Page 85 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6

One day, when mango season arrived, I decided
to pick mangoes from our favorite tree. I picked a few
fruits and gave them to mom. I also shared the mangoes
with the neighbors who had been helping us since my
father left. They accepted happily, and some of them
commented that the mangoes from the tree tasted even
sweeter than usual. “Dad must be happy to see you doing
this,” mom said as she gently rubbed my head.

As time passed, I grew into an independent
teenager. Although my father was gone, the memory of
him lived on in my heart. Whenever I felt homesick, I
would sit under that mango tree and talk to the wind, as
if dad was still sitting beside me, listening to every story
I wanted to tell him.

When I graduated from high school and got
accepted into my dream university, I went back to that
mango tree to “talk” to dad. "Dad, I did it. I got into the
university you wanted," I said softly, looking up at the
sky between the leaves. I felt the wind blowing gently, as
if giving me a warm, comforting hug. I know that my
father may no longer be physically present, but I always
feel his presence in my heart. He was the force that
pushed me to keep going, to be a strong and loving child,
just as he had always wished.

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