May 1998, between riots and spiritual trauma

May, 1998. That era would stick onto my brain forever. I was 11 years old. I was still in primary school, still very young and I understood nothing about politics. Indonesia was going through major political changes. There was discontent towards the "Orde Baru" or the "New Order", lead by the dictator, Soeharto.

There was civil unrest, rioting, looting. Many people lost their lives. But as a 11 year old, all of that went over my head. In my world, there was school, friends, mum, dad and brother. That was my world.

But, I remember that day. That day when the ground trembled. We were all home. My dad hired a security guard since the public unrest started. I remember my dad told us to close all doors and windows. I was sitting on his Laz-e-boy chair, not knowing whats happening. But it seemed ominous. My dad was nervous, but since my dad was a bit of a brute in his younger days, he tried to appear unbothered. I recalled clearly he handed me over a big heavy Japanese samurai sword. I was too weak to carry it anyway, but he said "take this, for your security". Maybe it made him feel better that I had a weapon on me even though I didn't know what to do with it. Just for context: up till then, I still had no idea what was happening. Mum was pacing back and forth, and my brother also seemed like he had no idea. The only person outside the house was the security guard.

It went silent for 5 minutes. And then, I could hear people shouting, glass breaking, the ground was trembling. But it seemed like it was in a distance. It went pass for 20 minutes or so, and it was gone.

Taken from the Office of the Vice President The Republic of Indonesia

The next morning, it was a school day. We drove past our local shopping centre, and it was looted and burnt down. Mum was in the car and she started crying. When I walked into my classroom, a group of kids were already huddling together, so deep into their discussion.

"I heard gunshots", one of my friends said. "I live just streets away from where the Trisakti guy was shot dead".

I only started to realise then that it was a big deal. I was lucky enough to live far away from the hotspot of the riots. But there were places where it was incredibly violent, and I never really learned what really went down until I was an adult. Daughters raped in front of their parents, murders, arson, the ethnic Chinese fled to neigbouring countries such as Australia and Singapore.

I don't know why up until now I felt numb to all of it. Was that a survival mechanism? Am I a psychopath? Was I just too young to understand what had happened? I mean, obviously I was not aware of the full story. But what happens next was more of a mystery.

Weeks after that, friends at school had been talking about this sensational ghost that had been going around. I have clear memories of my classmate, Raisha, who started a conversation with this question. "Have you heard about setan mukena (the mukena ghost)?" (Mukena is a type of headwear worn by muslim women when they pray).... and it clicked to me........

Days before, around 9 at night, I borrowed my mother's hairbrush to brush my hair. I wanted to use the big mirror in front of the guest room (In Indonesia, we have a 'ruang tamu' or a room special to welcome guests. Normally it's filled with sofas, family photos, antiques. However, when we have guests, we normally bring them to our dining or living room anyway, so the guest room is often abandoned. So I went to brush my hair in front of that mirror when I notice some movement on the corner of my left eye. I looked into the dark guest room and there was a woman wearing an entire Muslim praying outfit, just standing there. I thought it was our maid, Isah, but when I looked closer, she didn't have a face. It was completely blank. Nothing but dark. I obviously freaked out and ran.

This setan mukena my friends have been talking about was already in my damn house. This being followed me until we moved residence. She was often there on the stairs as I brushed my teeth. She kept me guarded while I tried to sleep. But she kicked started a massive acute anxiety disorder which made my mother take me to a psychologist every weekend.

My husband, Jean-Baptiste, asked "Do you think there may have been a correllation between the political unrest and the appearance of this lady?". That got me thinking.

Was she a case of public hallucination? Was she a mental product of trauma that manifests into a form of brain malfunction? Was she my way of expressing that I was silently affected by the political unrest?

Whatever it was, I was damaged from ages 11 to 17. I could not be left alone in a room. Even until today, I still have episodes of high anxiety, caused by something incredibly irrational.

But thinking back at it, a friend of my father once visited our house and said "your daughter has a protector". So she was not evil after all. A spiritualist once told me that she may have been my biological mother.

But, Indonesia is such a spiritual country, explanations like these are seen "rational", while in the West, they would search for a more logical and scientific backing. Whatever it is that happened to me or my brain, it's etched a significant core memory that I will never forget.