Damhuri Muhammad shares a poignant tale in which a dark secret changes everything and makes us wonder how much of ourselves do we reveal—and at what cost?
The Anxiety Breeder
My dear daughters,
I’m getting old, and the time has come to tell you guys, about a man who is capable of doing anything for me, except being staunch. I called him the anxiety breeder. As a breeder, he cared about the anxieties, provided the best feed, and let them massively reproduce day by day. A space in his chest—I imagined as a cattle pen—overcrowded and probably no longer sufficient. Consequently, the anxieties overflowed and then spread all over his body. He was trembling simply because I was late to send a short message, to be sure I was safely home, or possibly my train had a signal problem on my way. The latest update about me was similar to the splash of water he needed to terminate the coals of anxieties in his mind. “Has your boat docked at the anchorage, Kesumba?” he texted me with a weird proverb. As long as the question remains not replied to, he will continually write new questions with even weirder sentences.