a point of view.

Like gentle pure pelts of refreshing cold moisture thinly outlined, a few good droplets of rain somehow inspired me to write this little piece, a sense of renewal that wouldn't go against my own beliefs to write about. Sitting just outside my younger brother's ugama class, listening in to the bellowing of little children praying, i questioned my own beliefs. I had gone to ugama school before, for those who don't know what an ugama school is, well it's pretty much just where young school children, or even these days, college students go to to learn the basic knowledge of the monotheistic religion of Islam,and with the help of teachers these students seek guidance in their direction in their lives, though i being much of the non-believer and far cry from the conformist i'm not againt a person'spursuit of self-fullfillment, and actualization.

Gallivanting across the satisfactory level of the school architecture , my fingers traced the vibrant crisp sheets of paper, stapled hard against the walls. Hopefulness emanating from what these little children had learnt in school. I paid particular attention to those anticipating bright prospects in their future because of what they had learnt in Islam.There and then, I resented not paying attention in my own ugama class  4 years ago. I had lost a lot of ardour years after.

As i meandered amongst the tiny fresh faced hopefuls, i felt so lost and unconfident. They believed in something that i had lost hope for, years ago. I wondered if the close group of girls, prancing and gleefully giggling, holding each others hands tightly would survive their highschool years, against mainstream beliefs. I wondered if the little radical shouting to his bestfriend across the hallway would turn out to be a man of belief. I wondered why the gargantuan teacher was wearing flipflops and was busy singing to herself. I wondered if it was ever worth it. I wonder if it ever will be.

With the resonating tintannibulation of the 3.30 bell,i see my young brother who suffers mild autism scurrying, standing orderly by his seat to greet his teacher a good end to the day, his shy and awkward smile triggered my own heartache. Arms wide open, i squeezed him tight, worried and afraid of his future.