Cimol Back Home

Name: Vania Jovita

IG Handle: @vania_jovita

The day you leave your home for another city is the day you’ll never feel the same way you did before. I was back at home, in a city slightly colder than where I studied. I traveled from the East to West despite the 11.5-hour train ride. Before my parents drove me home, I said I wanted to try the cimol in front of the train station. Confidently approaching the seller with enough cash, I said, “Leutik wungkul sabaraha nya, Pak? Rek meuli lima rebu (How much for the small portion, sir? I want to buy with five thousand rupiah).” My voice was a bit hoarse from the dry air inside the train, and my accent had a hint of thick Javanese. The seller, in a gray cap and a wooden stick in his hand, replied, “Siap. Sundana meuni alus kitu, neng (Your Sundanese is very good, young lady).” I was taken aback, responding with an awkward laugh, “Saya lahir di sini, Pak. (I was born here, sir).” The seller nodded, doing his job while I stared at the cimol wondering if it was the accent that gave it away. Why did I hesitate? Did I look like someone who doesn’t belong here? was it my outfit? I recalled the years of university when I didn’t come home. I have been gone for four years and knew nothing about this city anymore. Despite the obvious silence, the seller still talked to me as if it was my first time trying the food he was selling. I proceeded to pay for his patience and the cimol that felt both familiar and distant to me.