Jenggala

Jenggala is the forest of my childhood memories of my father. The longing that often comes over me feels as fleeting as a lulling mist, yet harbours thousands of painful thorns. To his daughter, my father did not merely teach her to walk; he also became the cornerstone that strengthened her courage to face the world. And I am the daughter who has now lost that cornerstone.

Her final words have blossomed into a rose that blooms eternally in my memory. Its long roots reach deep into the recesses of my soul; I cherish and nurture them, then return them to the universe through my brushstrokes and palette.