The niche of the Orange Woman's Heart

I started my day when the city dwellers were still carried away by their dream caresses, even the beautiful roar of the holy verse was not yet clear. By holding back the tiredness that has never been separated from every joint of my bones I begin the struggle of my life. I set my foot in the kitchen room of my house that was so tiny. There are only 2 tables lined up covering almost the back wall of my house which is directly adjacent to Muhmmadiyah Vocational School. The rest of the space from the wall of my house is converted to function as a place to wash and as well as a bath. There is no latrine in my little house, if we need it we use a public toilet at the end of the alley. The window does not need to be expected in this room the door just seems unusable. Air circulation only relies on holes the size of a notebook and covered with iron nets located above the wall of the stove table, at least it is able to release a little heat when the stove is turned on so that the room does not instantly become an oven.

I cooked rice less than a quarter of a liter and deliberately over-watered it a little. beside me waiting for cooked rice I wash clothes. My hands are fighting cold water. Hot steam billowing from the pot indicates that I have to leave my laundry and open the lid. The rice granules seem to start to turn into rice or rather like porridge. My daughter always complains and asks why I always cook rice like this, I just told her I forgot and gave her a little more water when cooking. He was too early to know that how hard I was to fulfill rice for the three of us to eat with my elderly mother for a month.

The roar of the call to prayer and dawn of iqamah have long passed. After the service I began preparing my work equipment and supplies later. Not to forget I also prepared my daughter's school clothes that are now in red and white. I have prepared breakfast and lunch in the kitchen. Next to me my little daughter was still asleep in my mother's arms. I don't want to disturb the beautiful dreams of all my movements, I try not to make even a single sound. I grabbed my black bag that I had prepared earlier. Not to forget I peeked at the stove in the kitchen which was limited to a single wall and a piece of cloth from the main room in my house. After I made sure everything was safe I stepped into the door, before I closed it I looked at my daughter and mother who was still wrapped in her old blanket, and I greeted my heart.