The walk home, then and now
I remember going to agama class when I was a kid, during one of those not-so-frequent times I was actually a) in Malaysia and b) being a good little boy. This may surprise some people who know me now, but I did go to agama class back then. You could say I went religiously.
Yeah I have no idea where I went wrong either. I blame cable and late-night HBO.
Anyhow, agama class was a weekly thing, down the road from our old house. This was back before our neighborhood had modern conveniences like, you know, streetlights. Walking back home after class at night was a weekly test of my manlihood, which I usually failed. Something about the pitch-black road brought the night to life and sent me running home crying.
Two decades pass, and I walked back down that road again tonight. It’s still poorly lit, though nowhere near as bad as it was back then. I’m happy to report that I did not run back home crying this time.
In a sense, we’re all finding our way back home in the dark, but as time goes on, we learn to light our own ways. Some lights are bright, and some less so – but they’re all our own, and they all lead back home.
