Why wait?

Why wait?

By Peh Lai Wah

The waiting was long
Every minute ticked by
Louder than the beating of a thousand drums
The trepidation
Anticipation
Fear
Like looking over the edge of a cliff
The fall sudden
Yet not unexpected.
Did I want the waiting to stop?
Not quite.

Fifteen years later…
As a young mother
Eagerly waiting to see the familiar cherubic face
Of a toddler
His smile brightening up my day.
Or waiting at the kerb to catch the little one as he jumps onto the pavement
From the steps of his school bus
Mischief written all over his face.

Another fifteen years went by.
As I stood at the imposing gates of the SAFTI Military Institute
I craned to see the rows of tanned young men in military fatigues
Straight as arrows
Shouting in unison in response to the platoon sergeant’s commands
I couldn’t help but notice his thin stature
And almost wooden demeanour
Waiting too, for the last command
Before, head on pillow,
The creases ease on his forehead.

The cold and sterile walls of the hospital
Spectre-like; the heady mix of antiseptic and sanitisers
Filled the air.
The waiting was intense
Brutal
The silence was deafening, and suffocating.
On the threshold of life and death.
Waiting … for a miracle.

Will I stop waiting? Is the waiting over
And I can now truly live?
Or is it like Waiting for Godot
And the seeming futility of it all
For Godot does not arrive.

Then I realised that
Waiting is part of living
And perhaps Godot is part of us all!