Despite his initial hesitation about being sent to an in-patient psychiatric unit, Johan managed to do well in his journey toward recovery. He cooperated with the team of psychiatrists who observed him and truthfully answered the questions they asked. There was no telling how long he would be kept there before he could just opt for a regular outpatient treatment regimen, but he accepted that this would be a long journey.

On the sixth day of his observation period, he was allowed to have visitors. I came together with Mom, who was staying at my and Moira's house, and Dad, who I convinced to come with us all the way from the homeless shelter. Kenta would catch up with us when he was done with his work for the day and had promised to pick Nardhia up on his way. He said they might also bring some homemade food.

"Mom?" Johan blinked a couple times when we walked in. "Oh gosh, you're here with Dad! Does it mean you two reconcile? You already forgave Dad, then?"

"More like we agree on a temporary ceasefire, for your sake." Mom gave Dad a side eye. "What your Dad did to you doesn't deserve to be so easily forgiven."

"I don't expect forgiveness." Dad said while staring at the floor. "I simply thought I gotta see all my children before I leave this world for good."

"Dad, is Nardho correct in worrying that your COPD may kill you?" Johan asked in an almost inaudible voice. "Have you been properly treated for it?"

"Don't go soft on him just because he might be dying!" Mom crossed her arms. "He could be faking it just to gain our sympathy. Don't get manipulated."

"Mom, please, it's not the time to chide Johan!" I interrupted. "And for your information, I know for a fact Dad isn't faking. I've been in his position, remember? I know all too well what the signs of COPD look like. He is ill, Mom."

"I'm an old man, son, even without this disease I think I'm not gonna last any longer, anyway." Dad shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I don't expect pity."

"I figured you don't." Johan sighed. "Still, you being sick saddened me. Here you are, finally re-appearing in my life after I thought I've lost you forever, and your disease threatens to take you away from your children for eternity."

"You are too kind, Johan. Now that I look back at our past, I wondered how I could be so heartless to disown you." Dad grimaced. "Why haven't you disowned me back? You could have simply chosen to forget me and move on with your life."

"I can't." Johan said while a drop of tear streaked his cheek. "Call me a perpetual optimist if you must, but I've always held on to this idea that people can change."

"Have you been living in a fairytale or what?" Mom shot him an annoyed look.

"Clara, let him be. You have no control over his opinions!" Dad interjected.

"Control. Really, Petrus?" Mom said mockingly. "How ironic that the man who tried to control his son's sexual and romantic life is now talking about not controlling the very same son. What's your agenda? What do you want from us?"

"Mom, please let dad explain himself!" Johan cried. "I wanna hear his story. What have you been up to all these years, Dad? How come you end up homeless? And what made you finally realize that having a gay son is okay?"

"It's gonna take a long time to recount everything, but if you're all ears then I suppose I can give you the short version." Dad closed his eyes and a pained expression made the wrinkles on his forehead more noticeable. "But I want to wait until your partner and your sister arrive. Wait, are you still with that Asian lad?"

"Yeah, Kenta and I have been happily married for decades now. We have two kids. Perhaps you would like to meet them sometime?" Johan smiled.

"I owe him an apology too. I don't know how he feels about all the slurs I threw his way many years ago, but I'm sure he doesn't see me in a good light."

"No shit, Petrus." Mom chimed in. "You were so mean to poor Kenta."

"No need to remind me. I remember everything I did." He said while avoiding mom's icy cold glare. "Clara, you never replied to my emails but I have a handwritten poem for you. If you won't read it, at least let Johan read it."

"Whatever." Mom rolled her eyes. "You can't charm me into marrying you back with a poem. Also, I don't think Johan is interested in your lame poems."

"Nobody said anything about marriage." Johan spoke up. "And I wanna read it but I'm too tired from seeing you argue to actually read. Nardho, please do it for me."

"Here." Dad handed me a crumpled up, almost torn piece of yellowing paper. His handwriting was neat and easily readable, just like Nardhia's. I smiled as I recalled in my mind's eyes a memory of him teaching my twin and I how to write legibly.

At the bottom of the poem, dad has sketched what seemed to be a drawing of a heart-shaped pendant. I showed the illustration to Johan, who chuckled.

"You're a good artist, Dad. Is that supposed to be me on the right and the twins on the left? Your drawing is adorable. May I make a copy of it to keep?" he beamed.

"Of course, I'll make a copy for you." Dad snorted and Johan kept giggling like a child. Mom huffed but didn't offer any unwanted sassy comment, to my relief.

The door to Johan's room swung open and Kenta walked in, followed by Moira and Nardhia, who carried a bag of what I assumed must be bento boxes.

"Afternoon, everyone!" he said cheerfully. "Hope I don't interrupt anything."

"I was just about to read a poem dad wrote," I said. "You're welcome to listen."

"Oh. Hi, there, Mr. Sitohang, it's been an extremely long time." Kenta offered my dad a handshake. Dad shook his hand reluctantly, glancing at Johan and me in his uncertainty. Seeing his obvious discomfort, Kenta quickly retracted his hand.

"I don't hold grudges, sir, so don't worry about what I think of you." Kenta said quietly. "If your son has decided to let you off the hook, so will I."

"You're being generous." Dad didn't dare looking directly into Kenta's eyes. "I was ready to be met with explosive anger and instead I was met with kindness."

"Don't mention it." Kenta waved his hand dismissively. "Now, you have a poem?"

"Yes. I wrote it for my ex-wife but there are some stanzas for Johan too."

"Should I read the whole thing aloud, then, or just specific stanzas that pertain to him?" I asked carefully, scanning the piece of paper to get the gist of the poem.

"Your choice. I'm fine with either style of reading." Dad shrugged.

"Too bad we don't have popcorn." Nardhia remarked. "But Moira and I made some onigiris. These rice balls should do in lieu of popcorn, no?"

"What's the topping?" Kenta asked eagerly. "Pickled plum? Tuna? Eggs?"

"Pickled plum. Yours and Johan's favorite!" Nardhia smiled so widely.

"I had fun helping her shape the onigiris!" Moira also smiled and handed everyone their share of onigiri. "Making pickled plum was fun too and I sampled some."

"How thoughtful. I was getting bored of hospital food." Johan nodded thankfully.

"I have the best daughter and daughter-in-law!" Mom hugged Nardhia and Moira.

"Everyone has their onigiris?" I surveyed the room. "Cool. Now, onto the poem reading." I cleared my throat. "Here goes nothing."

The poem was not as cheesy as I had feared. Dad didn't use fancy vocabulary or obscure figurative language but he chose a lot of rhyming words. I was in awe of his rhyming skills. Who knew that dad could be such a poet? Then again, this was the same Indonesian guy who introduced me to some of the most heart wrenching ancient poems in his culture, spanning the works from 19th century to 21st century and beyond, works that I memorized in earnest and could recite fondly. He must have kept his passion for poems alive all these years, maybe thinking about me.

"That was a moving poem." Nardhia commented after the reading. "How long did it take you to pen that, Dad, with all the rhymes and the heartfelt emotion?"

"I don't remember how long it took me to write that. I've carried that poem around in my ripped jean's pocket for like...four and a half years now, maybe almost five? I just wanted to let out all the unspoken regret and how much I missed you kids and your mom." Dad took a deep breath. "I thought there was no way you guys would ever read it but life works in a funny way, doesn't it?"

"It does." Johan murmured his agreement. "Dad, I have something to tell you too. When I saw you at my psychiatrist's office a week ago, I thought I hallucinated. Then I had the urge to self-harm and in my confused state I must have written something to mom about you because I found this folded up in my wallet but ended up not sending it her way." He smoothed out a piece of paper speckled with dirt and patches of dried blood.

"This... This is written in the Batak alphabet!" Dad exclaimed. "Johan, how come you still remember how to write in my native language all these years? And you've also nailed how to transcribe this into the Latin alphabet and cursive." 

"Right, answer his question." Mom frowned and mumbled some curse words. "I thought I forbade you and your siblings from learning the Batak language and anything related to Indonesia after the divorce. Why did you defy me, Johan? You were always so obedient."

"Clara!" Dad glared at her. "How could you deny our children their birthright? They're not just half-Papua New Guinean like you but also half-Indonesian like me. Why did you have to make them choose one heritage or the other?"

"What good would it do them to get reminded of their good for nothing father each time they speak in your Batak tongue?" Mom snapped. "It's like salting a wound."

"Johan isn't the only one who defied you." Nardhia got up from her seat. "Nardho and I secretly learned the Batak alphabet too. Even Tony and I agreed to teach Izzy her grandfather's language because, like dad said, it's about honoring our roots."

"Same here. I let Johan teach LJ and Naoko the language." Kenta chimed in. "With all due respect, Mrs. Sitohang, just because your ex-husband had wronged you and your children doesn't mean the Batak language is inherently a forbidden language. No language should go extinct. I'm for the preservation of traditional tongues."

"I wish I knew how to read Batak, it looks like a cool writing system." Moira remarked. "Would you mind translating, honey?" she begged. "I'm curious. I could only understand the occasional English that your brother sprinkled here and there."

"Would you mind if I do the translation?" I asked for Johan's permission. He nodded. "Okay, then, I'm gonna translate everything as it is."

"Dearest Mom," I began the translation. "I remember growing up I was so fond of the Bible study time Dad insisted on having with me and my siblings every weekend. I remember Dad saying that he loved us just like Our Father in Heaven loves all the creatures ever created. It sounded like a lovely concept. Am I wrong for thinking like that? That's why it hurt so much when he rejected my sexuality. Don't I matter to him? Did he really mean it? Love... Is it still there within him somewhere, the love of a dad? Am I a fool for wanting a dad's love?" 

"Wow. Johan, you really were hurt!" Moira exclaimed. "I can't imagine how it must have felt to crave the love that is rightfully yours. Also, it's probably not my place to say, so do tell me if I'm going too far by saying this, but you're pretty lucky that you have the choice of rekindling the father and son relationship you've been robbed of."

"I--I mostly just wanted answers to a billion questions I have kept to myself ever since that disastrous night when I introduced Kenta to him." Johan didn't look at Moira but instead gazed at Mom's eyes, pleading wordlessly with her not to interfere. "I want to know if the problem was me or my choice of partner. I'd like to think it was me because it's heartbreaking to think that Dad disliked Kenta. I want to know if I was wrong in surprising him instead of letting him know in advance that I would be bringing a boyfriend home. Dad, where did I go wrong?"

"You weren't in the wrong, Johan, I was." Dad said through trembling lips. "As soon as you and Kenta stood speechless after my outrage, I actually felt a pang of guilt for my outburst but my pride prevented me from admitting that what I did was hurtful. I was very stupid and unwise."

"Unwise? Understatement of the century!" Mom put a hand on her hip. "Idiot."

"I know, Clara. I was foolish. I was too proud to admit my mistake and ended up sacrificing our marriage in the process. After you casted me out the day the divorce was finalized, I promised myself to win your heart and our children's trust once again, but as we both knew my plan didn't work because none of my emails to you seem to ever reach you. I kept trying for the Lord only knows how many excruciatingly painful years." Dad stopped to compose himself as his breath became heavier. "I quitted my job about a couple of years ago because I lost the will to live."

"Ouch. That's the saddest thing that could ever happen to anyone!" I grimaced. "Dad, I understand what it's like to lose our motivation to keep on living. I was once suicidal."

"I'm very sorry." Dad pulled me into a hug. "I think I passed down some bad genes to my children." He then turned to face Nardhia. "How have you been, Butet?" He called her by her childhood nickname in Batak language. "Wow, I forgot the last time I used your nickname."

"I've been doing mostly alright, thanks for asking." Nardhia said. "Life's been treating me better than it has treated my brothers. Tell me more about your years away, Dad. What else happened?"

"Too many things happened, Butet, too many things." He sighed. "I'll just give you an abridged summary of how my life got turned upside down. After I quitted my job, I relied on my savings to pay rent. Soon enough, I ran out of money. I was lucky to find a homeless shelter that would take me in as long as I helped out in their community kitchen every other day. The shelter, however, is pretty run down and I think the poor living conditions affected my lungs. I held on for so long from seeing a physician because I couldn't afford even a basic health insurance. By sheer dumb luck, several months ago I heard about a job opening at a local pizza parlor. The owner, George Blanche, paid me well. My job consists of washing dishes and cleaning up the dining area before closing time each night. He's a good young man, George is."

"George? You mean the jovial owner of Blanche Pizzeria in downtown Orchidsboro?" I almost fell from my chair. "I know him, Dad! George is the son of one of my acquaintances."

"Wow, small world!" Moira and Nardhia exclaimed in unison while Johan's eyes grew bigger.

"Really? Then you guys know how kind George is. He probably has no idea that we're related, though." Dad grinned toward my siblings and me. "He never learned my real name. I used an alias because I am too ashamed of the person I have become and had wanted to start anew."

"Thank God for George!" Johan said with a bated breath. "But how did you become a drug addict, Dad? You found a good job in a pizzeria, so what are you struggling with now?"

"Another long story." Dad sighed. "The short version is, George found out about my diagnosis of pulmonary disease because I clumsily left my unzipped backpack lying around the pizza shop's storage room and he found my medical files. I then confided in him that my pain had gotten more and more unbearable but the medicines I need are expensive so I've been self-medicating."

"Self-medicating with illegal drugs?" Johan asked. "Dad, that's dangerous!"

"I know, please don't lecture me. George already did. He was the one who urged me to see a psychiatrist and he even offered to pay for the costs of counseling. The day you saw me, Johan, was my first appointment. I was shocked to see you. I thought I was dreaming. I wanted to approach you but you left the psychiatrist's office in a hurry."

"This has been such a wild week." Johan laughed. "I'm glad we managed to have a heart-to-heart talk like this. Tell me more. How did your first psychiatric appointment go?"

"Well, the psychiatrists were concerned about my rapidly declining mental health, yeah, but she's also concerned about the physical effects of my abusing drugs. She said at the rate I'm going, the accumulation of the drug in my system could be negatively affecting my memory. In other words, I could start losing my long-term memories. She then promised to give me a referral to a local pharmaceutical company. She said the neurologists in that company have been looking into an ongoing research about memory loss."

"By chance, was it the same company that used to be spearheaded by Linda Zulfikar?" Johan asked excitedly. "Moira suffers from memory loss too and we have been communicating with Linda about a possible cure for her. You might be able to help us, Dad! Would you join in the search for a cure? I mean, you and Moira are in the same boat."

"I would be honored to. I feel like I have to do something to make up for the years of pain I inflicted on you and your siblings." Dad replied. "I want to be useful for once in my lifetime."