During my childhood, ‘village’ seems so close. Just as close as the calendar nailed on the wall of our rented house. I would try marking the red date. Because holiday means our family visit to the hometown. I don’t care where to. Is it Kacaribu (mother’s hometown, or Kubusimbelang (father’s). Both are situated at Karo regency.
However they get fade away in my mind as I grow. The story about them either from my parent or relatives is the matter. I just learn negative aspects. Therefore, no more village to visit. It is only an imaginative place.
Despite I find one in Saranpadang (my wife’s), the village as my root is hardly to be found. Where you have family welcome you with a hug and smile. Or a hometown where I will be buried one day.
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