CEO DUDA'S

Chapter 1

My name is Kartika Putri Anjani, I am a village girl who is eighteen years old and still sitting in the third grade High School. My life can be said to be very fit even almost often lack since my father became ill. No one works to finance my school, which makes me have to go to school and work in the afternoon so I can get money to eat a day or pocket money to go to school.

Don't ask my mother where!

My parents have been separated since I was 4 years old.

Every time my friend asked me where my mother was, I couldn't answer the question that was poking me about my mother. Because all I know, I haven't had a mother.

My grandmother's sister once told me that if my mother left me, I was fourteen months old. My father used to be a martabak trader who went to the market area not far from my home, but the name of trading sometimes is also quiet not to get a lot of money. In fact, often the father did not get money back because of his unsold trading.

My grandmother's sister also told me that my mother was the son of a family that had enough economy but fell in love with my father, but the mother's family did not agree not to approve the relationship between father and mother but at that time the mother kekeh wanted to marry with father. But after marriage, my mother's life changed drastically to make her feel uncomfortable again in the middle of my father and I who was fourteen months old at that time.

Until one day the mother could not stand the situation of the father, then chose to go to work as a labor of women abroad to be able to change the family economy.

Fourteen months is too small for me to remember my mother's face, so I still really don't understand very well whether I had a mother or not in my childhood.

Which I remember...

When I was four years old, my father and cousin invited me to come somewhere. A foreign place that I had never been invited there by my father, a place that was quite far from my home.

Where there was a woman who came with some people beside her, she asked my father to carry me.

Father released me from his carrier, I really remember well until my age!

Then the woman grabbed my body and carried it, kissing it on my two cheeks alternately, occasionally hugging my body tightly.

I cried, because my father and my cousin brother went away to sit somewhere.

The woman also invited me to buy some bottles of milk brand ind*milk, but I was still silent from my cries.

Because my cries did not stop, the woman who carried me finally gave me to my father back to sit on his lap again.

Still stuck in my head, an old man sitting in front of me asked me. Do I want to live with my dad or with my mom? Said one of the men in front of me pointing at my father and the woman who was carrying me.

Of course without thinking any longer I replied that I wanted to live with my father, anyway I did not know the woman sitting there!

Just being in her arms scared me and feeling insecure, what else to live with her?

After the old man in front of me knocked on a hammer made of wood, my tears suddenly dripped onto my arm.

I looked up to see my father crying, but as soon as possible my father wiped his tears and hugged me tightly.

Fathering... If at that time I knew that if you were being destroyed, I would definitely hug you tightly with my two little hands!!

I LOVE YOU, DAD. YOU ARE MY LIFE, THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME LIFE.

The day passed, I had never met that woman again at all. My age has also grown to seven years old, the day I am always tired of living in surgery all the time on the road.

I had to go to school at that time because I was in the first grade of Elementary School, but I also had to sell martabak in the night market which was very far from our house which was twenty kilo meters away and I had to pedal the pedal ontel shoes which were dark blue but already there brown rust in some parts of the paint. Sometimes if the night market was moved to another place, then the stand martabak father also had to move places to follow the crowd of the market that night so the father also had to pedal as his boots got further and further away.

Every day, every, my father always drove me to school and then rushed to the market to shop for the needs of selling martabak and fried snacks which at that time was still worth two hundred and fifty silver and the price of martabak telor was still three thousands of dollars for the lowest price.

After I got home from school, the groceries I bought from the market this morning were all ready. Starting from the onion pre that has been peeled and washed clean, martabak seasoning that has been milled and in oseng to mature, so that it is cooked, vegetables such as carrots and cabbage that have been sliced then wrapped into crackles, beef that has been boiled and cut into small pieces for martabak.

All your groceries are always ready in a large shopping bag made of knitted plastic, then after I changed clothes and ate after school, my father immediately saw the big bag on the steering wheel like an ontelnya. Not to forget father also gave the padding of the sarong cloth on the back bonce so that my butt does not hurt when sitting on the bonbar, then after I climbed in the slightly rusty bonbar that my father immediately tied my legs using a small cloth on the iron under my father's seat so that my legs do not enter the rear tire as usual daddyh.

After that we immediately went to the stand where the father was selling, not infrequently the father often stopped by the roadside to release his tired feet that had to pedal long trips.