We might have embarked
On this journey together
Once a long time ago, losing
Our way and selves in
Spectacular views and
Wild adventures for
So long, that Providence,
Impatiently loses patience,
Bids us to return.
Tag Archives: going home
We might have embarked
Whenever I go
Home, weary from wandering
Physically drained, mentally worn
And troubled emotionally
Father, with arms wide open
Receives and leads me in
He gives me water to quench
My parched thirst
And hands me bread broken to
Fulfil my hunger
Then washes me clean
From earthy sweat and grime
Till I am renewed in spirit
Trust and faith reignite.
Today is Christmas Eve. After running an errand I decided to pop by Grandma’s, since I had some time to spare.
A distance away from her apartment, the sole of my sandal gave way, but I managed to get there before it disintegrated further.
Entering the house, a familiar sense of comfort welcomed me. I placed the snacks on the table and removed my shoes, calling out to Grandma as she hobbled out from her room, smiling at me.
She had just the sticky solution to my predicament, bringing out her trusted Selleys that “glues everything fast”, passing me a tissue to clean off any that got on my hands.
While the mended sandal was weighed under the table for good measure, we sat down to have a meal together.
It was one of those precious afternoons that allowed us to spend some time together, just enjoying each other’s company. Over chicken rice and wantan mee, we chatted about family and daily trivias. I poured out – as always – bits of vexations and frustrations, feelings and emotions that I could never share with any other person. As always, she listened, empathized and at times advised. And as always, all burdens and weariness just comfortingly, magically disappear.
I shared with her the things I have done this whole year and my plans for the next – business plans, writing, teaching – and told her not to worry about me because I have my life all planned out (except for kids, which she has more or less come to terms with, that I am letting nature take its course). She patted me on my hand and told me she was happy to hear that.
We talked about how life, especially in her golden years, should not be spent worrying about her children or grandchildren at that, and that she must know that we love her very much.
It is probably the most beautiful Christmas Eve I’ve had.
“Prodigal” was originally written ten years ago. On a recent revisit back to 小小的太阳 I realised the beginning scenes depicted exactly what I had in mind.. how uncanny. The prose was edited to give it a more crisp tone and then presented to several close friends as parting gifts.
The mug warm in his hands
He raised it and drank –
A mouth of the dark brew
Lifting his eyes in a glance
The trees bare and laden white –
Not a sight of warmth
But I’ll have to get going yet.
Looked down to the table –
Lit cigarette wasting, sandwich half-eaten
Fingering the ticket lovingly
For just a moment, a hesitation.
Breaking off, he pulled up the collar
Picked up his bag and stood at the door
Stepping off the ledge, he never turned back
On the journey back, home.