He glances across his shoulder and views the vastness before him. It is grim and damp, but it is home, it is where he grew up. All his life, he knew no other world. And so, it must be natural for him to want to die here too.

His hands grips the basket handles beneath his feet. It has been too long that he has lived alone. Since the passing of his father, he had taken over the work. Barely months after, his mother died of heartbreak. “Is this what it feels like to be reunited?” her last words whispered.

He had fallen in love only once. The neighbours had moved in when he was a child - how wonderful it was to have a friend to play with. She had curls, just like his mother, with the sweetest of temperaments and the jolliest of laughs. They played boats by the river, they dangled their legs high up above trees and ran across paddocks in chase of the other.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” She had asked, and he had looked away. His life was, and has always been, predictable. A farmer’s son should know no other. She, on the other hand, had the world lying beneath her feet. And that was what he liked about her - the indifferent difference in the way that she saw life.

He began loving her when he started feeling longing in her absence. She would return from trips beyond the farthest reaches he had been, and she would tell him of the adventures she saw. ‘The cigarette smoke that frames the Eiffel Tower in moonlight; the pebbled paths of Edinburgh knobbly under your toes; the lights and sounds of London bathing your senses.

Years moved past and one day, she came home without that sparkle in her eye. She had whispered softly. “There is so much more to life than what is here.” His heart sank for the worst had come. She was not his to keep anymore.

His father once told him that the winds brought him and his wife here. A land that gave them happiness; a life that was comfortable and secure. The wind had made it happen.

“Come with me. You are a part of me. You cannot stay here.” She cried as he set her suitcase on the floor. The train was slowly chugging its way into the station. The first time they were here, he had kissed her and said he will wait. As it occurred more often, each parting kiss was only sweetened by the hope that it will be met with an exciting tale and another kiss on return.

“The wind is against me now. I cannot leave; the soil here runs through my veins.” And as his hands slowly lost her grasp, as she turned to climb up the train steps, as she sat down and watched him steadily move away from her, it then hit him that there will be no more.

And then the war happened, and what should not have been lost, never came back. He had seen enough in life, he wondered, and it was time to move on. Letters had grown stagnant; what memories he had, he kept them in his heart. Crops were tended, milk was filtered into bottles. While the world, and his heart, were in ruins, he moved along in rhythm without pauses.

But that was long ago. Now, he sets the basket by the door. As usual, it will be picked up and money will exchange hands. His hands; they are old and wrinkled, scarred and well-worn like his body. But his mind retains the sharpness of its youth; he could still remember the way she smelled, how bright her laughter was. How comforting it was to have her near.

The next morning, as the sun drenches the pale sky, a knock on the door comes. It is the postman, a white envelope in his hand.

Inside is a short letter. One of the paragraphs reads: I still think of you all these years, but I never had the courage to write. I am old now; I wanted to grow old with you. Is this too late?

He will not reply. He will not know that there is a train ticket and an address. For as he is about to open the envelope, a short blistering gust blows the letter up into the air, up into the amber sky.

The wind was always against him.

One of the promises I made to myself on graduation was to never lose myself in either work or frivolous pursuits. I must agree, it is quite hard to multi-task and fit in all my activities, but I suppose, it strangely keeps me sane. One thing I have recently been involved in was a part-time course with Oxford University, quietly titled ‘Philosophy of Religion’. Although I am very new to Philosophy, at times work simply keeping me at bay from contributing, it was a learning experience that I have enjoyed tremendously! There were students from all parts of the world, of different religions and different cultural backgrounds, making discussions an absorbing affair!

Here is my final essay, one I must ashamedly admit I’m quite proud of because of my tutor’s heartening comments!

What is a religion?

Since the dawn of time, Man and his ever inquisitive nature would continually wonder about his purpose and existence in this world. Always, just every so often, this question would fascinate him, and in time Man developed ways to seek an answer. Ancient civilizations started to worship nature; physical idols were later created; spirituality then took root, worshipping an unseen God.

Religion was born out of such a state. It comes packaged in many forms – to name a few: monotheism, polytheism and may I even dare say, atheism. Religion is a cultural belief in an organized order; where a higher being may not necessarily lie central to its faith. Monotheistic religions believe that everything is due to and revolves around the one God’s will. Polytheism believes the responsibility is shared by many Gods. Buddhism has a huge philosophical influence, focusing on the awakening of the self, to strive to release oneself from suffering in this world. Atheism on the other hand is unique, their sense of bewilderment is steered towards a less personified version of a higher order; in most instances, they believe in the laws of Science.

Religion is a practice. Karen Armstrong wrote quite satisfyingly in her book “The Case for God” that ‘religion is like art or music; that with much practice comes appreciable devotion and in due time, a revelation that life is not quite whole without it. It is a matter of practice, and she quite rightly states that without delving deep into its rituals, one may never be given a chance to understand its benefits (or discover the lack of it). And even so, she adds, is there any harm if one subscribes to his religion in solitude, for his betterment and satisfaction, bearing in mind that the whole is the sum of its parts, and would not a society full of content individuals be beneficial indeed?

But Religion can also be a weapon of conquer and destruction, as some may argue. Atheists state that religions do not aim to unite, but persevere to divide. For years, war and conflict have been linked to the sword of religion – the Crusade for one, was a religiously sanctioned military campaign to restore ownership of the Holy Land to the Christians. Till today, the discussion of true ownership of Jerusalem leaves a bitter taste in one’s mouth. Even now, the Middle-East conflict seems to be a problem impossible to solve. Polarisation and conflicts still arise from militant extremism. So much blood has been poured into the ruined wastelands of what were once peaceful empires.

Religion is also a sense of identity. Christianity and Catholicism were once predominantly nested within the boundaries of Europe. Islam and Judaism were born in the deserts of the Middle East. For a significant period of time, it stayed there, till the machinations of Globalisation and a keen desire to expand power distributed religions to all corners of the Earth. Europeans used to force Aboriginals to embrace Christianity (in addition to interbreeding programs), to make them appreciably more European. And now, when the world is integrating at a rapid rate, it creates a sense of familiarity when one is part of a small religious minority in a distant land.

And yet, religion is more than just a manifestation of culture, it is also a projection of self. Believers would say that they are products of their culture and their religion: their habits and social decorum, their morals and approach to life, all seeded and rooted in their social environment. I am a Muslim and Malay. My religion has been intertwined into my upbringing. I am trained to lower my head and gently kiss the hands of an elder, for this is my culture’s way of showing respect, but no, never to an individual of the opposite sex, for my religion prohibits it so, unless he is a close family member. I do it now with little thought, with machine like precision; to omit it would feel strongly odd indeed. Perhaps I still mind my Ps and Qs because growing up, I was constantly told that I was representing my culture and my religion.

Why do religions differ so much from the other? Quite ironically, it seems to be borne out of evolution – influenced by culture and the social situation of the time. When Islam was established during Muhammad’s time, some revelations compiled in the Quran would describe a certain political scene or an adjustment of a practice that was deemed prevalent at that time. For instance, the Quran, although it did not abolish slavery, certainly prescribed rules that made slaves more autonomous and more respected. Alcohol was initially allowed, but subsequently banned because it prevented individuals from performing prayers. It is a logical affair: religion exists to address the needs of the people at a certain time, to build some structure and order. For some reason, some scriptures are deliberately left vague; allowing open interpretation to cater to current needs.

Religion is not a Scientific Theory, and so it is appreciably difficult to measure its mass, its density in ‘evidence-based’ truth. God is our way of symbolizing the higher being, the greater hand that keeps our lives in order. For many years, we have attempted to personalize him – the Mayans used to worship the Sun; our attempts evolved further with religious scriptures that describes God’s revelation to the relevant prophets. Prominent scientists like Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking have stated that if there was a God, than He would be the impenetrable laws of physics!

Ultimately, religion is a difficult term to define, for it is a subjective ideology that infers different meanings to different cultures. But what is it for? Religion is an answer. It was initially derived, and is still continually used, to make sense of the world we live in today. It proclaims a set of rules and laws to provide an ideal framework in life; it provides an avenue for one to weep in sorrow in times of distress; it sets a direction for one to pray for hope or give his thanks. It is a beacon of light for those who need it for strength in darkness.

As stated before, religion is akin to art. We may come out of an art gallery or musical concert feeling joyous and serene. We may fancy ourselves better individuals, enlightened by such a brief affair. Unbeknownst to others, this internal feeling is an ember that burns, that comfortably warms our souls. And quite rightly so, like Love, it is a difficult feeling to put into words. It is near impossible to describe it to another. But does it matter, should it be a matter to infinitely debate upon; for when a quiet smile creeps slowly onto one’s lips, shouldn’t the coming of such a tranquil state matter the most?

Twenty ten has been remarkably positive so far. It was the first year I was thrown into the chaotic nature of working, which had its many bad moments, but certainly more of the good ones too. I learned that even if you are expected to perform, you should never do things that you are not comfortable with. I now know that being junior does not mean that my voice does not matter. And that sometimes, putting yourself in a tight spot is just the best way to learn. The positive feedback received, walking into a ward and hearing a rousing ‘We missed you!’, just laughing silly during secret paper rounds with my favourite boys - the workplace can be a depressing place, but it’s the little things that matters the most.

It was also when I travelled; for leisure and work. My work schedule unfortunately limits this possibility, but I still got a chance to taste an alternate life, one that I had longingly dreamed of. And I found a wonderful person along the way.

My formal graduation took place this year too. And so, I had my family with me, including my brother’s small brood. Eid was lovingly spent in Sydney with my parents. The cousins came to spend Xmas and my birthday, reinforcing the notion that growing old is an unshakeable horror. And of course, I always have my Australian family to come home to. Two conflicting worlds combined into the one - for home is not where you are, but who you are with.

This was the first time I blushed, I questioned and I moved on. It was when I accepted that life is always not what is seems to be. It was about learning to count in Japanese, finding out my name means something odd in Russian and spending time (in between answering short surgical calls) reading French nursery books to a friend at the intern’s room.

It is always about discovering new things about myself. And still finding comfort with old habits. I now know that it does not matter what you do, so long as your heart is sincere, your intentions pure, a smile fixed on your face. Because some things will pull you back, they always do, but your life is defined by what you make of it.

And I want to live with minimal regrets.

Happy New Year everyone!