Long Walk Back

We never seem to realise how daunting the walk to the boarding gates are. We, hopeful of the bright future staring at our face, excited for what lies beyond the horizon, are too lost in thought by then. Grateful for the privilege, incredibly overjoyed for making the cut, basked in the glorious aftermath of our determining results; our minds already floating amidst the clouds, even if our bodies have yet to leave the ground. Yes, undeniably, there's that melancholic touch; the inevitable parting from all that are familiar and all whom we hold dear. The tears of our mothers, our grandmothers, our friends perhaps. There're also smiles full promises of meeting in the faraway land, so not all of our friends are crying. Some are as excited as we are. 

We're beaming. Ear to ear.

We're smiling sadly. Wiping away tears.

We're hugging tightly, awkwardly, tightly. Tightly. As if asking for an already given blessing. As if asking for more. As if trying to remember, every nook, every curve, every lingering scent, every last bit of warmth. As if by burning that memory onto our skin, we'd miss them less. 

We make it past the doors.

We wave, we walk. 

And we don't look back. 

As an observer sending my friends off, I could feel that very excitement being transferred to me. "I can't wait for my turn". 

I looked to my left and right, smile still on my face, and my smile died. 

It's as if, after a loud explosion, nothing remains. 

The air stills, the balance between joy and sorrow overtilts till sorrow is all that remains. 

The airport witnesses more sincere prayers than the walls of prayer houses. 

The walk back, stretches long and endless. 

The pavements see more honesty than confession rooms. 

The fall of a father's facade, worry clearly etched onto his face. His tears, withheld from being seen by his child, now flows freely. He wipes it slowly. Slowly. And he walks. Slowly. 

And he prays. Silently. 

For his child to be safe, for them to not forget home, for them not to forget him. But most of all, for them to be safe. Always. 

You see, I realised then, that as uncommon as it is, that last wave could well be the very last. 

Life is fleeting. Our clock is ticking, yes. But so is theirs. 

And they have served a longer time than we have. 

And it served as a reminder. For myself, for everyone else.

When the going gets tough, find strength in the unspoken trust, find solace in their unshed tears, find wisdom in the dimming light in their eyes, seek the world from where they last stopped.

But life must go on. And so we walk on. And they walk back into their cars, into their home. Into the unfamiliar familiarity. A car one seat empty. A home one person missing. 

The walk back is silent. Unnerving. Lonely. Long. 

Photo by Hanson Lu on Unsplash

#perspective #outlook