About Dad, Love, And His Friends

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The number of digital clocks listed on my HP screen, 12.05. that means soon the dzuhur prayer time arrives.I decided to pray dzuhur first before meeting Mr. Asrul who honestly did not know where to find it.

I directed my carriage to the nearest mosque in this village.It was so good that I threw the name of Mr. Asrul out of my mind so that when interacting with the creator could solemnize without being disturbed by that name.

Mother always educated me and reminded me not to leave the prayer five times.

"We must always involve God in our affairs and problems, so God willing, God will provide the best way and solution for what we face." The mother's advice has been terpatri dihati, and I made it as a motivation to not neglect to worship.

***

After I finished praying, I got up, stepped towards the exit of the mosque.But when I saw two old men chatting on the terrace of the mosque, I paused my steps that were about to go to the parking lot.

Then I approached both.

"Assalamu aleikum sir!"

"Wa alaikum salam..," the two old men answered in unison.

"Can you sit, sir?"

"Please Nak!"one of the old men answered kindly.

After introducing ourselves, then we dissolved in a conversation whose topic was random.Sometimes the topic is about religion, suddenly jumped into politics, economics, agriculture, and so on,until the problem of the lack of cooking oil in a country that is one of the largest palm producers in the world.

Excited ... and without feeling an hour has passed.

"If you can flash back..." I began my mission to find out who my father was during a short pause.

"About 20 years ago there was a man named Mr. Rayyan living in this village, did Mr. Husein or perhaps Mr. Rashid remember?"ask me to the two Fathers whose names I know from the results of our conversation earlier.

Mr. Husein wears a white lobe, his gray beard is also almost all white.Then beside him there is Mr. Rashid, wearing a grey cocoa shirt and black sneeze.Both born and raised here."Maybe matipun is here...!" kelakar Pak Husein when I asked him to have lived in this village for a long time.

The two old men frowned opening their memory to 20 years ago.

"Rayyan Ahmad Pak." With the full name mentioned, I hope to help their memory of this figure.

"Know that there is no one named Rayyan in this village" said Mr. Husein still trying to remember.

"Sir Rashid ever heard that name?"asked Mr. Hussein to the old man beside him.

Mr. Rashid shook his head.

"The name Rayyan doesn't exist, but if Iyan's a lot!"said Mr. Rashid while fixing the location of the fire.

"Yes, if the name Iyan many Nak."timpal Pak Husein as if to reinforce the statement of Mr. Rashid.

I fell silent and began to despair.

"Son Aktar! Who knows if one of the Iyan is the person that Nak Aktar is looking for, because many people are called by abbreviating his name right? Rayyan could have been called Iyan, would she still be connected?"said Mr. Hussein opened a glimmer of hope for me to know the figure of the father.

"So there are so many names Iyan in this village sir?"manya curious.

"5 people.There are vegetables, Iyan workshop, Iyan teacher, Iyan rivet and Iyan limp." According to Mr. Husein, juxtaposing the profession and the state of the owner of the name behind the name Iyan just distinguish one Iyan from another.

"Can you sir, you explain to the 5 people one by one?"

Hussein nodded in agreement.

"Iyan vegetable real name Saherian.Kerja selling vegetables from week to week, then people here call it Iyan vegetable." explained Mr. Husein.

"Iyan workshop real name Balyan.Professionnya mechanic.Beliau open a workshop in this village, then called Iyan workshop.The workshop is about 200 meters from this mosque on the right."

"If Nak Aktar wants to stop by there, then there will be a plaque that reads BALYAN BENGKEL,nah .. that's him." continued Mr. Husein while stroking his beard that has been bleached.

"Muhammad Afif Ahmad Sabyan" replied Mr. Rashid.

"Ma'af Nak Aktar, Father if long is like to forget.Bapak only remember Sabyan aja" said Mr. Husein while chuckling.

"He is a teacher." continued Mr. Husein while taking a break.

Then Mr. Hussein continued.

"Iyan rivet real name Alpian.Her skin is dark, black.Everyone here call him Iyan rivet."

"Two years ago Mr. Iyan rivet called to mercyullah.May his worship charity be accepted by Allah SWT ... Amen!"then the three of us took it.

Up to here I can confirm that all of the Iyan mentioned are not the people I'm looking for, not my father.

Only one more Iyan, Iyan limp.Tiba - suddenly my blood rippled.If indeed this last Iyan my father, huh? With disabilities? Nope! No way my father is a disabled man.I hope Iyan limping is not my father.It seems impossible mother married to this man.

I am a whole person of ASN.Many say mom is very beautiful and attractive, cook yes have a husband a disabled man?

"If it is a defect why?" my little whisper of heart struck at my arrogance.

My mind shakes, two contradictory feelings wrestle in my heart.Wellful whispers and good whispers fight against each other.Who comes out victorious will rule my thoughts and decisions.

"It's impossible to have a father like that."Evil whispers begin to affect my ego.

But at once a good whisper chimed in."Aktar! If Iyan was limping your father, what would you do? Running away from reality? Haven't you been looking for her all this time? Once you know he's disabled and you leave him, what kind of kid are you?" My chest tightened with this bhatin upheaval.

I catch my breath and contemplate every word of the whisper.

Slowly my pride began to melt.

I'm beristighfar ...

Yes ... Allah! Why am I being discriminatory like this?

They accept and only live out their destiny.

Suppose they are given a choice maybe they also do not want to be born as disabled.They are also entitled to live, love and love.

If Iyan were to limp my father, then why? What's wrong? Never marry a woman like mother, marry an angel even if there is no law that prohibits it.

Father.ma'forgive me!

" Does Aktar koq bengong?" Mr. Husein patted my knee, as soon as my daydream broke.

"A-a-anu Sir..." I stammered."if iyan limps whose real name is sir?"I continued to cover my stuttering.

"If Iyan limp Mr. less know.Pak Rashid know?"ask Mr. Hussein to Mr. Rashid.

"I also do not know Nak Aktar.Soalya Iyan the other was born here, when young used to be often one barge with us,hence know their real name.If iyan limp not here.She is a migrant in this village.Since singles have been in this village, but rarely gather with us." explained Mr. Rashid.

"Did Iyan limp not hang out in this village sir?"my many.

"Neither time Nak Aktar, do not su'ud dzon first.Iyan limped a foreigner, of course the different responsibilities with us - we are home and parents here.We even if not work, we do not work,go home to eat.Most in omelin, cover your ears are important satiety.If Iyan limp does not work want to eat where? Pay for the rent of a house? Therefore people here understand that he rarely hangs out with us, he is busy earning money to meet the needs of his life." explained Mr. Husein beranalogi.

"Now Iyan is still limping in this village, sir?"tanyaku who felt guilty because it was bad to think Iyan limped.

"Never seen again.It was a month or two months after getting out of prison is still here, but after that never saw the trunk of his nose again." said Mr. Husein.

Out of jail? Means Iyan limped a former criminal nara? Is this my father?

Seriate...