My cousin rang me late in the evening asking me if I knew anything about the field. I knew nothing. Nothing but the stories I heard as a kid, stories of mythic proportions. ‘Your grandmother owns land’, ‘It’s a rubber plantation’, ‘Part of it is yours’. My grandparents always told me not to worry about money, I’d be well looked after. Good stories to hear, when you’re a kid.
I only half believed them then and when my grandparents died and nothing materialised, I shrugged and filed ’em them in the box labelled ‘childhood dreams / urban myths’, along with Santa Claus and the baby Jesus.
It appears the field does exist. And now I wish it didn’t, for the rift it’s brought.
But hey, it’s kind of funny to think that legally, I own part of a piece of land on Sulawesi, even if through circumstances, I’ll probably never really have it.