Tempe Rice
"Son, come on. Let’s eat, "you persuade me to eat after a day of restraint.
"I do not want, the mother did not enjoy cooking. always tempe rice! "I said irritably. I pressed my head on the pillow.
"But boy, we should be grateful because it could break. Let's see people, "not finished yet you say, I cut with my anger.
"Never mind! Is not no good mother say that "I shouted angrily as he slammed the pillow and ran away.
Last I looked. I saw you crying while calling out my name. Asked me to come back, but I ignored.
The atmosphere of the dark. Adzan maghrib had vanished. Now I walk alone in the middle of cassava garden. I remember my teacher teachings, that the first person to be respected is the mother, even had three times greater respect than the father.
Not felt, melt my tears. I cursed myself for disobey. I ran top of my voice. At home, I knelt in front of you, kissed your hands until your hands wet with sweat tears. Thousands of apology said. You hugged me warmly.
"Sorry mom, I've been blinded by your sacrifice" I sobbed in the arms of you.
"Never mind, everything is mother forgive" you replied meaningfully.
You took Iftar. Feed me a bite for a bite. Oh mother. Now, tempe feels good in the season a sincere smile, forever always delicious. I do not want to make you cry again.
