Back then since I was still a crying baby who can do nothing but cries – though no much different today – I grew up in a small village, my granny house on a developing traditional village which now has turned into modern life.
We lived as much as traditional people in Bali. If you are visiting Bali, going to Kuta or Ubud, finding resorts and seeing many crafting, architectures including the mystical asta kosala kosali concepts, well…, its just not like that. Many traditional villages back then were not so different with others village in Indonesia or Shout East Asia. Some still lived inside woody wall, or wall of “gedeg” of bamboo. People still took a bath in the river or some springs that easily found back then, and drinking water from traditional wells, obviously nobody gets stomach-ache with uncooked water that days. Only our tradition gave another colour then any other village.
I was grow up in that village, in my granny’s house. She used to reading book while wacthing me play with toys or cats.
Back to that past, I used to cry much, used to offense her words many times, used to ran away from home in order to play somewhere, used to careless her wise words. There is so much memories from that time.
Today a year ago, granny passed away. I couldn’t be there to attend the cremation, and today I can’t be home to have any memoir of it. Somehow I felt very useless. But then come into my memories – something warm and tender.
So many of her wish yet I need to accomplish, I just can’t be there yet. Maybe someday, this voice will take me home.
Bhyllabus l'énigme 
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