The world really isn't fair. It's like running a marathon where some people are born at Mile 41 while you might be born at Mile -41.
Ten
I've only been here a few hours, and I've already come to one conclusion: I need an enormous stockpile of patience. Diva isn't the source of the problem. Like any child, she throws tantrums sometimes, crying and raging for no clear reason, sulking when she doesn't get her way. So far, taking care of her has been fun, like playing with an adorable little sibling.
It's the people around Diva who sometimes make me lose my mind.
Even though his mind tends to wander all over the place, I consider Zio a good father. At least, he tries. Sometimes I get the feeling that he isn't truly connected to Diva, but I can see that he cares. In his own way.
Didiet, Zio's assistant, let out an exaggerated sigh of relief the moment he was introduced to me and said, “Oh, that's great, Fama. It means you don't have to take care of that kid all the time.”
I practically boiled over when I heard that. Diva is Zio's kid, so it's only natural for Zio to take care of her, right? But no. Didiet believed a father should focus on making money, supposedly for his child’s sake. Now that I was here, Zio could focus on writing and recording music. Since Diva, as he put it—verbatim—could no longer whine and pout for Zio's attention because she had a nanny, Zio could accept offers to compose soundtracks for superhero movies and a rom-com scheduled to come out next year.
Oh, I was seriously tempted to slam his head into the piano until that smug smile went silent. But I didn't have the money to cover the piano repairs.
Ananda showed his bad side loud and clear when he assumed I was a housekeeper he could order around however he pleased. His younger sibling, Arena, was no different. Worse, actually, because every time Arena looked at me, their eyes were cynical and their face scrunched up as if they were witnessing something disgusting. I was furious at the way they looked down their noses at people. As if they ruled the world and everyone else—including me—belonged to some lower caste they had every right to trample.
Okay. They and I really were different. They could have ignored me, and that alone would have hurt enough. Unfortunately, they seemed to think that if they could hurt me, they might as well go all the way. Their jabs, sneers, and glares were meant to make me feel inferior.
That night, after Diva had fallen asleep, I talked with Mbok Ening. Honestly, I wanted to dig up every ugly secret those two badly behaved siblings had. While we talked, I began to understand why they were such jerks.
My big brother once told me that when someone has no purpose in life, when everything seems to have already been provided for them, they can turn out generous or become a bastard. I think the Sanada siblings were the second type.
Is it possible to meet someone and, within a few hours, start wishing you could smash a soy-sauce bottle or something over their head? After meeting them—especially Ananda—I’m sure it is.
They were born to a Japanese father and an Indonesian mother. Their wealth goes without saying. I don't know what business their parents are in. What I do know is that they were introduced to the piano while they were still in diapers. Their food was monitored for nutritional value before they were even born. They never had to work for money. They never went to bed with empty stomachs, hoping they'd get lucky the next day and have enough to eat.
I sound awfully bitter about them, don't I? I understand that everyone is born into different circumstances. It wasn't my fault, and it wasn't their choice to be born into the families we had. Can babies choose whose womb they'll be born from? Still, I believe we can choose whether to be good people or complete assholes.
As a local tour guide in Bali, I’d met people like this several times. They were born rich and had incredible resources to help them get through life. If they wanted to pay hundreds of millions for tuition or take a course that cost even more, no problem. They often complained that public facilities fell far below their expectations, that the food they were served wasn't made by a famous chef working at a Michelin-starred restaurant, stuff like that.
Those two siblings paid Zio an absurd amount to teach them privately for several months. Even though Zio only supervised them and gave them advice for an hour each day, the fee he received was so utterly fantastic that hearing it nearly made me fall over and embarrass myself by hissing, “Holy crap… Is all that money? Not leaves?”
Ananda wanted to get into Juilliard, while the younger sibling wanted to attend a music school in Tokyo. Their abilities were already more than sufficient, but they weren't satisfied. I had to admit, they worked pretty hard in the fields they were passionate about. Just imagining it made my head spin. Every day was filled with piano playing and practice with all kinds of sheet music. For hours. One scale after another. The same song repeated at different tempos. To my untrained ears, they were already good. Good wasn't enough for them; everything had to be perfect.
I guess when someone is born that way—with a wealthy family, talent, and a life of getting everything they want—it must be hard to develop empathy for people who aren't as lucky. People like me.
Knowing that only made me more depressed. There was an enormous chasm between them and me. Even though we lived under the same roof, I understood perfectly that we weren't in the same position when it came to living our lives.
That didn't mean I was going to accept being constantly demeaned. I had to play it smart, stop being reckless, and stop throwing out words I'd probably regret later. My resolve was simple: if they only insulted me, so be it. Their opinions didn't matter.
But if they looked down on Diva, that was a different story.