The Momsie Inkpot

As I browsed the upcoming trailers on Yahoo Movies, I came across a trailer for the film, “When did you last see your father?” The terminal illness and imminent death of the lead character’s father forces him to look back at “everything funny, embarrassing, and upsetting about his childhood” and “come to terms with his father, and their history of conflict, and learns to accept that one’s parent are not always accountable to their children”.

The trailer, with its snippets from the movie, moves the audience to transport themselves to the past and remember it in all its glory, all tears, all embarrassment, all the conflicts we have tucked safely away into that corner of our mind where uncomfortable memories are stored, in the hopes that they will never be brought up again. As key players in our lives, our parents undoubtedly have central roles in many of these uncomfortable memories, and whose actions may have unwittingly shaped who we are today – for better or for worse. As they endeavor to execute their roles as parents who become our teachers, our punishers, and at moments, our friends all at the same time, we have come to view them as one with their roles and actions, and have weighed our judgment against them accordingly. Their concerns, their stresses, their frustrations – that may be an understandable reasoning behind their actions that we feel have maligned us – bear no significance to our judgments, for they are no more an individual with human concerns who commit human errs, they are our parents – no more, no less.

The pleadings and advises have become nags and lectures – buttressing our growing annoyance everytime our parents open their mouths.

The very parent who have unselfishly raised us, provided us with all the assistance we need to mature into a self-sufficient adult have become a burden to our schedule, a meddling force in our lives that we are so quick to get rid of, so easy to lament against, so ready to be free from. When it is their time to need our help, we brush them away.

Could they not understand that we have to go to this new restaurant? Don’t they know we have to see that new movie? Can they not see that our hair needs a haircut and our nails needs a pedicure?

Mom, stop bugging me! Dad, stop lecturing me! Stop sending me those annoying emails, I don’t read them anyway! I don’t want to talk to you right now! Go away! You are so old-fashioned! You are so annoying! Just leave me alone! You don’t understand! Just shut up, shut up okay! Enough with your nagging, your lectures, your complaints!

As the writer of this article, I will admit that the phrases above have slipped out to be used against my own parents at one point or another. And as I write this very sentence, I am sorry the phrases above even slipped through my mind.

Whatever the offense our parents have made, however much their actions have humiliated or hurt us, they do have a right to be seen, to be heard, to be understood. Without them, we wouldn’t be here, our tomorrows would never occur, and our present could not happen nor would our past exist to learn from.

We are an imagination, a hope, a longing before our parents brought us into existence. Life is before us because of them. Before their time to walk this earth shall pass, let me ask you,

“When did you last see your parents?”

When I tell others of my little one’s name, I either get a lift of the eyebrow or a smug look. Both denote confusion at why I would give him such a name as I am 1.) Asian and 2.) Muslim. Have I been too brainwashed by American culture that I have to name my son such a Westernized name? Do I not love my culture, my background, my heritage?

What’s in a name, really?

I have heard that a name is a wish bestowed upon the child by his/her parents, a blessing with the hope that s/he will grow to be good and kind, or majestic and strong, brave and courageous, beautiful and feminine, all qualities of the child are thus dependent on the meaning of his/her name.

What if a name means “dog” or “green valley”? Would then the child become dog-like or green? Silly conclusions, I know, but isn’t wishing or hoping our child has the characteristics of a name-meaning also silly?

Our little one’s name is Noah.

Noah, though of Biblical and non-Asian origins, stands also for his great-grandfathers. The way we came up with it, may also bring about another round of raised eyebrows, but the practice is not so ridiculous for Indonesians. (Hey, if Southerners can traditionally give their children a last-name for a first name, then we Indonesians can do this too!) Before I digress further, let me explain.

I have always wanted to name my children after my grandparents. Having grown up without them, I have become too sentimental with their memory, and would like it to be passed on, albeit in a name. Memories, or names, cannot bring them back or establish relationships I once sought, but with the passing of their names, the familial connections can still continue on.

When my children are old enough to ask me what their names mean, I can share with them stories of their great-grandparents, of our ancestors, of our culture, instead of just saying that it came from a book or by chance (though there is nothing wrong with this either). I am enamored by history, fascinated by my own history of my own ancestors, and this fascination is something else I would like to pass down to them, especially since they are American by birth and attachment to their ancestral land dependent on our perseverance to keep it alive and fresh in our home and community.

Noah.

At first glance, images of the Biblical character are conjured up in our minds. “The patriarch of the great Ark who wandered the earth for 40 years after the Great Flood. All the world’s nations descended from his three sons”. A search of its meaning brings up “peaceful”, “comfort”, “wanderer”.

Noah to me also stands for: SoemarsoNO and Alwi Husein. Both were Indonesian war heroes, serving the island nation through the war for independence, now peacefully resting in Kalibata Cemetery, the final resting place of Indonesia’s brave. Both were men of strength, wisdom, and principle – preferring a life of honesty and simplicity in an era of corruption and collusion despite having access to a more comfortable living through possibly questionable means.

We don’t have allusions that our little one will be just like his great-grandfathers through his name, but we hope he will carry it well, carry it proud. As it is more than just a meaning, it holds a story – a story of great men; great men whose stories deserve to be passed down, whose memories should be preserved and kept alive. They may be long gone, just a name etched into the remembrance wall at the venerable cemetery, but not forgotten.

And that is how and why, Noah came to be – for us.