He was absent when I got home. His presence was not needed, his absence too made no difference; should I therefore say that his existence to me meant nothing at all? No, I cannot say that, I am not permitted to say that. Despite his ways, I still loved him yet! There however remained one thing I don’t like about him – I am so ashamed to even speak of it.
He came however after a couple of hours. He looked weary, he
looked weak but in that weakness I saw strength. He had gained so much power; I
could tell. Although he spoke to me in meekly, I could tell that he was not
weak at all. He looked at me in a caring look, he touched my hair and said to
me “Welcome home, son”
I smiled (not that I had an option). I wore my robes and
went out of the chateau. The skies were blue, the Mountain View was beautiful,
and the air blew as if it had all the freedom in the world yet there I walked
through the garden obviously bounded by some kind of shackles.
I have prayed, I have fasted for God to give him a change of
heart; it never happened. I had given up on God altogether but I still believed
that he would change, he’s got to change, and there should be another way. No
matter how I rely on merely guessing, no thought or direction of how I could
change him came to mind.
I walked by the garden, touching the roses, kissing the
hibiscus and smiling to all the people that I saw on the road. Deep within me
was this sad boy who was looking for a miracle. A miracle which I have been
praying for, let me say, for twelve years and over but I still didn’t give up.
I cannot think of him without imaging how it will be when he
dies. I cannot think of him without thinking of how people see me; yet I am but
innocent. But my culture would not see me as such! Would I lose all my friends?
Would they even see my accomplishments as they really are? I thought about all
these and all I can do was to just walk. Walk and just pretend that I am merely
living to die.
