"Mother, what does that mean bastard?", I asked one night, after `Isha 'in congregation with my Mother who looked tired, but his eyes still radiate shade.
Mother gasped at that time. Did not think that question would come out from between my little lips, her little girl who was only five years.
"Why honey?" Mother asked as he held me in his chest.
'People call me like that. They say, hey bastard! So ... "I replied with a very plain. Mother of the more closely hug and feel his protection.
At other times, I ask the question to her, "Mother, what do I have a father? Those people said I did not have a father," I asked.
Mother had just finished telling stories to me at that time. Mother stunned so long. "There!" Mother firmly assured.
"Where? Why can not I see him?" Mother led me out of bed berkepinding wood. Walking into the courtyard without lighting.
"You see the sky up there?" Mother asked without taking his hand.
I nodded yes.
"Is your father there?" Mother answered convincingly. I do not see anything. In addition to the black sky and a sprinkling of millions of stars. No images of human faces seen there. But I do not want to ask again. Perhaps my father was one of the flickering stars. Tomorrow if the kids were teasing me again and said I did not have a father I've got answers.
Well ... yes, since childhood I only got the Mother. Women who are poor, without property but loving. Which always provides his chest to absorb the injuries. With modest wages as clothes washers in some families, the Mother always saved. She says I have school as high as possible and so people are clever. In order not stupid and wretched as himself. Mother of all life through his own weight. Parenting that continues to grow without a companion at his side. Not easy, but I did not even see him grieve. Except once on one night I woke up and saw sniffed on a piece of mat.
Every time I ask that in Mother, it's just water matalah which later became the answer. Like reveals the wounds that never dry completely. Then I so never have the heart to force Mother to answer. Because Mother was too noble to get hurt. I do not want to disappoint my mother.
What matters is that his struggle should not be in vain. His desire to see schools as high as possible, encourage the spirits to learn diligently. I've always managed to reach the championship since sitting dibangku elementary to high school. Then later I had parted with Virgin. I received in without a test in one of the leading universities in the city. Now I have even hired one of the leading Islamic Bank recently founded. I wanted to ask her to pick up the Mother moved to this city. But Mother refused.
I thought by leaving the place of birth, I will be able to live in peace. All the childhood nightmares about my father who will not be chasing me down to this city. But no. He seemed to be a curse that followed transformed where to go.
I have an adult present. Ready to get married and have a family. Already three pious men who come to me an offer. But three times also, I was forced to reject it. I was afraid to tell my family. I can not say that I was a child a star.
"Rabbi, I just want to know who the man who became my father. That's it. What I was rebellious to the Virgin?"
"You're lucky to still have a Mother. I was raised in an orphanage, never knew who my family." Asti, one of my friends tried to comfort me. I am aware now. I was very fortunate to have a Mother. In sujudku that night I cried. Please opportunity to Allah for a happy Mother. The woman who created a thousand flowers.
One day, a visitor, one of our neighbors in the village before, had come to visit me. He preached that the Mother was ill. "Actually he was sick for a long time. But do not want the story. Mother says if your job will not be disturbed. But I think you really need to know!" I was fast - fast home and at home I see Mother lying in bed. The same bed as my childhood. Mother usual place of holding, storytelling and prayed over me before sleep.
"Why did not you tell me Mother?" I asked, after kissing his hand.
"Mother would not mind disturbed," she replied, still carve a smile on his face. But I just see it getting weaker. "Mother wanted to say something about your dad, he ...,"
"No, Mother," cut in quickly. "Do not say anything. There is nothing to the Mother explain about the past. Bunda Bunda remains. Women who are created from a thousand flowers!" I am no longer care. Mother of an ordinary human. Probably never err in his past. But for me now Mother is the greatest gift of Allah in this life.
Mother passed away two days later to Rahmatulloh. That night back I watched the sky. Such as a child when I asked where my father's mother. Mother will be pointed toward the sky. Place the dark night light decorated countless stars.
Mother is now gone. Following my father in a place that is eternal. And I know now. If a pious man came to applying for and ask about my family, I would say that I was a child star pair!
Mother gasped at that time. Did not think that question would come out from between my little lips, her little girl who was only five years.
"Why honey?" Mother asked as he held me in his chest.
'People call me like that. They say, hey bastard! So ... "I replied with a very plain. Mother of the more closely hug and feel his protection.
At other times, I ask the question to her, "Mother, what do I have a father? Those people said I did not have a father," I asked.
Mother had just finished telling stories to me at that time. Mother stunned so long. "There!" Mother firmly assured.
"Where? Why can not I see him?" Mother led me out of bed berkepinding wood. Walking into the courtyard without lighting.
"You see the sky up there?" Mother asked without taking his hand.
I nodded yes.
"Is your father there?" Mother answered convincingly. I do not see anything. In addition to the black sky and a sprinkling of millions of stars. No images of human faces seen there. But I do not want to ask again. Perhaps my father was one of the flickering stars. Tomorrow if the kids were teasing me again and said I did not have a father I've got answers.
Well ... yes, since childhood I only got the Mother. Women who are poor, without property but loving. Which always provides his chest to absorb the injuries. With modest wages as clothes washers in some families, the Mother always saved. She says I have school as high as possible and so people are clever. In order not stupid and wretched as himself. Mother of all life through his own weight. Parenting that continues to grow without a companion at his side. Not easy, but I did not even see him grieve. Except once on one night I woke up and saw sniffed on a piece of mat.
Every time I ask that in Mother, it's just water matalah which later became the answer. Like reveals the wounds that never dry completely. Then I so never have the heart to force Mother to answer. Because Mother was too noble to get hurt. I do not want to disappoint my mother.
What matters is that his struggle should not be in vain. His desire to see schools as high as possible, encourage the spirits to learn diligently. I've always managed to reach the championship since sitting dibangku elementary to high school. Then later I had parted with Virgin. I received in without a test in one of the leading universities in the city. Now I have even hired one of the leading Islamic Bank recently founded. I wanted to ask her to pick up the Mother moved to this city. But Mother refused.
I thought by leaving the place of birth, I will be able to live in peace. All the childhood nightmares about my father who will not be chasing me down to this city. But no. He seemed to be a curse that followed transformed where to go.
I have an adult present. Ready to get married and have a family. Already three pious men who come to me an offer. But three times also, I was forced to reject it. I was afraid to tell my family. I can not say that I was a child a star.
"Rabbi, I just want to know who the man who became my father. That's it. What I was rebellious to the Virgin?"
"You're lucky to still have a Mother. I was raised in an orphanage, never knew who my family." Asti, one of my friends tried to comfort me. I am aware now. I was very fortunate to have a Mother. In sujudku that night I cried. Please opportunity to Allah for a happy Mother. The woman who created a thousand flowers.
One day, a visitor, one of our neighbors in the village before, had come to visit me. He preached that the Mother was ill. "Actually he was sick for a long time. But do not want the story. Mother says if your job will not be disturbed. But I think you really need to know!" I was fast - fast home and at home I see Mother lying in bed. The same bed as my childhood. Mother usual place of holding, storytelling and prayed over me before sleep.
"Why did not you tell me Mother?" I asked, after kissing his hand.
"Mother would not mind disturbed," she replied, still carve a smile on his face. But I just see it getting weaker. "Mother wanted to say something about your dad, he ...,"
"No, Mother," cut in quickly. "Do not say anything. There is nothing to the Mother explain about the past. Bunda Bunda remains. Women who are created from a thousand flowers!" I am no longer care. Mother of an ordinary human. Probably never err in his past. But for me now Mother is the greatest gift of Allah in this life.
Mother passed away two days later to Rahmatulloh. That night back I watched the sky. Such as a child when I asked where my father's mother. Mother will be pointed toward the sky. Place the dark night light decorated countless stars.
Mother is now gone. Following my father in a place that is eternal. And I know now. If a pious man came to applying for and ask about my family, I would say that I was a child star pair!
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