Many children have been abandoned by their fathers since childhood. 

This is an event that causes deep and painful feelings for the child. Hunger, deep sorrow and even hatred grow within a child. 

Here we present a sad story about a child's lamentation for his father. Let's read together.

Sad Story: Papa, Are You My Father?

This Eid, like last Eid, my village is suddenly crowded. Many people returned to their hometowns after living in a foreign land for a long time. 

(Eid al-Fitr is a Muslim celebration after fasting for a whole month).

Many people gather either in houses, stalls or where we usually sit and chat on the side of the road that divides the village. 

Joking, releasing longing with relatives, friends or former neighbors is a common sight when the afternoon comes. 

People's houses looked warmer than usual. The warmth arises because the occupants are complete again, returning home after living abroad for so long. 

The sound of laughter or the outbreak of tears is the entertainment that was awaited by a house that used to be lonely 

I….Like they also returned to their homeland. Hoping to have fun with the family I miss, my mother happened not to come home with me. 

However, hope remains hope, none of my relatives welcome my return. In small talk, I feel the coldness of their attitude. 

The day has arrived, the long awaited Eid has arrived. Everyone gathered in their respective homes, laughing and crying happily. 

Play all the love skits between them. Humans were seen milling about, some went to a neighbor's house to shake hands while apologizing for any mistakes or some went to another village to visit relatives who were far away for the sake of friendship. 

I stepped into the house, my family's house, I sat on the front porch of her house. 

There was no warm helping hand from the householder who told him to come inside. Taste bland, their acceptance, this soul can taste it. 

I also stepped foot again, towards another family's house. Same, just the emptiness I get from their attitude. 

Until finally I sat on the edge of the train tracks, alone, lonely. Contemplating, why did this have to happen, isn't it Eid when everyone gathers with their families. Why don't I? 

I enjoy this long solitude. Sometimes, when the train passes by, there is pleasure running through my mind. Ah, they too, like me, are still alone on the train to their family home. 

5 Years Passed. 

"Have you been to your father's house yet?" asked my sister as we sat chatting in the living room of her house. She is uncle's son.

"Not yet," I answered flatly. 

"Go first," her voice contained a commanding firmness. 

"Later," I said nonchalantly. 

"No, you have to go there. Later you can come back here, if you need, you can to sleep here"  

"Wait a minute"  

"No, I doesn't want you to do that. Let's go there," this time her voice rose. 

"Okay," I muttered as I got up from the chair and stepped outside. 

My father's house is approximately 300 meters from my sister's house. Blocked by five houses and rice fields located on the main road to be exact. The house looked deserted when I arrived in front of the fence. 

I opened the fence of the house and stepped onto the terrace. Seen inside my stepmother's house watching television. "Ah, fortunately there is someone," I muttered to myself. 

"Assalamualaikum," as a Muslim I say that sentence while knock the door. 

"Wa alaikum salam", replied my stepmother from inside the house. I saw her walk into the living room, then open the door. 

A look of shock appeared on her face. "Oh, look for Papah. I'll call you in a moment, he's in the room, please sit down first," she said flatly.  

"Thank you," I replied as I sat down. 

Soon my father emerged from the room. His face was filled with old lines and wrinkles around his eyes. Then he sat across from me without a word. 

"Minal aidzin wal faidzin, papa," I said as I extended my hand for a handshake while bowing. (minal aidzin, a word form for mutual forgiveness in Islam)

"You're welcome," replied my father, taking my hand coldly. 

"Mom, water," he said when he sat down on the chair, then took out a cigarette and lit it. 

Not long after, my stepmother came with water and Eid cakes and put them on the table. After that she passed from in front of us, again engrossed in the television program in the living room. 

"Let's drink," said my father. Again, his tone was flat and expressionless. 

"Thank you," I replied. 

After drinking the water that was served, I also smoked. For five minutes we were silent with each other, only the mingling of cigarette smoke represented our current state. 

"How are you dad, are you okay?" I asked. Annoyed by the silence that occurred between us. 

"Fine," he replied. Again I received a cold answer, to make me confused. What should I do to melt this stiff atmosphere. 

Again, we are silent. I waited for my father to ask me how I was doing, asking where I worked, when I came home or any other questions like a father to his child. 

Moreover, we have never been close. For years, I was left with my mother, he never paid attention to life let alone provide for his child, namely me. 

"Let's drink," he said.  

"Yeah"  

Is that all you can say dad. Don't you miss me, am I your child, are we strangers and what else is hanging in my mind. 

Until half an hour passed, this silence bored me, made me sick and wanted to end it. 

"Dad, I'm sorry, I want to go out," I said. 

"Oh I see. Mom, here want to say goodbye," he replied. 

My name was not mentioned and I was not restrained from rushing home. I want to scream with this situation, why can it happen like this. 

Finally I left his house with unspeakable sadness. I closed the gate as I stepped out onto the street. 

Suddenly passing by a motorbike with a rider consisting of a man in front, a small child in the middle and a woman in the back. It seems they are family. 

They seemed to be laughing and joking, sounding very warm. 

It's an atmosphere I've been missing for the past 20 years. I felt tears welling up in the corners of my teary eyes. 

"See Papa, there they are. That's the family I want. Let you not take care of my life for years. Let you not know when I am sick, exhausted, crying and struggling alone. Let it be your fault in the past I have forgiven you.  

However, when Here I am, at your house. Looking for the warmth that you didn't give all that time, you didn't give me even a drop. Papa, are you my father," I cried inside. 

O Thou who has pain. 

Don't you give me happiness 

Just a speck of what I need  

To make this empty heart disappear  

You give me strength  

To face  the pain of this season 

But why does this sad season always come  

Don't you give me a happy season even if only once 

I want his hug 

Want to caress his hand on my head 

A passionate kiss on my forehead 

While saying "My son is home"

Read the other story: The Black Cat Short Story that Made Brave

Thus we present this short sad story. Hope it can accompany your day. Warm regards.