Rebirth in Southeast Asia

Although I was still grieving during the yasinan (a communal recitation of Yasin chapter of the Quran for the deceased), my knowledge from the future gave me a deeper understanding of the differing views among these major Islamic organizations in Indonesia.

Nahdlatul Ulama (NU): My father said that NU is the largest Islamic organization in Indonesia. They greatly value and uphold religious traditions that have been passed down through generations, especially those that have acculturated with local culture, as long as they don't contradict Islamic law. "NU is strong at the grassroots, son," Father said. "They have many pondok pesantren (Islamic boarding schools), kyai (religious scholars), and ulama (Islamic clerics) who are highly respected. For NU, tahlilan (a ritual prayer ceremony for the deceased) is a good tradition, a way of sending prayers to the departed. There are religious justifications for it, and what's important is that it doesn't deviate from Islamic teachings. It also serves as a gathering for silaturahmi (strengthening kinship ties), reinforcing the community." So, at Grandpa's yasinan, everyone recited prayers together, chanted tahlil, and it felt very comforting.

Muhammadiyah: "As for Muhammadiyah, their views are somewhat different," Father explained. "They focus more on purifying Islamic teachings, returning to the Qur'an and the Prophet's Sunnah. They tend not to practice or even oppose practices that are considered to have no direct example from Prophet Muhammad." "So, they usually don't do tahlilan," Father added. "For them, it's enough to pray silently in one's heart, or read the Qur'an individually; there's no need for special gatherings like tahlilan. They emphasize ibadah mahdhah (worship with clearly defined procedures from the Prophet)." They also heavily focus on modern education, hospitals, and social enterprises.

Persis (Persatuan Islam - Islamic Union): "There's also Persis," Grandpa once added in an old conversation. "This is a smaller organization, but it also has strong views. They are also very keen on purifying Islamic teachings and opposing bid'ah (innovations in religion that have no precedent)." "One could say their view on tahlilan is similar to Muhammadiyah, tending not to perform it," Grandpa said. "They are very strict on fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) and aqidah (creed), and also focus on education and dakwah (proselytizing)."

Unexpected Call from the Notary

After seven days of yasinan had passed, and the house had quieted down from the crowds of mourners, a call came. Our entire extended family, including me and Father, were summoned to the office of a notary whose house was very close to Grandpa's residence. I knew immediately. A faint smile, mixed with emotion, formed on my face. It seemed Grandpa had really made a will as I suggested.

"Come on, son," Father urged softly. "We have to go to the Notary's office. What do you think it's about?" My father, who didn't know the details of the will, looked a little curious. "I expected this, Dad," I thought to myself. This was Grandpa's step to prevent the conflict that had occurred in my future. An anticipatory step, the result of our long conversations about the future. This was where Grandpa's true legacy, not just material, would be revealed—an effort to maintain the family harmony he deeply loved.

After seven days of yasinan filled with prayers, it was time for us to face the reality Grandpa had prepared. The entire extended family gathered at the notary's office not far from Grandpa's house. There were about seven of Grandpa's children (including my father) and also some adult grandchildren present. The atmosphere in the room was tense, full of speculation about what would be announced.

The notary, a friendly but dignified old man, opened a thick folder and began to read Grandpa's will in a clear, calm voice. Every word that came out of his mouth felt heavy to my ears, especially since I already knew its contents.

"Based on the will of the late Mr. Darmat…" the notary began, "…he has decided to fairly divide the share ownership of his media and printing company."

I took a deep breath. This was it.

"The shares of this media and printing company will be divided equally into seven parts, for each of the late Mr. Darmat's seven children." The notary paused for a moment, glancing at each of Grandpa's children's faces. "This division has been meticulously determined by the deceased and legally arranged by me as the notary, so that each share part is clearly separated."

The notary continued to explain the details of the share and asset division. He emphasized that the rights for each child were legally clear. This meant that each of Grandpa's children had independent ownership, separate from the others. No one could claim more, no one could control another's portion, because everything had been legally separated and recorded.

As soon as the notary finished reading the core part of the will, the previously silent room was immediately filled with whispers. Then, the whispers turned into murmurs, and then… an outburst of protest.

"Why is it divided like this?" Uwa Hasan's voice, Grandpa's eldest child, was the loudest. "We're a family! If it's divided like this, won't it break us apart?"

Uwa Nani, my father's younger sister, chimed in. "Yes, Mr. Notary. Why not keep it as one? We've always been together. This is a family company, it should be managed together."

Some cousins also voiced their objections. "It's better together, stronger. If we separate like this, we might not be cohesive!"

I could understand their reaction. The family culture in Indonesia is indeed very strong. For them, the concept of 'togetherness' is a core value. Separating assets like this, although legally guaranteeing fairness, felt like breaking up the togetherness that had been established for decades. They felt safer and more comfortable if everything remained under one large family umbrella, without overly rigid boundaries. There was a fear that this division would make them 'strangers' to each other.

My father himself remained silent, sighing. He knew this was the result of my suggestion to Grandpa, and he knew it was for the long-term good, even if it felt bitter now.

The notary patiently re-explained. "Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your objections. However, this is the wish of the late Mr. Darmat, which he decided after careful consideration. And it is legally valid. This means you must accept this decision, as it is a binding will."

The protests continued for a while; some still tried to argue, some shook their heads. However, the notary stood his ground, explaining the legal consequences if it wasn't accepted. Slowly, one by one, they began to show signs of resignation. The faces that were angry earlier now turned disappointed, but they had no choice but to accept.

Finally, they all signed the document accepting the will. There were no more protests. The room returned to silence, but this time with a different feeling. A feeling of loss mixed with acceptance of the new reality. For me, this was a new chapter. An important step had been taken to prevent major conflicts in the future, even if it meant a small 'storm' in the notary's office.

The Unveiling of Truth

After returning from the notary's office, the atmosphere at home felt a bit somber. Although Grandpa's will was legally valid, there was still discomfort among the extended family. My father, always my confidant, invited me up to our favorite room on the upper floor, where we often discussed things, sometimes even accompanied by his 'supernatural acquaintances' who always made me chuckle.

That night, it was just the two of us there, and Father looked at me seriously. "Marlon," Father began, his voice soft. "I want to ask you why you suggested Grandpa divide the inheritance like that through the notary? You know, there were many objections earlier. They felt like the family was being torn apart."

I knew Father would ask. I had prepared my answer, a bitter truth from the future that he needed to know.

"Dad," I said, looking straight at him. "I suggested that to save Grandpa's grandchildren from the injustice of Grandpa's other children." My father frowned. "Injustice? What do you mean?"

"I can give an example, Dad," I explained. "For instance, Uwa Nia's family." (Uwa Nia was one of Grandpa's children who had passed away a few years earlier.) "Uwa Nia has children, right? There's A Tedi and A Dedi. They are Grandpa's very good grandchildren."

Father nodded, understanding my point. "Well, in my future, because Uwa Nia had already passed away, A Tedi and A Dedi wouldn't get their rightful share properly." I continued, my voice slightly choked remembering how pitiful they were. "They would get a portion that had been cut, reduced, or perhaps even taken by Grandpa's other children without their knowledge. The reasons could vary; they might say it was used for this and that expense, or that it had already been distributed, even though it hadn't."

My father fell silent, his face showing shock. "This isn't just their example, Dad," I continued, mustering my courage. "I myself, later, will experience the same thing when you are no longer around." Hearing that, my father's eyes widened. "Marlon, what do you mean? You'll be wronged too?"

"Yes, Dad," I said, my voice trembling. "Because later Grandpa won't be here, you won't be here, and Ua Dadan won't be here either. Our family, me and my sister Putri, might be considered weak. Other family members will see an opening to take what should rightfully be ours. This has already happened in the future I know."

I paused for a moment, letting Father process all this information. It was a harsh reality, but he needed to hear it.

"Indeed, Dad, this method seemed to divide the family in their eyes. It seemed un-familial to separate assets while Grandpa was still alive." I tried to find the most appropriate words to explain. "But this is precisely what will bring peace in the future. It will prevent major conflicts down the line."

"Imagine, Dad," I continued, "if it's clear from the start, legally separated, no one else can claim or feel they have more rights over another's share. There will be no more disputes, quarrels, and resentment from feeling wronged. This will save family relationships from destruction due to money."

My father looked at me for a long time, his eyes glistening. He took a long breath, then hugged me tightly. "I never imagined it would go that far, son. I thought, family would always be together. But you're right. This is Grandpa's best decision, and it's all thanks to you."

I returned Father's hug, feeling a little relieved that he finally understood. I knew that this step, though bitter at first, was the most valuable investment in preserving our family's unity and peace in the future.

After my father hugged me tightly, he still seemed lost in thought. The explanation about potential inheritance conflicts had indeed shaken his understanding of family. I knew this was the right moment to explain the root of the problem, related to his generation's way of thinking.

"Dad," I said, trying to convey this carefully. "You're from the baby boomer generation, right?"

Father looked at me, confused. "Baby boomer? What's that?"

"It's a term in my future, Dad," I explained. "For the generation born after the world wars, whose lives tended to want peace and stability. Well, you and the Uncles/Aunts were raised with that mindset."

I continued, "Because of that, you and Grandpa's generation also felt uncomfortable with lingering problems. If there was a conflict, or a dispute, you and the others usually preferred to quickly make peace, right? Even if, in reality, the problem wasn't truly resolved."

My father nodded slowly, as if realizing the truth of my words. "That's true. If there was a quarrel, the elders used to always say, 'Enough, just stop it, don't prolong it. We are family, we must be peaceful.'"

"Exactly, Dad!" I affirmed. "Yet, that method only covered up the problem, it didn't resolve it completely. It's like 'fire in the husk'."

My father frowned. "Fire in the husk?"

"Yes, Dad," I said. "From the outside, it looks peaceful, no smoke. But inside, the embers are still burning, ready to ignite. So, when another conflict or new problem arises later, the problem that was only 'made peaceful' without being resolved will resurface, Dad. And usually, it will only worsen the situation, making it bigger and more complicated than it should be."

I explained further. "Why? Because the root, the main problem, wasn't resolved; it was just quickly made peaceful. It was merely piled up, covered up, as if it didn't exist. So, when it reappears, all the pent-up resentment and discomfort explode with it. In the end, what could have been resolved amicably turns into a major division."

"I don't want that to happen to our family, Dad," I said, my voice filled with determination. "I don't want to see our family destroyed by problems that could actually be prevented. That's why it's better to separate and clarify it legally from the beginning, so there's no room for future conflict."

My father looked at me for a long time, his gaze full of understanding. He took a long breath. "You're right, Marlon. All this time, we have indeed been accustomed to that 'false peace'. Accustomed to saying 'it's all peaceful', even though the problem wasn't resolved, but we were told to be peaceful."

He nodded. "I'm trying to understand. You truly have a far-sighted perspective. Perhaps our old way, of wanting peace too much and avoiding conflict, actually stored up bigger problems for the future."

Seeing Father try to understand and accept my point of view, my heart felt a little relieved. This was an important first step to change their generation's perspective, and hopefully, it would save our family from the brink of division.

Junior High Life (1)

The year 2004 marked a new chapter for me with my entry into junior high. However, in our family, there was another important milestone: my sister Putri entered senior high.

I knew very well from my previous life that, among us siblings, my sister Putri was the only one who could be considered intelligent. She had a sharp mind, easily absorbed lessons, and always excelled in school. Meanwhile, my younger brother and I, in my previous life, were quite academically dull. Our grades were mediocre, and we preferred playing or doing other things rather than studying. Amusingly, my younger sister, born in 2002, would later follow in Putri's footsteps, having a good and brilliant education.

My sister Putri successfully got into the favorite senior high school for bright students in Bandung. This high school was indeed known as a gathering place for the best students, and its graduates often went on to study medicine or prominent engineering faculties, even becoming doctors. I remembered that in my previous life, Putri also entered this high school and eventually became a doctor.

This time too, history repeated itself. Putri was accepted into that favorite senior high. I was so proud of her. She was living proof that intelligence existed in our family, at least in her.

However, with my knowledge from the future, I had a different plan for Putri's education. I didn't want her to stop just in Indonesia. I wanted her to see a wider world.

"Dad," I said one evening, when we were gathered in the living room. "I want you to tell Putri to study English more seriously." Father looked at me confused. "Why, son? She already knows English at school."

"Not just getting good grades at school, Dad," I explained. "But she needs to be truly fluent, able to communicate well, like a native speaker. Later, when she goes to college, I want her to at least study in Singapore, or even Korea."

Putri, who was reading a book on the sofa next to me, looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. "To Singapore? Korea? Why go so far, Marlon? There are many good universities here too."

"That's true, Sis," I acknowledged. "There are many good universities here. But in Singapore or Korea, they have more advanced education systems in some fields, especially technology and research. The learning environment is also different, more global. The network you can build there will be much wider."

I looked at Father. "And most importantly, Dad, don't let her study in this country." I knew this sounded extreme, but I had my reasons. In the future, education in Indonesia, although making progress, still had many challenges. I wanted Putri to get the best, something that could open doors to bigger global opportunities.

Father pondered, considering my words. He knew I had strong reasons for every suggestion I gave. Putri herself, although surprised, seemed to begin considering the idea. Perhaps, in her mind, a new life abroad was taking shape, far from her comfort zone. I knew this was a big step, but I was confident it would be the best investment for Putri's future, and also to support my grand vision later.

Time went on as usual. I spent my days as a junior high student, while still monitoring and directing the business empire I was building. My communication with the team at the Singapore trust fund was still very intense. I didn't have to worry about the daily investment details, as Grandpa had chosen a very competent financial manager. I only needed to provide broad directions. "Focus our investments in the technology sector, especially companies I'm familiar with," I requested of them. I named big names that I knew would dominate the future: NVIDIA, Intel, Samsung, and the like. I knew these companies were giants that would continue to grow with the digital revolution. I also asked them to make only long-term investments, not daily speculation. Why? Because honestly, I wasn't very good at complicated finance. My knowledge was more about major trends and the direction of the future, not in-depth daily market analysis. I left the details to the professionals at the trust fund.

In Indonesia, the Sundawani projects also showed very encouraging progress. Our investments in Sundawani's agriculture, livestock, plantations, and food industry were improving. The lands we bought were beginning to be productive, our modern livestock farms produced quality products, and our processing factories operated efficiently.

All of this went smoothly thanks to the strict supervision of the Singapore trust fund. They not only managed the money but also provided high standards of management and auditing, ensuring Sundawani's finances were secure and transparent. As a result, the quality of our products was excellent. We could even export our products through Singapore. This was a big step, showing that our local products could compete in the international market.

Amidst my busy schedule with junior high lessons and taekwondo practice, as well as monitoring Sundawani's development, my mind never strayed from the big opportunities in the future. I knew that 2004 was a crucial year for one thing: social media.

I immediately contacted the team at the Singapore trust fund. "I have one more very important investment directive," I told the financial manager, who was now very accustomed to my "unique" ideas.

"What is it, Marlon?" he asked, his voice sounding curious.

"I need your team to go to the United States," I said firmly. "Find out about a new platform, which will later be named Facebook. As I recall, it will be created this year by a student at Harvard."