Going home

No such thing can ever replace family.

Have you ever play a jigsaw puzzle? You painstalkingly bend down on your knees and crossing your eyes to find tiny differences between the pieces.

Family is a thing that you build, its not just happens. Crap happens, but not family. But i suppose, if you dont put your effort into it, a family can 'just happens' with a quality of a chinese takeaway. No thanks, i want a proper 11-course meal, complete with tea and mints and warm hot-towel at the end, after the desert. I want a strong family that i know i can rely on through thick and thin. Complete with complementary maid and gardener (i wish!).

It was friday and after the mundane delivery of Friday sermon, I stayed over for a bit reciting al-Anfal. I finished in rush because we got a 260km to drive this afternoon. After refuelling the ever-thirsty Satria, we commenced our journey home.

It was 4PM. We just drove past Bidor. I always get this toss up sensation in my belly everytime I crossed into our district's border. It a comfortable sensation knowing that you're home, yet an eagerness to finish off this journey to see faces that matter. Its a strong feeling of missing someone added with that weakness you got seeing that someone your got a crush on, while you were on a roller-coster ride.

A thought crossed my mind. In 20 years, will I ever got this feeeling again? Which border am I supposed to cross to get my stomach churning? Which direction should I drive after the dreary sermont of Friday prayer? (I always thought that average men would only listen to a religious sermon once a week, so why the monotonous, unexciting delivery with exhausted pace? Big lunch?)

It's not about place. This powerful feeling insde my stomach can only be made by association. Its not about place. Its about feeling. Afterall, home is where the heart is. At the moment, my heart is here.

Home. Such a strong word.