Ramadhan, Roti John, and the Promise That Remains

Dear Sayang, 

Ramadhan always brings back the memories—our little stall, the smell of freshly made Roti John filling the air, the joy of seeing customers return, knowing they loved what we made. Our Roti John wasn’t just food; it was a piece of us, our hard work, our late nights, our dreams.  

I still remember the heartbreak when our stall was stolen. You were crushed, but you didn’t stay down for long. We picked ourselves up, found a way, and kept going. A motor roda tiga became our new stall, and once again, our Roti John was a hit. But we were young in business—no team, no coordination, just two people trying their best. It was exhausting, but we learned, we grew.  

Then life took another turn. You took a stable job, and we turned the business into something smaller, just for special orders. But you never let go of that dream. Even when things got tough, even when the tumor changed everything, you still believed. You still planned. You still wanted to start over.  

You passed down your skills to Hana, making sure the legacy lived on. Even when you weren’t at your best, you still supported her, even buying a food processor just to help. You never stopped thinking about others.  

And I never stopped believing in you. I promised we’d start again once you got better. I held onto that promise with everything I had. But life… life had its own plans.  

Now, as Ramadhan comes again, I miss you even more. I miss your determination, your kindness, your belief that we could always start fresh. I miss the way you made even the hardest days feel like something we could conquer together.  

I wish you were here. I wish we could open that stall again. I wish we had more time.  

But I’ll carry you with me, always. In the memories, in the lessons, in every bite of Roti John that still carries your touch. And in the quiet moments, when the rain falls, I’ll remember you, knowing you’re never really gone.  

With all my love,  

Me