Ku Percaya — Bapa
"That’s just poetry, Abah. I need a job. I need a future," Amri replied, his voice thick with frustration.
His father, Pak Bakar, sat on the porch, his weathered hands methodically repairing a fishing net. He hadn't said much since the news arrived. To Amri, his father’s silence felt like indifference. Bapa Ku Percaya
A year later, an opportunity opened at a technical college in the city. It wasn't the prestigious university he had dreamed of, but it was a path. As Amri packed his bags, he looked at his father, who was once again sitting on the porch. "I’m ready, Abah," Amri said. "That’s just poetry, Abah
"You stopped fighting the current for a second when you saw me reaching out. You didn't ask if I was strong enough or if the bank would hold. You just grabbed my hand. You trusted me." Pak Bakar stood up, placing a heavy, warm hand on Amri’s shoulder. "Believe that the One who gave me the strength to pull you out then is the same One guiding you now. Bapa ku percaya —not just in me, but in the path laid out for you." His father, Pak Bakar, sat on the porch,
