rooms were spacious. My mother always made sure there wasn't too much unnecessary furniture. And the entire house smelled of vanilla. I especially loved the room my parents had prepared especially for me. It had blue walls and a soft carpet, which I always ran barefoot on as if it were grass. The furniture was the shade of coffee with milk. Even the curtains over the window were decorated with colorful teddy bears. I loved playing there. The room was also my haven when I got into mischief.
The garden was also well-kept. Colorful flowers bloomed everywhere. The bushes resembled geometric shapes, making me feel like I was in a Dream Garden. Meanwhile, the stream that flowed through our property gurgled softly between the stones. Gardening was my mother's passion. She simply loved it. I loved it when she spread a blanket on the green, fragrant grass and read me stories. Usually, I fell asleep dreamily amidst the flowers, the birdsong, and the Indonesian sun. We lived a peaceful life there, surrounded by nature. We didn't have any luxury, but we were wealthy. Because we had each other and love. We lacked nothing to be happy.
My mother didn't work, even though she was an actress. When she gave birth to me, she preferred to stay home and devote herself to raising me. My mother had beautiful black hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. Her impeccable figure surpassed many models. She loved tending her garden. When she had a free moment, because I was asleep, she would sit on a deck chair and write poetry.
My dad was a lawyer and worked in court. He was tall and well-built. He was also very strong. He supported the entire family. In fact, it was he who decided that my mother would stay home with me. He wouldn't even consider a babysitter. He would do anything for us.
However, this idyll didn't last long. I was maybe five years old. I was sleeping soundly in a playpen on the veranda when suddenly I felt a strong tug. I lazily opened my eyes and saw my mother holding me in her arms, running somewhere. I asked, still lisping a little,
"Mommy, what happened?"
"Don't be afraid, my daughter. We'll be fine, we just have to run now."
"But why? Is someone chasing us?" I asked, uncomprehending, and without waiting for an answer, I fell asleep because I was a terrible sleeper.
When I woke up, I was in my grandmother Andrea's room, who lived in the very center of the island. I didn't understand what was happening. Why were we here? I quietly left the room and went to the kitchen, where anxious voices were coming from. I saw my mother and grandmother. They were sitting at the table, and my mother seemed to be crying. Suddenly, on the radio, playing softly in the background, an announcement was made that all of southern Borneo had been flooded by a powerful wave. That almost no one left there had survived. Over 300 people were missing. All the houses had been wiped out. The entire coastline resembled a battlefield. And then I realized what had happened, even though I was only five years old.
When the threat had passed and we went to check on what was left of our house, we found a pile of rubble and nothing more. I saw the terror in my mother's eyes. I didn't know what would happen to us. I was scared, but my parents assured me everything would be alright. I believed them, but not for long. It turned out they wouldn't receive compensation because so many families had been affected that the state couldn't afford to pay out such a large sum. That's when my parents gave up. They didn't have the money to rebuild their house. Not even to buy something smaller. We were left destitute. My parents started drinking. They drank away every penny they had. I often went hungry. My clothes were long gone, and my shoes were so painful that I preferred to run barefoot. My parents were sinking to the bottom, and no one cared about me, a five-year-old child. Sometimes I got a piece of bread or some fruit from the lady next door. But it wasn't enough. Then I'd go to the fields and pick strawberries. Sometimes the owner would catch me, and then I'd get a beating. I remember it hurt so much. I hardly saw my parents at all, and when they were in the barracks the city had set aside for the victims, they were either sleeping or drinking. They were practically intoxicated. They were causing me immense harm. I didn't understand why they had changed so much. They had always said I could always count on them. I no longer trusted them. I had no support.
I don't know what would have happened to me if it weren't for the "You Can Help Others" charity. One day, the Australian authorities came to our area to help the victims of the ruthless element. A kind man in a black suit gave me a sandwich and asked about my parents. I led him to a building that was supposed to be home, but it wasn't. When he saw my parents, he just nodded. I saw him discreetly wipe away a tear that suddenly rolled down his cheek. He said he would help us, that I would get my parents back. I remember he talked to me for a long time. He explained why my parents were acting so strangely, why they had forgotten me. I felt safe with him.
This man visited us a few more times. He wanted to talk to Mom and Dad, but they were still drunk, until he finally got carried away:
"Ladies and gentlemen! I'd like to help you, but you have to want it too! How are you going to find an apartment if you're drinking all the time? This little child needs you! Get a grip!" he shouted. And then everything changed. I think Antonio, for that was the name of this mysterious man, opened my parents' eyes. Thanks to him, they got their act together and stopped drinking. I felt like I had my family back. I was so happy about that. When they stopped drinking altogether, Antonio helped them find an apartment and jobs. Slowly, together, we began to rebuild what the storm had destroyed.
Today, we are a family again. We love each other very much, and I hope nothing will change that. My parents understood the harm they had done to me and assured me it would never happen again. At first, I was afraid it was just words, but now I know they weren't lying. They've been sober for three years. We still live in Borneo, but inland. The house is modest and tiny, but it's ours. We also have a beautiful garden full of flowers.
I go to a new school. I'll soon finish third grade. I have lots of friends. I'm happy again. I try not to go back to the days when my parents drank. I'd love to erase them from my memory, but unfortunately, it's impossible. What happened is gone. We have to live in the future, not the past. Antonio still visits us and keeps a bit of an eye on my parents. Because if they start drinking again, he won't help them anymore. However, my parents realized their mistake and won't make it again. At least, I wish they hadn't. I trust them again, and I don't think anything will change that. I see how hard they're trying. They've created a loving family again, and I'll soon have a sibling. I'd like a brother, but if we have a sister, I'll be happy too.
It's good that someone helped us, especially my parents. I don't know what would have happened to me if it weren't for Antonio's intervention. I don't know who I would be, or if I would even exist. I don't even want to think about what could have happened. It's good that there are people in the world with good hearts. People who care about the fate of others and are able, and above all, willing, to help. I owe my life to such people. Since then, I've known what it means to be grateful. Whenever the opportunity arises, I help others because I know what it's like to be helpless.
During those years when my parents drank, I grew up a lot. I know how to cope, how to manage. There were even days when I went to the store hungry and stole rolls. That's when my childhood vanished. I had to fend for myself. No one helped me. No one fed me, no one clothed me.
For a long time, I resented my parents for abandoning me. My parents were devastated, losing faith in a better tomorrow. They didn't believe things would ever get better. But now I know it's a disease that, if left untreated, progresses rapidly. If it weren't for the man who showed them the right path, they would have drank themselves to death. They simply got lost. They lost the map of life. But now they're all right. They coped thanks to the hope Antonio gave them.
I wish everyone could meet Antonio or other people with hearts of gold. He's like a guardian angel, setting signposts along life's winding path. Without him, many people would be lost.
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