Short story

about the life journey of a woman
trying to find himself within the limits of a rural.

Short story
ISMIATI

Beautiful One night, I looked at the clear sky full of stars and bright moonlight illuminating this hometown, tried to forget all the problems that exist at the moment I am looking at the sky tonight.

Ismiati my name, hometown girl who lived in remote areas, the village is very beautiful. Friendly residents-friendly, peaceful, as well as our rural atmosphere every night was so quiet, rustling sound of the wind is always blowing palm trees and the sounds frogs, insects, beat sound so melodious music that exist today.

I live in a village leak Probolinggo district, the village is famous for its vast rice-paddy fields, plantations of tea, grapes, mango, dairy farm, and panorama-panoramic view of nature that is frequented by people of other villages to unwind them or just stopped to trade or buy natural products to our village.

Seventeen years I’ve lived in this village, my mother was the original inhabitants of this village will always love our village, also with all customs, while my father was from Australia, they met when my father was doing research studies in our village. Yes they got married because there is a sense of “love and affection” that could unite both their hearts.

But the customs and habits of the people here who eventually split between mother and father, their love eventually separated. Also factor family, especially my mother’s grandparents and the whole family-the family that always necessarily preclude their love, so inevitably my father divorced my mother and returned to their countries of origin in Australia. And at that time I was only 1 year old, that’s what I heard stories from my neighbor about the neighbor-life father and mother.

Growing up as an adult, I now often called “Caucasian village” by the people of this village, yes indeed my face which is similar to my mother and grandmother clean white skin similar to my father, long and curly hair, my high, my nose sharp and my special smile contained two dimples reminiscent of my father.

Fedora rivialdo giving it the name of my father when I was born, but birth name is not used. There was not much I know about my dad, because every time I asked about my father, my grandmother always hide both her wedding photos, my birth father or the pictures themselves.

I now have an adult who is very happy with things that smell of technology, ranging from information, news, gadgets, new science, fortunately all of facilitator is biased I get easily.

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