“Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate.”
Braving the mosquitoes, I sat in a corner of my parents’ home compound looking down at this long concrete driveway with its pair of metal gates at the end. And decided to sketch it.
A great majority of houses in Malaysia have high fences and are gated. So I was very surprised when I first moved to Australia and discovered that not only did the houses in Brisbane not have any gates, many of them didn’t even have any fences to speak of. I marvelled at the society that I was about to live in, how honest the people in Australia must be. It’s a bit sad to think that private residences in Malaysia have to be gated because there is so much petty thievery going on. I still remember the dismay I felt as a 10 year old when my previous bicycle was pinched by someone hopping over the fence. I loved that bike so much, that even though my good parents replaced the bike, it never felt the same.
That long driveway holds a lot of sentiment for me. I’ve walked down that long concrete path countless number of times in my 15 or so years living full-time in that house, from age about 3 to 18 years.
That driveway has seen me:
learn how to cycle
run up and down for exercise
run to and from the school bus
learn how to drive (a scary exercise, no doubt)
sitting on the kerb watching the sunset, watching the house cats sun themselves, watching sundry small business owners coming up in vans, motorbikes or bicycles with goods such as newspapers, ice cream, bread and eggs, watching the postman come in for a signature on registered mail, various tradespeople come in and out for house repairs (as it is a very old house)
trudge down its length in the hot afternoon sun after school, looking forward to a late lunch and a cold dessert of perhaps red or mung bean soup
trudge up its length with a flimsy umbrella in the heavy rain trying to get to the school bus without ruining my uniform or my school bag
Possibly if mobile phones had been a thing when I was growing up, then that driveway would have seen me walking up and down chatting on the phone, trying to steal a modicum of privacy in a crowded family home.
I will always associate that long grey driveway as a symbol of coming home.
The Road Home
by Jeff Bidiman
While traveling the road home,
I focus my attention
On the path I have chosen
So I do not lose direction.
I notice all the landmarks.
Read every road sign.
Navigate many streets
That seem to intertwine.
Should I become lost,
Or fearful I may stray,
I seek guidance from some one
To point me on my way.
The road home is never easy.
Heavenly Father has made it so
Every mile is a test
To help us learn and grow.
So no matter where you wander,
Or how near or far you roam,
Remember that you journey on
A road to guide you home.
