hati (Malay): used to refer to a person's character, or the place within a person where feelings or emotions are considered to come from.
When the wind blows, it brings the smell of home.
When the wind blows, it feels a bit crisp and cold. Salty, the smell of sea. Or perhaps tinged with the sweat of fishermen at the port back in Johor. I imagine them hollering to each other with the waves gently slapping at the shore, calloused hands grabbing at thick sturdy ropes and veins popping as they pull hard. I see their rough and raw spirit in living, however hard, with hope: it shines like a hidden diamond within coals which reflects a thousand shards of multicoloured rays.
Night quickly falls; the bustle of life at the port dims. In the silence of nature, only rustling leaves and lapping waves talk. A motorcycle zooms by. The engine rumbles through the night and into dreams, before fading away.
The diamond turns in its sleep, and one of its rays catch the metal glint of the sleek motorcycle. It follows the vehicle across asphalt roads as the motorcycle races against the wind. The wind tries hard to quieten the rumble of the engine with great puffs, the latter finally conceding after a hard battle. The motorcycle slows, and stop in front of a pasar malam.
The markets are festive tonight. Multicoloured lights glimmered, stringed across the night sky which looks down upon the hustle of human life. The grizzling smell of satay bumps into that of laksa in the backdrop of a cacaphony of Malay, Chinese and Tamil being exchanged at loud volumes. Smoke emanates high up, wishing to go to greater heights but at the same time not willing to leave the place where it came from.
It twines with the air. The air sends it across the sea. It lands on another island, separated by a strait.
I reach out and smell the air of home.
Sharer is a Johorian currently studying in Singapore, leaving her home country for the first time.
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