Aminah Nawawi

Twenty years ago, the sea betrayed us. It wasn’t the gentle horizon my father loved, the one he stared at during quiet moments on the dock. That day, it rose like a predator, devouring everything in its path. My father was one of over 160,000 Indonesians taken by the tsunami. He worked as a dock worker on the coast of Banda Aceh. There was no warning system then, no time to escape. Just devastation.

I was six, too young to grasp the magnitude of the loss. All I understood was that my father wasn’t coming home. He had been my anchor, a man who dreamed of a future where his children could go to university, where we could have choices he never had. I clung to those dreams as I grew older.

Now, at 26, I’m in my final semester of geophysics in Medan, studying earthquakes and tsunamis. It’s not just a career for me; it’s a calling. I’ve spent hours poring over data, trying to understand the forces that tore our lives apart. The world has changed since that day. We now have a sophisticated tsunami warning system. If something like this were to happen again, people would be far better prepared to respond.

Sometimes, I return to Banda Aceh and volunteer in schools, teaching children about the dangers and wonders of the earth beneath their feet. Their curiosity fills me with hope. My siblings have followed scientific paths too, each of us chasing the dreams our father planted.

Whenever I stand by the shore, watching the same sea that took him, I feel a mix of awe and grief. It’s strange how beauty and destruction coexist, how the ocean remains so tranquil after all it’s done. I think my father would be proud, not just of me, but of how far we’ve all come. The sea is still his, but now it’s mine too—a constant reminder of love, loss, and resilience.