September Ceria is my name. I was given this name because my birth brought joy to both my parents, and also because they both loved a song once performed by Vina Panduwinata.

That joy lasted continuously until it was interrupted when my parents decided to separate. I was seven years old at the time.

My father chose to stay in the city, while my mother returned to her parents' home in Ngadas, Malang, East Java. My cheerfulness was buried under a longing that was too heavy and left deep marks. Even though Grandmother and Grandfather filled it with so many things that kept me whole. My paternal grandparents, who often visited, also invited me to stay with them. Still, the divorce had left a hole in my heart.

I lost my father, and also my friends in the city. Kak Randy was one of them. A young man who always made me laugh and became my close friend at school. An older brother figure who always protected and accompanied me. Going to and from school, I was always with him. Every weekend, he didn't hesitate to visit my house, and I did the same. His mother was kind and loving. People often mistook us for siblings, but I refused.

"So what do you want to be, Cer?"

"Your wife!"

Everyone laughed, some agreeing with my innocent answer. And now he is nothing but a shadow that I cry for most often every time I step into my new school in Malang.

Losing my father and Randy had shattered part of my strength. Ceria became just a name after my mother brought me to Ngadas Village. I could hardly understand what Ceria meant.

And then there was my mother's hatred of my father, which made her unwilling to tell me anything more about that broad-shouldered man.

"What is Father doing, Mom?"

"It's late, go to sleep, okay." She stroked my head.

"I miss Father, Mom," I said. My mother just lowered her head, smiled, and then kissed my forehead.

"Does Father miss me, Mom?"

She fell silent.

"Father's missing you will be replaced with the love of Grandmother, Grandfather, and Mother," she said. Her eyes glistened. After that, she hugged me tightly and I fell asleep.

I didn't understand why parents could be so selfish as to separate without considering their child's feelings. But I also didn't want to force my mother to go back to my father. The truth was, my mother's tears seemed far more abundant than mine. She often sobbed before sleep, at dusk, after prayers, and many other times. My mother's wound seemed very deep, and I never knew, and didn't want to know, so I wouldn't hurt like she did.

"Your father is already happy with his new family," Grandmother said. "Don't keep asking your mother about your father, okay," she added, and I grieved along with her.

Hearing that, I cried all day, endlessly, my tears wouldn't stop as I imagined Father with his new family. Because of those thoughts, I became often silent.

The sadness healed over time. My longing for Father was eventually soothed by all my activities. Grandfather was a skilled Jeep driver who happened to own two Jeeps that he rented out. Meanwhile, my mother and grandfather had a business in agriculture, specifically potatoes. They would buy produce and resell it.

Sometimes I went with Grandfather to Mount Bromo, following the trails of climbers and enjoying the beauty of God's creation. What I was most grateful for from this place was that I could see the beauty of the sunrise from the eastern horizon at Mount Bromo slowly. The blend of yellow, orange, black, and blue colors produced by the natural phenomenon was truly a captivating view that made anyone envious.

"Ceri, there's a letter!" my mother shouted, a short while after I got out of the Jeep. I was ten years old at that time.

"A letter!" I cried, hurrying into the house whose walls were made of red marble stone, a building standing on land about five hundred square meters with five rooms inside, a sunflower garden in the backyard overlooking Bromo.

I ran to my room, sat on an old iron bed with mosquito netting on both sides. Then I opened the letter my mother gave me, which I had initially thought was from my father.

"KAK RANDY!!!" I screamed, and my mother smiled at the doorway.

"Happy?" I nodded immediately. My mother then came closer and kissed my forehead.

"You write back to Randy's letter, and Mother will send it." I nodded after that.

My joy was restored because of that letter. Slowly I began to understand that life is not just about happiness, but also sadness. My sadness came early, that's what Grandfather said. Someday, true happiness would come to me. Bringing my cheerfulness back whole like before.

I began to accept my parents' divorce when I turned fifteen. My father also started visiting regularly, though only once a year, taking me to my paternal grandparents' house, but that was enough. At their place, he gave me everything. As if paying off a debt from hundreds of days that had passed. Grandfather, Grandmother, Uncle, and Aunt, they all treated me the same.

And one day, he brought a five-year-old boy in front of me. His name was Adrian.

"This is your brother, Ceri," he said. I smiled even though my heart winced. I approached my father, then shook hands with my lucky brother who could always be close to him.

My father lived in Jakarta with Mama Ratu and her daughter who was said to be my age. Every time he saw me, my father's eyes would always glisten, and while embracing me, he would say, "Father really wants you to live with him," he said. I smiled, remembering my mother's smile that had almost disappeared because of this.

"I'll stay with Mom, Dad. You already have Adrian and Aunt Ratu."

He smiled, then nodded.

"If you need anything, call your father, okay. What do you want? Whatever it is, I'll give it to you."

"An embrace!" I thought to myself. I wanted my father to hug me every day, like before when he had just come home from work, the aroma of sweat mixed with his cologne.

Moments like this became precious and I would never have them again. Before, I dared to push him to reconcile with my mother. But now, I was unwilling to say that. Because according to Grandfather, love requires two people.

My parents' relationship had indeed ended. But happiness would never end for me. That's what my father said the last time we met.

Unfortunately, my father lied. There is no eternal happiness. My cheerfulness sank again when my mother was diagnosed with cancer and eventually had to leave me in an unbearably lonely solitude.

My mother was buried in a public cemetery near the sunflower plantation. Over my mother's grave I sobbed and wept. For hours, until finally my father pulled my body away from the grave.

"Father is mean!" I screamed. Crying. He cried too.

"Father is mean! Father always made Mother sad!" I screamed. With tears pouring down, he held me tight and gave me his embrace as a place to lean on.

My mother's departure had frozen my cheerfulness again. There was no more story about Ceria that would make her mother proud of her. No more stories of a mother waiting for her daughter at the doorway, and no more stories of a mother laughing joyfully in bed with her daughter.

Sobbing, I clutched my mother's photo tightly. One day, two days, and so on until my smile finally became flat.

"Ceri..., Father wants to take you to Jakarta," my father said in my room after staying at Grandfather's place for several days.

"Sweetheart...," he added.

"Soon you'll be going to college anyway, you'll have to go to the city too." I remained silent, uninterested.

"Sweetie!" he cried, reaching for my shoulder, and I sobbed again in his embrace.

"I want to be with Mother."

"Mother is no longer here."

"All this time, whenever I missed you, Mother was the one who held me."

My father cupped my face.

"Father will make up for it. All this time, Mother always forbade Father from taking you to the city. Because of that, Father could only come here once a year. Even then, Father couldn't stay in Malang, I had to stay at your grandparents' place in Surabaya. Father also missed you, child. Father also has rights over you." There were tears welling up in the corners of my father's eyes.

"Come with Father now, okay. Live with Father."

I indeed had no choice but to go with my father to Jakarta. He was the only parent who had rights over me besides Grandfather, Grandmother, and my other grandparents. But at least there was a reason that made me excited to return to Jakarta. Kak Randy.

A stack of letters from him that I kept neatly in a cabinet had made me stay silent and smile to myself. He still sent letters in this traditional way, even though the world had advanced. Letters no longer needed stamps. But he said that a letter becomes valuable if it's written with a pen, not typed.

I put all those letters in my suitcase. They became an incredible source of motivation. Which made my smile return at least a little. September Ceria came back at the end of September. Three months after Mother passed away. From Malang I went to Surabaya, then continued my journey to the city by plane.

Arriving at Soekarno Hatta Airport, I was greeted by my father's latest Alphard car. My father opened the door, then we headed to his residence, which was once also mine and Mother's home.

Our journey from the airport took only an hour. Finally we arrived at my father's house. It was as if something was pulling my soul back to the past, those memories still stuck in my head, when Mother was gardening, when I was running in the garden, fell and was treated by my father until I cried hysterically when teased by mischievous children. The house still looked grand, a three-story minimalist-style house with a garage on the ground floor, the actual house on the second floor. When I got out of the car, I could see on the second floor right in front of the door, Mama Ratu, Adrian, and a girl who was exactly my age. The girl had a taller and more slender body than me, like a model. Her name was Maudy.

"Kak Cerii!" Adrian screamed, then ran and threw himself into my arms.

"Welcome, Ceri," Mama Ratu greeted, and I took her hand, then kissed it.

"Mother sends her condolences. I'm sorry I couldn't come because I was sick when I heard the news," she said.

"It's okay, Mom."

"Oh yes, you haven't met Maudy yet, have you." My eyes then looked at the girl my age. Maudy smiled, extending her slender fingers.

"Welcome," she said.

"I hope from now on you two can be sisters who get along and match well, you have a close friend now, sweetheart," my father said. I smiled and extended my hand.

"Ceri!"

"Maudy!" she said with a half smile.

After that, my father took me on a nostalgic tour around his house. He showed me many things, starting with reminding me of the swimming pool, the classical piano in the living room facing the dining room and a clean, luxurious kitchen with black tones, and also photos of me that he displayed in his office.

"Now, Father will take you to your room," he said enthusiastically. He took me to the second floor, passing a winding staircase lined with red carpet. Once upstairs, a room with a pale pink tone immediately pleased my eyes.

"Father has been preparing this room for a long time. This is the second largest room in this house after Father's room. There's a bathroom inside, and clothes too, Father has prepared everything for you."

"Thank you, Dad," I whispered.

"Yes, now you rest for a while, okay," he added while cupping my face, then kissing my forehead. He left, and from behind my slightly open bedroom door, I saw Maudy standing not far away, looking at me. Her gaze was sharp, but her smile was quite sweet. I smiled back, and she immediately went into what seemed to be her room.

I hope Maudy, Mama Ratu, and Adrian become my new joy. Just like my name, Ceria forever.

-II-