Comfort in the Mosquitoes, by Adella Tobing

On school nights the dark corners swell like bruises,

shadows thick with the patience of things that wait.

I know I should be asleep, but I lie there listening —

until, at last, the uncertain shuffle of his key,

the familiar drag of his steps through the humid hallway,

the sour-sweet scent of cigars and ether threading his shirt.

He sinks beside me, heavy but tender,

as though fatigue were another child he had to carry.

Outside, mosquitoes rise in a restless cloud,

their thin wings stitching through the tropical night —

but wrapped in his unsteady breath

I sleep as if guarded, protected,

a fence of presence against the waiting dark.

As I nod away, I slip in and out of states of being —

the air conditioner creaking, the room thick enough to drink,

the night cracking open with distant thunder.

He came from another world of vowels

and even stronger monsoon rain,

stories rooted in kampung (1) soil unfamiliar to me.

Sometimes I worried the distance grew

like a rainforest between us — dense, impossible

His childhood myths perched on branches I could not climb,

my borrowed tongue hanging separately.

In that moment, for the first time, I didn’t want to grow older —

afraid that growing up would carry me further

from the place he calls home,

that the part of me shaped by him

would become only a souvenir from a life I never lived.

Yet in that small room, the gulf folded in on itself.

His voice was soft, unhurried —

carrying the dusk of another country,

finds me without effort

as if love were fluent long before language.

He sang the songs of his childhood,

warm and unpolished from memory:

Bobo sayang, (Darling sleep)

bobo lala sayang, (Darling please sleep)

kalau nggak bobo digigit nyamuk (if you don’t sleep, the mosquitoes will bite you) (2) 

The lullaby curled around me in the thick night air,

a charm older than his hometown,

woven from superstition and tenderness

The mosquitoes quieted to a distant drone,

tamed for a moment by the old magic in his voice.

And in that suspended breath between waking and dreaming,

I understood him —

the way legends shelter a child,

the way love sounds in any language.

1 Kampung: A term used to refer to traditional villages in certain parts of Southeast Asia, often associated with close-knit communities and local customs

2 A variation of a popular Indonesian children’s lullaby known as ‘Nina bobo’

note from the editor: piece of the season. adella's words lull you to sleep like a child, conjuring up every aspect of nostalgia that you had forgotten; soft syllables, soft twinge of regret, the magic that felt like it perpetually hung around you. through her close connection to her father's song and how deeply entrenched it is in culture, i feel at home. adella uses the theme of folklore and turns it into something much more personal and mysterious, yet altogether tender and protecting.

About the author:

Adella enjoys writing about things that compel her. this ranges from kindness, cruelty, and mundanity - dependent on the mood and medium available. She is currently a managing editor at her university newspaper, and working on curating a substack very soon!