Henny Budiani

By: Henny Budiani

His room was dark, illuminated only by the dim light from the streetlamp outside. Raga sat at the edge of his bed, his eyes red, holding back the anger that swelled inside him. Ever since his father passed away, his life had felt like a roller coaster that only went downhill. He had lost a father, a best friend, and a coach. They used to spend so much time together—playing basketball, training in boxing, and sharing stories. But now, all of that was just a memory.

His mother, Bu Ani, had become busier with work. She came home late at night, often too exhausted to talk. She used to cook delicious meals for iftar, but now, the dining table was often empty or filled only with instant food.

“Mom doesn’t care about me!” Raga grumbled, kicking an empty drink can on the floor. “All she thinks about is work, work, and work!”

Raga felt ignored, unloved. He longed for attention, affection, and the warmth of family. He missed the meaningful Ramadans they used to have.

At school, Raga’s behavior worsened. He skipped classes, got into fights, and started using drugs. He was looking for an escape from his pain, trying to get attention in all the wrong ways.

One day, Raga came home with bruises all over his face. He had just been in a fight with Anton, the leader of a gang at school. The fight started over something trivial, but for Raga, it was the breaking point of all his bottled-up emotions.

“Why is my life like this?” Raga shouted, slamming his bedroom door. “Why is Mom never there for me?”

Bu Ani heard his outburst. She walked into his room and saw his bruised face. Her heart shattered at the sight of her son.

“Raga, what happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Nothing,” Raga answered briefly, turning his face away.

“Don’t lie to me, Raga,” Bu Ani said. “I know something is wrong.”

Raga stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say. He felt too angry, too disappointed, too hurt.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered. “You never understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand, Raga,” Bu Ani admitted. “That’s why I want you to tell me. What’s making you feel this way?”

Raga looked at his mother with an empty stare. Slowly, he began to open up—all his anger, all his pain, all his longing. He talked about his father, about the beautiful past they had, and about the loneliness he felt.

Bu Ani listened intently, tears streaming down her face. She realized her mistake. She had been so focused on work that she had neglected her son. She had failed as a mother.

“Raga, I’m so sorry,” Bu Ani said, pulling him into an embrace. “I’ve been too busy and I forgot about you. I promise, I will change. We will spend this Ramadan together, just like we used to.”

Raga returned his mother’s embrace. He felt relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt loved, seen, and cared for.

That night, they prayed tarawih together at the nearby mosque. The atmosphere in the mosque was warm and peaceful. For the first time in a long time, Raga felt calm.

For the rest of the month, they worked on rebuilding their relationship. They talked more, listened to each other, and tried to understand one another. They also revived their Ramadan traditions—praying tarawih together, reciting the Qur’an, and breaking their fast with simple meals.

Raga started to change. He felt happier, calmer, and closer to his mother. He also began mending his relationships with his friends at school.

That Ramadan became the most memorable one for Raga and Bu Ani. They rediscovered the true meaning of Ramadan—of forgiveness, love, and togetherness. They learned that love and family were the most precious things in life.