Bersamamu

Bersamamu (English)

Note: Thanks for my friend, the man who translate it

"Stay away from that trash pit!"

That single sentence says enough about the place we live in. Even with these towering walls around us, I could still hear it, some parent scolding their child. But really, who would ever want to live in a place like this?

The stench of rot and dust hangs in the air, clinging to your skin like a curse. Every breath feels heavy, as if the world itself is reluctant to share even the smallest comforts. All we can do is survive, wrapped tightly in despair.

But let's set that aside for a moment, I still have work to do. For myself, and for her. I rummage through heaps of trash, looking for anything remotely useful. I gather twigs and branches just to earn a few cracked coins.

I go around the market, delivering things for other people. Sometimes they'll give me an extra coin, even if it's damaged. Or, if I'm lucky, maybe I'll find one dropped on the ground.

She's still so small, too small to understand the meaning of suffering. And every time she smiles, I pretend to forget how horrible this place really is. I want her to keep smiling.

She always follows me around, running after me while I carry bundles of sticks on my back,

"I want to help too," she says cheerfully.

"I can handle it on my own," I reply, struggling to keep the sticks from slipping off my shoulder, "Just wait a little longer."

"But I don't like waiting alone..."

I turn around and look into her gleaming eyes. I don't want her to get tired, but I don't want her to feel lonely either. So, as always, I let her come along. She clutches the edge of my shirt, her tiny steps trying to match mine.

Some people say that simply being alive is the greatest blessing. I'm not sure if they're right, or if something's just broken in my idea of happiness. Maybe they're not talking about life itself.

Maybe they're talking about the other things, the things that make them believe life is good. The things they've taken for granted without even realizing it.

Food and drink they have every day, clothes they wear, a roof to return to, financial security, loving relationships, and all the other tiny comforts. Ever heard of "basic needs"?

Sometimes I think about becoming someone who works at the church. I hear they provide for those needs there. But even that takes money. Isn't that strange?

Should I steal? The thought has crossed my mind, but I'm not someone who can commit a crime.

"Does God need money too?" she once asked innocently.

I laughed, "Yes, yes... apparently He does." I rubbed my arms.

Unlike where we live, where no one cares about the way you look or smell, the people on the other side of the wall are obsessed with little things that don't even matter.

That's why we have to wash ourselves and change clothes before going to the market. It felt like such a waste when I bought new clothes, but it's the only way we're allowed past the wall.

The sun begins to set, night falls. I walk home with her. Through cool mornings, hot afternoons, and freezing nights, I'll stay with her, doing everything I can not to lose her.

Somehow, I've grown used to this place. The filth, the homeless sleeping on the roadside, the scattered trash, the rise in theft, kidnapping, murder. None of it feels strange anymore.

Even if I took a different path, I doubt it would make any difference.

Getting used to it all, it's made me doubt the concept of "God." Isn't God supposed to be All-Knowing, Most Merciful, All-Loving, Perfectly Just? There are too many good titles attached to Him.