Dear Oom Adjie,

I'm writing this because I'm trying to relive the memories I have of you.

Knowing you for the last five years has been a big honor for me. Compared to your 58 years of colorful life, five may have been nothing. Maybe I was merely a tiny dot in the huge pool of people you had met; people who I bet would speak nothing but good memories of you.

Because you were one of the few good people left in this so-called screwed up world.

I'm writing this to let people know how great a person you were. How you treated others with full of respect. How you never put anyone in a box, and let prejudice take over your judgment.

Five years was too short a time. But during the period, you had taught me, without even knowing, how to be a better person, simply by looking at you. You were never hesitant to help people, no matter what their backgrounds are.

Your love for your family was something I had never seen before. Together with your wife, you raised four respectable children who I'm sure will be your replacements--just what this world needs.

I didn't grow up with a father, and for the past five years, I looked up to you as a father figure. And all those complaints, followed by laughters, from your children showed how marvelous you were in doing your job.

And that is part of why I'm glad to be with your son--because I got the opportunity to meet you and the rest of your family.

I'm writing this so in the future when I look back, I'll still remember how you always teased me and made jokes 'cos you knew I often appear uptight.

"Don't be too serious," you always said, smiling. Somehow, that smile always warmed my heart.

That smile, along with the twinkle in your eyes every time you talked about your marriage, made me believe that it is possible to grow a good-natured family I'd thought only existed in the movies.

Even when I saw you the last time before the funeral, in your living room, that smile was still in your face.

At that moment, you have no idea how much I wished you'd been there to watch a tennis match on TV instead of lying down in your casket. How I wished that we would have some tea, eat some snacks, and talk about work.

And so I'm writing this to thank you. For all those kindness you had taught me, for all the family values you had shown me, and for all the laughters you would share with me.

I'm writing this because even though I didn't get the chance to call you one, you'll somehow always be a "Bapak" to me.

Rest in peace, Oom Adjie, rest with that smile, and I'll keep praying one day we'll meet again up there.