ONE LOVE, TWO CONTINENTS
Not Know When to Reap

Since I accompanied Dita just take off, almost a few weeks, more often he picked me up at the stall. As much as possible I looked for reasons to exclude the offer, but Dita often broke that excuse.

And finally I forced myself to follow her wishes. The goal was never fixed, sometimes just accompany Dita lunch. Or enjoy the game station play zone in one of the malls, all games run out Dita explore.

But there is one interesting thing about the clothes of the streets that are not clear and I will not forget for a lifetime, when Dita embraces my waist when around the museum complex with an ontel bike in a Jakarta museum, we had time to rent an ontel bike complete with accessories in the past, like a hat worn by landlords in the Dutch colonial era. At that moment I felt a different touch, Dita leaned her head on my shoulder. Even though I am worried about that situation.

When I visited one of the parks in the city center, we shared stories and discussed about religion. Although different theology and ideology but we appreciate each other, once said a sentence from the mouth of Dita that I do not understand what the meaning of the speech.

“Rel, can not if in one household but different beliefs?”

“Dit, doesn't that marriage unite the two differences?”I asked back. When it was raining so hard, we took shelter in the security post, it was so romantic atmosphere at that time. A pair of pigeons that were deliberately left free to roam, strange, when it rained down they were engrossed in sharing and joking.

“Keep what about his descendants?”

I replied with a joke, ”both voted with a coin, a picture of the choice of who came out first who has the right to determine the child to follow in the footsteps of the divinity of his parents.”

Sometimes we dissolve in laughter, sometimes I am filled with the whole person of Dita, there is one thing that is sacred in marriage that he does not have. Again I will not tarnish my love with such a thing, for what I feel exceeds that of hawainiyah or lust.

I love the whole person of Dita, not physical or wealth but her personality that is so tolerant with fellow believers. I once accompanied him to his best friend on campus, if not wrongly named Ciko.

He died because of a disease that I call ‘Gaul’ disease that he suffered, sorry not me opened disgrace. Though he lives in a family environment that understands the value of religion. There Dita wore a black kerdung, although only limited to covering the hair and appreciate the environment. She looks beautiful, like Egyptian women with her nose pointed, Dita looks like Iranian girls.

At that time I want to whisper the word “I love you Dita”, but when these lips want to say when it also reflects the face of Mother who is crying, really I am in a dilemma.

I also felt the vibe of love from him, but it was too taboo for women to say the word first than men. For the umpteenth time I harbored that feeling, wanting me to scream and beg...

“Yes Allah, haramkah this feeling of love that I have. I love mom and Dita?”And I turned to the neck of the girl whom I adored all this time, a cross necklace so sacred hanging. I often hide tears from my helplessness to just say the word, “Dita, I love you”.

“Until when do I hold this feeling. Until when do I hide these tears... O God, give me a bright way to the feeling of love that I have," I screamed and I covered my face with a pillow. I saw the noble woman's face lying low, the look on her face added to my sorrow, “Yes Allah, my age increased not a single good that I could give to my loved ones," I noticed the roof of the house and its rooms were dull and fragile.

“Yes Allah, I am weak, my hands are unable to head the world and give a mouthful of rice to my Mother." My mind is mixed with the economic situation of the family that I support myself, I am looking for the best path that I should take. I also began to get bored with the pile of stories and novels that I wrote could not provide good for me and my family.

But remembering I was going to a film that I watched the other day with Dita, my spirit resurfaced to make the pen incense the story.

“Bismillahi tawakaltu ‘allah.”

                                                                                        ****

While in solitude and waiting for news from Ummi Halimah, Syahrel saw a few people he knew were in another room. Shahrel approached them to make sure that he was not mistaken.

“Ah, Mr Anggoro!” Gumam Syahrel surprised. “What are they doing here?”

Soon Syahrel saw, his wife and driver, Mas Sukir.

“But where is Dita?”

“What is possible to get sick?”

The more troubled his heart, the view of Syahrel looking for every corner of the room where the family waiting for the patients they visited, one by one their faces Syahrel look, his eyes looking for the figure of the girl he still admired, worried about something overflowing the girl.

But something surprised Syahrel and asked, some people cried sobbing. Their voices broke the silence of the atmosphere, some of the Pastors were heard leading prayers and praises. Syahrel grew more agitated, and the more he approached the extended family of Pak Anggoro, finding out what exactly was going on. Rosdiana's mother was unable to contain the tears.

“I have to find out!” Syahrel said to motivate himself.

Just a few hours ago Syahrel met with Mas Sukir and reported that Dita again had problems in his family.

“BRAAAaaak...!!!!”

A woman got hit by Syahrel, she let her guard down. His attention and thoughts were only focused on his undisclosed love.

“Sorry mbak!”, mouth says ’maaf’, but his eye sight is still seven to the parking area.

“Syahrel, what are you doing here?" Ask the woman who Syahrel just hit and fell.

“Dita…..I accompanied Haji Arsyad check up. You?”

Syahrel was a little relieved, the person he was worried about had already found in no less than anything.

“Sisil is bleeding," in a low tone Dita started telling stories.

“I thought it was in the room, it was you.”

They are so busy talking, not looking for opportunities in these circumstances but there are important things and Syahrel should know.

“I heard from Mas Sukir you have a problem with Papah?”

“Betul, papa saw us in the city park and he cornered you. There are some of his words that I cannot accept.”

“What is it?”Syahrel cut off the conversation.

They looked so tight, sitting on the bench of the waiting room not far from the parking lot. The night wind was so cool and gently stroked Dita's face, although it was almost late at night, an opportunity like this they never had.

“I want you to prove to everyone that you are truly capable of being like them, especially Papah. Even if he's my parents, it's not worth him looking at people with one eye.”

Syahrel fell silent and understood what was said.