the high-school mosque

My dad, my cousin and I went to the Masjid Besar in Kuching. It’s an old mosque given a modern touch. Its walls are now painted in soft pink and its golden yellow dome shines under the bright sun, reflecting the sunlight. Before entering the Masjid, I took the ablution and after leaving my slippers at the rack, I entered its door. There was a stark contrast between the heat outside and the coolness inside the mosque. The mosque has two floors and I went to the first. I walked up the wide stairs and upon reaching the floor, I walked around before randomly picking a place to sit; which was adjacent to the railing which allowed me to see the congregations on the ground floor. A huge chandelier was hanging under the dome right at the centre of the mosque. Before sitting down, I spotted a few school kids in their school uniform and suddenly I was hit by memories from my school days.

Every Friday, my friends and I, we would walk from our school to the Masjid. It usually took us about 10 minutes to get to the mosque, depending on the weather. We would walk in small groups of 2-4 and our walks would usually contain small jokes, laughter and even the occasional serious talk about homework .  We’d usually leave our school bags at the canteen and some of the non-muslim girls we were friends with would take good care of the bags for us. We’d usually take the upper floor and perform our prayers there. Today, as I saw from afar the place that we used to sit at, a pang of nostalgia hit my mind. I miss those times. I looked down at the carpet and it was replaced with a new design. Everything was/is change/d/ing. I was sitting alone.

After completing my prayers, I walked out of the mosque and walked downhill as the mosque was built on a small hill or more likely a mound. I imagined myself walking down, surrounded by my friends laughing and joking, in our school uniforms sweating under the hot sun. I couldn’t help but smile at those memories.

It made me realize how far I have come. I wish I could go back to those times again but I know the only way is to move forward. I’m just glad my memory allows me to remember those years; those wonderful, less stressful and dramatic years.

p.s: some things we can never get back.