There's no place like home - Miut's essay

There’s no place like home, an adage that personified the overblown grandeur of houses where we live and grow up that had existed for centuries and was deemed by many as accurate. Preposterous, I think, this popular notion was. The reason was too obvious, my home; the terrace house I lived in was undeniably indistinguishable from the other 159 houses in a one kilometer square area which I called my neighbourhood. These houses, each one a carbon copy of the other, I considered a very boring place to live in. The neighborhood view could make me sleepy; it was like looking at a piece of paper full of the letter ‘z’. Nothing was eye catching; nothing was worth a second look, nothing in sight that could spark even a particle of excitement in me. The streets were all straight, same and parallel, even if viewed from different angles. Every morning it would be congested with heavy traffic, that everyone including me would suffer the annoyance of having to waste time moving very slowly and dealing with the morning noises of honks and engines, always resulting in headaches and bad starts of a day. And the drains by the roads, with its endless splashes of flowing water, an irritating music of the sewer. I yearned for the outside world, the one I saw on television, overflowing with marvels of skyscraping buildings, thrilling machineries, illustrious vistas, red-carpet events and dignified individuals. But instead, where I grew up, was a rural area seriously lacking excitements.

Not only the place was devoid of luster, they had qualities that added to their inadequacy. The primary school I attended, it was full of miscreants. Some students made truancy a habit, some sleep in classes; some had collections of stolen stationeries, and others, considered bullying a fulfilling hobby. Most of the students in the school were worthless, their behavior shamed their parents countless times from having to hear complains of misdemeanors at school. Once, a bully, 3 years older than me, demanded money from me but I managed to avoid conflict by spending all of it beforehand. Even so, possessing a criminal mind, he told me to steal from my grandparents who were quite rich. I agreed, which was of course just a lie devised to fool them into letting me go. I steered clear of him each day afterward. What was more troubling for me, was that most students, I assumed would grow up into another useless adult, further defiling my hometown. Thus, I abandoned the last scraps of hope I had for social civilization at that place and vowed to leave it at the first chance I get.

And as if immorality wasn’t enough to desecrate the neighbourhood, the environment pollution there could break down even to the most hopeful of naturalists (as I had painfully learnt when an aspiring teacher of mine called an end to a green earth project, saying that the ground was too tainted for flowers to grow). I did my part for the environment there, I did not throw rubbish into the river drain (as most in my area did), I recycled cans and bottles sometimes, and I even attended boring talks on the environment, just to emphasize my dedication. Yet, despite all my efforts, nothing changed. The drains were as clogged as ever, litter scattered across the playground and the local clinics relentlessly admitted new patients. Outbreaks of diseases happened often, especially the ones transmitted through vectors as their breeding grounds here were abundant. Trials were made to suppress this worrisome menace, but as it was transpired, none gave any considerable impact. If my best friend Haro wasn’t there, I would have run away long time ago. He was the only respite from the rotting world there.

Amid all the problems and vexation, I managed to endure and lived an uninteresting life there for 18 long years until one day; a chance presented itself to me on a gilded golden platter. I passed with flying colors, a major exam the year before. With my results and sterling performance during the interview, I obtained a scholarship to study in Canada, at last, an opportunity to get out of my dreary hometown. Before long, I was ready and rearing to move out. Strangely, the parting words of my mum, words she uttered seconds before I got into the airplane ‘don’t forget where you come from,’ struck me deeply. Sitting alone on the airplane, something was stuck in my throat, I could not speak, and the excitement before, was replaced by quiet sorrow. In the brooding silence, I thought to myself, “Why am I not happy? Isn’t this what I wanted since long ago?” Despite my reluctance, as the long hours of flight passed, my mind slowly started to think of my hometown.

In my head, vividly I looked back at the life I had there. Unsurprisingly, the first thing I remember was of Haro, my best friend. I remembered of the way we met, we were both seven at that time. He was being harassed; a bully was wrestling a lollipop from him. Haro was a lot smaller than the bully. Somehow, Haro, in holding the lollipop away from the bully, threw it right in front of me. I picked it up and then the bully coerced me to give it to him. I said okay, and drove the lollipop into his eyes. Haro and I scampered away, leaving the bully groaning and covering his bloodshot eyes. Since then, we had been great pals. I would miss him a lot. Then I thought of the neighbourhood, I imagined, in high-definition, the flat scenery there. Instantly, I felt a flash of irritation at its bleakness, but a few seconds after that, it was still the same but different, what I see was still unchanged, but what I feel about it had changed a lot. All my life I condemned the place, saying it was uninspiring and dull. But then, as I saw the infallible symmetry of it, I felt peace; it was like looking at a prairie, or a meadow, vast and free, tranquil and collected, an inspiring atmosphere to many writers. Now that I’m far away, leaving that place for 5 years, I see it in a new light. I realized then that it was not so bad after all.

I complained of the attitudes of the people there, but actually, it’s the same everywhere. Many people from all over the world behaved badly, and in some places, they were worse. A wave of gratefulness hits me, the community there, although bad, had helped me to become better morally, as I was forced to pick my friends carefully, make decisions wisely, speak with weighed deliberations and behave so I would not be like those rascals. So having a bad community was not altogether detrimental, it depended on myself, bad if I was influenced by it, pretty good if I went against it, which I did, many times when I was a head prefect. Realizing that I was praising my hometown, I quickly switched to the bad aspects of it. I pictured its filthy environment. But instead, I revoked the memories of me and some dedicated friends trying to clean it. I smiled a bit. I enjoyed what we did. It felt like we were setting a good example and doing something good for the place. Also that activity changed the way I look at bullies because a few helped in it. They did have some good in them after all.

So, in the first place, why did I do all that? I hated the place, yet I cleaned it, I lessened its moral problems (in school), I tried making it a better place to live in. I endlessly criticized that place, I can see now that it was not because of plain hatred. Rather, it was because I care. Even so, I was leaving the place. So that was how it is, I realized, that I love my hometown, as I was leaving it behind. In the end, I resigned to the truth, there is really, no place like home.

By: Muhammad Amiru Azri bin Emran