Isaiah n Terence

“Thank you for flying with us. Have a nice day.”

Nothing but the bustling airport filled with unfamiliar faces greeted me as I collected my luggage and tried to shake the weariness of sitting down for hours in an airplane off. The only consolation I had was that a beautiful air stewardess approached me to offer some assistance. She asked me if there was anything that I needed help with to which I, being a proud native, reluctantly declined.  I knew my way around the city well enough. I walked through the scanners of the airport and found myself in a familiar landscape. Skyscrapers and couture malls blotted the skyline while expensive restaurants lined up along the roadsides.

I dragged my luggage with me out of the bustling airport and made my way to the taxi stand. I could have used the public transport, but I wasn’t in the mood to be packed like sardines in a can to be transported to my destination. Instead, I was more willing to fork out a pretty large sum of money, possibly amounting to about RM 150, if the fares hadn’t changed all that much since my last visit home at any rate.

 After some time, an old yellow taxi pulled up in front of me. Out from it came an elderly man, possibly in his 50’s or 60’s, with a kindly face. 

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted me.  “Where can I take you to?”

“Good evening,” I replied. I handed him a scrap of paper with an address written on it. It was to a small town at the edge of the state. “Are you willing to go there? It’s a bit far off from the city.”

 His face lit when he saw the paper and he smiled. “Of course, sir,” he said. “It’s along the way to my hometown; I was planning on going home after today anyway.”

He helped me with my luggage and I got into the passenger’s seat beside him. It was a pleasant ride, and we had a good conversation going on about the festive season. It wasn’t long before the concrete jungle we were in started to thin and I could see the sky and some trees again. There were quite a number of cars on the road, which was no surprise at all, because most people would be rushing to get back home.

We reached the town about two hours later. I asked him how much the fare was, but he didn’t want to charge me. I insisted, and gave him RM 200 instead. He thanked me and wished me a safe journey home, and I reciprocated the gesture by doing the same. I watched as his car disappeared after a turn and took out my mobile phone to call a friend. While waiting, I took a walk around the area.

It was an ordinary town; it had a small shopping small and coffee shops were aplenty. I remember, as a child, my father would sometimes drive the family out to eat at one of those fast food restaurants. It was simple food but, to us, it was luxurious enough and we would be so happy. Rather than being fancy, it was more for a change of pace; as much as I loved my mother’s cooking, having the same kind of theme for lunch and dinner everyday can get tiring.  Of course, as I grew older and started to live in the big city away from home, the fast food became commonplace for me and lost their novelty. However, home cooked food was the one I started to look forward to each day; they had swapped roles and it was kind of ironic, now that I think about it but that is a story for another occasion.

 After some time, my friend finally arrived in his gray car. It was the car his parents gave him when he graduated from university.  We exchanged friendly greetings and made our way home. It wasn’t long before we left the town behind us and the scenery of small buildings and old cars changed to that of dirt roads, red earth and a lot of greenery. He dropped me off within walking distance from my house, as he stays a little further away from me. I thanked him and wished him well. It was a long journey all the way from the airport, and by this time I was very weary.  However, the arrival to my village gave me an injection of energy.

My village was definitely a sight for sore eyes. There were children playing and laughing together, some of them were even chasing the chickens around and in between the houses. I felt as if the place had been left out of the flow of development; it was the same place I grew up in years ago, untouched by time, except on the faces of its citizens. I greeted the elderly folk as I walked past their houses; I recognized all of them, but I don’t doubt some of them don’t find my face familiar anymore.  After all, it had been a long time since I last came back and I did change a lot.

The feeling of the earth under my shoes was really refreshing as opposed to the usual concrete pavement I was so used to.  I had also almost forgotten how the natural cool breeze felt like as it caressed my face gently. The sound of chickens clucking around as well as ducks quacking in the lake nearby was really music to my ears.

Finally, in front of me there stood a traditional house; it was made of wood and raised a few feet off the ground on stilts. There were elaborate carved patterns on the pillars and balconies as well as the railings. In front, there was a flight of stairs leading up to the front porch, where there was an old rocking chair and a wooden wind chime.  At the foot of the stairs there was a shoe rack with some slippers in it. As I approached the house, I could make out the delicious smell of pandan mixed with cooked rice and a myriad of spices that my family loved to use.  There were no fences, much less a doorbell, but the inhabitants of the house already knew of my arrival. Standing in front of the door were my beloved parents, and behind them my siblings.

I dropped my bags and ran up to my parents and gave them big hugs. I bent down and kissed both their hands. The firm hands that I remember were already starting to spot wrinkles and their beaming faces belie the harsh work they have been doing.

Bu, Yah, adik dah balik,” I said. I hugged them even tighter still. Every child may one day dream of living away from home, but there will only ever be one place one can truly call home; a place where one will always be welcomed back to no matter where one goes or what one does.

“I’m home,” I said. I’m home.

-Written by,
Terence

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