I remember a couple days ago, I was sitting on my favorite restaurant, revising my draft. It was lunchtime, and there were this little girl—maybe seven or eight years old, and her mother. The little girl begged for her favorite cake, but her mother told that they had ordered enough cakes. The girl whined, but still, she didn’t get what she wanted. I put my attention back to my laptop. But then, later on, when the argued over and I looked back to them. These mother and daughter were on phone, and as I listened to them, they’re talking to this little girl father. What the little girl said on phone to her father, somehow, lingered on my mind for the rest of the day. She said,”Daddy, nanti malam kita makan enak ya”.
I was stunned. It was Thursday—a weekday, but still this little girl can have a dinner with her father. I wonder when the last time I had a dinner with my whole family. Days ago? A week ago? A month ago? I can’t even remember. Since when do I—we, too busy to just sit and enjoy our dinner together? Since when do I too busy for whatever it is—I don’t know. Suddenly, I miss having a dinner at my family’s favorite restaurant. I counted how many times I skipped dinner with my family on weekend. And as I recalled how I spent my weekends lately, I realized that I’ve spent too much weekends with my friends rather than my family.
But luckily tonight I have no agenda with any of my friends. My mother and father are both at home, and happily we could have a dinner together at our favorite restaurant. It was good to be back. It was good to have a conversation with them. It was good to laugh at the same table with my brother and sister. It was good. It was always great to be at home.