Piece of Memories

I was sitting at the back of our car, sulking. My mother braided my hair with a nice hairpin. My sister seemed lost and not understood a thing.

I was ten. It was already dark; stars could be seen, no moon, and the chilly air at night crushed my face completely. I knew where we would go; a cultural event that I did not even know the name.

We reached at our destined place. I got out from the car, stomping, and reached my father’s hand. Ignoring my sister and mother, I held him and walked to the gate. I saw red flags along the way.

I entered and stopped for a good second. It was so crowded with any kind of person that you have ever seen were there. Big fat guy, tall skinny woman, even an old man with beard that was white and longer than your hair. I could smell something being burned; twigs or leaves, I could not even tell.

Traditional music was deafening my ear. It was so loud that my heart started to beat loudly and crashed my rib cage.

There were food stalls, lining up neatly. The sellers looked tired. Their faces were oily with sweats, but still; they were smiling.

People stood in a circle; yelling, cheering, screaming. I knew something was going on in the center. I was short, I could not see anything. I asked my father to lift me up.

It was red.

I saw many people in red; dancing cheerfully in the center of the crowded people. Red skirts, red garments with sparkling, red hairpins that looked better than any of my hairpins collection, red paints on the cheeks.

Fire was one of the light sources there. The dancers’ face looked glowing under the fire. The men danced while holding a really-sharp-looking bamboo. They were yelling something, groaning, jumping, kneeling; while the women danced and did some turning with one foot until their skirts waved naturally.

Many people, really many, danced there. They panted heavily, their cheeks also looked a little bit red, and sweats naturally fell down; making their hairs glued to the skin. People who circled them were busy with words; telling them how awesome they were.

I did that too. I started squirming and cheering them.

I was still a kid at that time, but I could not forget that event until now. I tried to talk to my father, but he did not catch my words because the loud music made everyone went deaf. There I screamed; beating the loud sound.

I still remember my own words from 8 years ago.

“Thanks for this night, Dad! I won’t forget this!”

Later did I know that the dancing was called Dayak dance.