Between Pages and the Convent’s Garden
A reflection on The Magnolia Grows at Night, intergenerational care and an afternoon at Zusters Onder de Bogenby Imani Specht
Photographs by Rosa Klijn
The Magnolia Grows at Night by Fransisca Angela was published by Terang Press. In July 2026, we hosted Between Pages and The Convent’s Garden, a collective reading at Limestone Books, with nuns from Indonesia and Timor-Leste, alongside convent staff from the Netherlands. The afternoon continued with a guided visit to Zusters Onder de Bogen in Maastricht. This piece is a reflection on what unfolded during that afternoon.
The Hague, August 2026
Static scenes of different elderly hands, glimpses of intimate bedrooms, and the convent’s garden where the magnolia tree stands. I remember the first time I had watched the film
The Magnolia Grows at Night after it was finally completed. It was the 25th of May 2025; a month prior to that I had flown back to Curaçao to attend my great-grandmother's funeral after months of quietly, and fearfully, anticipating the call or text from family to do so. I did not stay long on the island, deciding to return almost immediately to focus on my other tasks. Although I was determined and kept myself busy with other responsibilities, it was clear that I was being held together by a frayed thread, one that had snapped when I had sat down and watched the film in full. The imagery of these nuns, the importance of the connections they held between each other and the melancholy and grief struck me with a wave of emotion. I had felt as though one moment I stood upon dry land, and the next I was drowning.
It was the same when I read the book that accompanied the film. I had read excerpts from it when I was assisting Fransisca Angela with its creation, but it only truly gripped my heart when I was reading it on the way back to The Hague from Amsterdam. It was difficult to comprehend the feeling — it was familiar and known to me, yet presented in a different lens and from a cultural experience far from my own; yet still, there was comfort in this unknown. I held onto it tightly as I sobbed, a connection formed even when it felt foreign.
Two different worlds, and yet grief is a universal feeling amidst all of us. I see my great-grandmother amongst these nuns almost; how she'd enjoy walking through the gardens, to attend mass with others that hold her beliefs, and to do as she saw fit throughout it all, amongst others who understood. I saw her in the writings, heard her voice in the film, could hear her hobbled footsteps between the piano, and saw her amongst the magnolias.
All the clocks in the room need to be adjusted
All the hands on the wristwatches
Everyone got an extra one hour of sleep
Someone forgot about time,
All the hands on the wristwatches
Everyone got an extra one hour of sleep
Someone forgot about time,
Reading with the Sisters
Between Pages and the Convent's Garden presented a moment of reflection and interconnection between people, cultures, and generations; but also a moment to delve on the subject of care, compassion, and the connection between daughter, mother, and grandmother. Taking place in Maastricht on July 25th 2026, at Limestone books, Fransisca Angela invited the audience to sit together to hear excerpts from her book through the voices of the women that inspired it — the nuns of the Zusters onder de Bogen convent.
Many people came from all over the Netherlands to attend this book launch, some even traveling long distances to be part of this moment with others. I had attended with my brother, the both of us traveling nearly three hours from The Hague to Maastricht, whilst others came from Alkmaar, Amsterdam, and Arnhem. We were all a diverse group of people of different ages and different backgrounds coming together to be part of this experience. Some knew of the book, others of Fransisca herself; some shared a similar cultural background to Fransisca and the nuns whose home is in Indonesia, but their lives went in different directions from them yet still a connection formed.
These people — children and adults alike, elderly and young — assembled at Limestone Books in anticipation. And though the book details a story about the Indonesian and Timor Leste nuns and the connection formed between them, the Dutch nuns and Fransisca herself, a familiarity still comes through despite this difference. Connections are formed with one another through the imagery feeling similar, yet different. Not many may have grown up with the Catholic religion these nuns preach and believe in, nor have they ever known these women personally, but within the pages one is able to see and feel something familiar. Something that brings that comfort; the grief; the joy, and the hope, and it allows you to feel and see them as more than just words on a page. Or a still in a film.
Before the collective readings we were invited to watch the film that was made as a companion piece to the book; allowing us to gain more insight into the book and its subject matter. Sitting together on little stools, we huddled close and waited patiently for it to begin. A silence overcame the bookstore as we watched the film; those in attendance sat engrossed to it all, made to focus entirely upon the film lest they miss something of importance. Each subtitle accompanied by the soft playing of an old piano brought life to women that were only known to the audience as letters in the alphabet. Their words, spoken to us through the imagery itself, through the memories that were captured on the film, and through the care placed by Fransisca to remember them, despite how little she knew of them.
The seats were then rearranged to put our presenters at center stage, these were: Fransisca Angela, Sister Terry Novaria Mulijadi, Sister Hetty Sri Widjajanti, Sister Filomena Leal Pereira, and Mary Godding. We sat around them in a semicircle and it felt almost childish to sit like this; a brief respite from the confines of adulthood as nostalgia takes hold. This arrangement brought forth this feeling of sitting on the floor next to your grandmother, listening to her share her experiences in life as she worked on a new knitting project, or patched the holes in your clothes.
Sister Terry reading her text, “Klevarie” from The Magnolia Grows at Night
Many people came from all over the Netherlands to attend this book launch, some even traveling long distances to be part of this moment with others. I had attended with my brother, the both of us traveling nearly three hours from The Hague to Maastricht, whilst others came from Alkmaar, Amsterdam, and Arnhem. We were all a diverse group of people of different ages and different backgrounds coming together to be part of this experience. Some knew of the book, others of Fransisca herself; some shared a similar cultural background to Fransisca and the nuns whose home is in Indonesia, but their lives went in different directions from them yet still a connection formed.
These people — children and adults alike, elderly and young — assembled at Limestone Books in anticipation. And though the book details a story about the Indonesian and Timor Leste nuns and the connection formed between them, the Dutch nuns and Fransisca herself, a familiarity still comes through despite this difference. Connections are formed with one another through the imagery feeling similar, yet different. Not many may have grown up with the Catholic religion these nuns preach and believe in, nor have they ever known these women personally, but within the pages one is able to see and feel something familiar. Something that brings that comfort; the grief; the joy, and the hope, and it allows you to feel and see them as more than just words on a page. Or a still in a film.
Before the collective readings we were invited to watch the film that was made as a companion piece to the book; allowing us to gain more insight into the book and its subject matter. Sitting together on little stools, we huddled close and waited patiently for it to begin. A silence overcame the bookstore as we watched the film; those in attendance sat engrossed to it all, made to focus entirely upon the film lest they miss something of importance. Each subtitle accompanied by the soft playing of an old piano brought life to women that were only known to the audience as letters in the alphabet. Their words, spoken to us through the imagery itself, through the memories that were captured on the film, and through the care placed by Fransisca to remember them, despite how little she knew of them.
The seats were then rearranged to put our presenters at center stage, these were: Fransisca Angela, Sister Terry Novaria Mulijadi, Sister Hetty Sri Widjajanti, Sister Filomena Leal Pereira, and Mary Godding. We sat around them in a semicircle and it felt almost childish to sit like this; a brief respite from the confines of adulthood as nostalgia takes hold. This arrangement brought forth this feeling of sitting on the floor next to your grandmother, listening to her share her experiences in life as she worked on a new knitting project, or patched the holes in your clothes.
Prepare your heart,
We have discussed this several times, and finally,
we decided you will be assigned to the Netherlands.
The reason is that the Netherlands is our mother houseAll this time, we were breastfed by our mother, who cared for us,
looked after us, and took good care of us; from being babies until now, as adults
For Sister Filomena, the phone call reached her in the middle of mountains in Dili, Timor Leste; It came from her senior, unanticipated. Unlike the phone call Fransisca received from her mother, many of the sisters were asked to leave instead of returning home. “mother’s call” marks the beginning of the collective reading, and the story of the sisters’ vocation in caring for elderly Dutch sisters in the Netherlands.We have discussed this several times, and finally,
we decided you will be assigned to the Netherlands.
The reason is that the Netherlands is our mother houseAll this time, we were breastfed by our mother, who cared for us,
looked after us, and took good care of us; from being babies until now, as adults
Excerpts were read from The Magnolia Grows at Night, some with Fransisca interjecting with an English translation of what was said in Bahasa Indonesia and Dutch whilst other times things were left untranslated. Secrets, questions, advice, or deeply personal discussions — all lost in translation, but deeply felt regardless of the barrier.
She knitted in her dreams, no one talked to her,
It’s not common in the family to talk so much.
She began knitting since she was four years old
Because she’s the first born daughter
She knitted a red socks since the beginning of Spring
I came back on the transition to fall,
één sok is klaar
It’s not common in the family to talk so much.
She began knitting since she was four years old
Because she’s the first born daughter
She knitted a red socks since the beginning of Spring
I came back on the transition to fall,
één sok is klaar
Mary, a staff member who had worked for 18 years at Zusters Onder de Bogen continued with reading “red socks”, which Fransisca wrote about Sister Imilda who knitted a pair of red socks in a span of six months. Towards the end, Mary shared a memory with Sister Imilda, who passed away early this year.
The habit of writing is common among the CB Sisters, whose writings preserve not only the congregation’s history and its work in care, education, and service, but also the personal stories, experiences, and inner struggles of individual sisters. Some of these writings, including accounts of their missionary experiences, have been compiled into books in Bahasa Indonesia and published under their own imprint, Penerbit Kongregasi Suster-suster Cintakasih. One table near the window of the bookshop featured some of these publications, including Pecinta Hatiku Yang Manis, edited by Sister Hetty, and Elisabeth Gruytters, Foundress of a Congregation, which features letters written by Mother Elisabeth Gruytters.
The Magnolia Grows at Night book also included a contribution by Sister Terry, who kept her writings from her first years in the Netherlands. That afternoon, Sister Terry read “Klevarie”, which revisited her experience of navigating the language and cultural barrier while volunteering at a hospice.
Their words carried in this small space, shifting the atmosphere from joyous and humorous to melancholic and sad, but always seemingly hopeful. A quiet form of hope; tranquility and peace. Of care, kindness and tenderness.
If you see nuns about to spill their food, we were trained to be sensible and act immediately; don't let the food fall. However, this cannot be applied here; as long as they want to do it alone, we must let them.
Sister Hetty read “spill”, and reflected on the ways of caring for elderly people. It speaks to one of the many cultural differences between what she learned in Indonesia and the Netherlands. Where care is understood through different relationships between dependence and being independent.The habit of writing is common among the CB Sisters, whose writings preserve not only the congregation’s history and its work in care, education, and service, but also the personal stories, experiences, and inner struggles of individual sisters. Some of these writings, including accounts of their missionary experiences, have been compiled into books in Bahasa Indonesia and published under their own imprint, Penerbit Kongregasi Suster-suster Cintakasih. One table near the window of the bookshop featured some of these publications, including Pecinta Hatiku Yang Manis, edited by Sister Hetty, and Elisabeth Gruytters, Foundress of a Congregation, which features letters written by Mother Elisabeth Gruytters.
The Magnolia Grows at Night book also included a contribution by Sister Terry, who kept her writings from her first years in the Netherlands. That afternoon, Sister Terry read “Klevarie”, which revisited her experience of navigating the language and cultural barrier while volunteering at a hospice.
At first, I also experienced rejection from fellow volunteers and employees there. They did not respond to my greetings. They looked at me with a strange glare, perhaps because I was wearing a cross necklace and a veil – a religious identity that was being widely discussed due to the sexual abuse case in the Catholic Church. I cannot help but feel small, especially since my Dutch language skills were still very minimal.
Their words carried in this small space, shifting the atmosphere from joyous and humorous to melancholic and sad, but always seemingly hopeful. A quiet form of hope; tranquility and peace. Of care, kindness and tenderness.
Reflecting in the Convent Garden
Such tenderness was carried with us as we were invited on a walk to the convent and a tour of the place these nuns called home. Through the streets of Maastricht we made our way up a small incline and passed the Basilica of Saint Servaas that sits across from where the convent rests. The walk was without trouble, most of us talking amongst ourselves and enjoying the warmth of the sun in this beautiful city whilst Sister Terry, our tour guide, would share details about where we were going. She spoke animatedly, drawing everyone in to the rich history of the Zusters onder de Bogen and mother Elisabeth Gruyters who worked tirelessly to make the Sisters of Charity of St. Charles Borromeo (often called the CB Sisters) the convent what it is now.
The Neo-Gothic entrance gate of the Zusters Onder de Bogen convent,
set between the historic arches of the former St Servaas complex; the convent garden.
set between the historic arches of the former St Servaas complex; the convent garden.
The atmosphere and environment shifted entirely when we finally took our steps into the convent itself, though. Peace and tranquility rushed over us when we passed through the wooden doors; the sound of the city gone instantly as we looked upon the convent garden. The sun shines and illuminates the garden and the troubles that stick to you are washed away like water under a bridge. Sister Terry continued with her tour, sharing the history of the convent and the building itself with all of us and making little jokes that had us laughing along with her. We were allowed to see the Mother Elisabeth’s room and the chapel itself that the sisters once used when there were over 100 of them — now just 20. Throughout this tour, the same emotions that tore through us during the viewing of the film and the reading continued as Sister Terry spoke: melancholic, but hopeful nonetheless. Happy, all the same.
It's June and I hardly recognize the Magnolia tree.
At the end of the tour we were once more invited to the garden, where we were able to see the titular magnolia that adorned it — now out of season and simply a tree. In this moment of respite, we were given a chance to reflect back on what we had seen, heard and what stuck with us and write this down on papers handed to us by Fransisca. One of the prompts read:
Noticing the surroundings,
are you reminded of a familiar place?
Some people sat beneath the trees as if they were on a picnic, others went and took a short stroll through the gardens, or sat at the plastic table next to the magnolia tree to write or relax.
In this tranquility, people reflected back in their own ways; amongst each other or alone. Reflections were made about the knitted red socks that were created one at a time as the seasons shifted from the blooming of spring to the cold of winter. The speed it took to make them being of importance; the patience and care a necessity; to not rush or to force, but to accept and to wait. Of apple trees they laid under, reminding them of the ones from their grandparent's gardens and not knowing how — in that moment — they were interlinked with one of the sisters who made apple mousse from the fruits of that very tree. Or of the lavenders in a mother's garden, its purple colors never to be forgotten as they're ingrained in one's life. Or reminiscing of other gardens far away from the Netherlands — forgotten or still existing, remembered through the memories that they hold dear.
Of family, of home, of flowers, of mothers and of the magnolia itself; the soft pink petals being missed in this summer heat.
Writing a reflection under apple trees in Onder de Bogen Tuin
Under the beech tree,
we sit together,
hiding from the secular world.
Laying down under the beech tree,
we see a row of branches overgrown and held by the wind
that blows them become visible for once
Leaning against the beech tree,
we feel all the muscle pain
and how it gently reminds us of time passing,
engraved in our body.
we sit together,
hiding from the secular world.
Laying down under the beech tree,
we see a row of branches overgrown and held by the wind
that blows them become visible for once
Leaning against the beech tree,
we feel all the muscle pain
and how it gently reminds us of time passing,
engraved in our body.
Soon after, the Indonesian snacks arrived. Plates full of handmade risoles, pastel, and Teh Botol. Together, we ate and shared in this moment of tranquility. In that small moment, as we stood around each other, or returned to our seats below the trees, we all came to connect and relate back to this feeling that Fransisca found whilst searching through the memories her grandmother had left behind. We felt the connection and care that was found between her grandmother and the Dutch nun she called a friend all the way to her deathbed.
As I ate with my brother, we reminisced together about our great-grandmother; the stories and the film became the backdrop for these thoughts. I think now of the memories we hold together, of things we wish to keep alive so we may never forget them (be it through pictures or film) and of the similarities we have with each other. I come to remember my great-grandmother’s favorite color which was a rich dark blue; it was the color she wished everyone to wear at her funeral, and of how my grandmother — her eldest daughter — wears this color through accessories, and of how I instinctively bought a rosary that featured this blue. I think of the deeper connection now formed between me and my grandmother — my mama; how despite the melancholy, we’ve helped to plant and grow something beautiful from our tears. And in these moments of interconnection, of love and care between the two of us, I come to wish for time to slow down. To stop it for just a moment so I may spend more time with my mama and hold her memory close to my heart.
Even so, I'll accept what I am given and cherish it deeply with each passing moment I have with those I love, like the magnolia that blooms only in spring. Time passes differently here in the garden, said Rosa Klijn. In that moment, we all understood that same feeling, even if in different ways or through a different lens; this emotional road will lead to the same conclusion in the end, no matter how different it is.
Written by Imani Specht
Photographs by Rosa Klijn
Thank you Zusters Onder de Bogen, Limestone Books, UIT! Indo, Rosalia Triandari, Naomi Xu Elegant, Rosa Klijn, Imani Specht, readers, and bookshops that have supported The Magnolia Grows at Night and its public program.
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The Magnolia Grows at Night is available online via our webshop as well as in select bookstores:
Perdu, Limestone Books, Typewronger Books
Terang Press is a small imprint based between Amsterdam and Jakarta. We approach bookmaking with visual language and tell stories within Asian diaspora communities. We also occasionally publish articles, making room for slower, and intentional approach to writing.
Imani / Six Specht (b. Curaçao) is a multidisciplinary artist, and writer. Their practice is rooted in internal exploration and conversations, which they intuitively reshape into its own little universe. Text, musical pieces, installations, and drawings come together to form a new context born from monologs and questions; these are most often presented through the lens or imagery of dogs. Through this process, Imani touches upon themes of comfort, memory, and nostalgia as they invite people into this strange world born from only a fragment of the internal.