The outside was glowing red and orange.
All the doors and windows shut.
Nobody's outside, even the roosters are flapping their wings, managing a short flight up the sukun tree.
Inside the house, the noise came from mating lizards while all the family members huddling in front of the tv, waiting for Maghrib.
And then, waving through the somehow silent air, the azan, calling for prayer.
It was 18 years ago.
2011.
It's half past 9 in the evening.
The sky has just gotten dark.
There's emptiness outside.
There are no roosters, not even a soul except that of mine.
Deprieved of human companion but overflowed with papers containing knowledge.
And the azan, thanks to youtube, it's the same sound as 18 years ago, though it doesn't fill the air of the town, filling only this small space that I called a bedroom.
Growing up, I find myself yearning more for yesteryears, the early 90's.
Life gets harder, of course.
And, now I admitted it, I've been away for too long.
10 years ain't a short time.
But maybe, in 4 to 5 years, I'll be sitting in a comfort of a home surrounding by the family that I loved when it's dusk.
And once again, I can hear the azan went through the town.
Who knows.
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