When the Island Waits
Pulau Kapas can wait. And I am in no hurry.
There are moments in life when the path ahead, once so clear and insistent, softens at the edges. I had long set my sights on Pulau Kapas—drawn by vision, by longing, by the quiet pull of a place that seemed to call me home. But lately, something in the current has shifted. Not a storm, not a block—just a subtle turning, like a whisper: Not yet.
The reasons appear simple enough. Financially, it isn’t feasible. The timing feels uncertain. But these are only the surface ripples. Beneath them, I sense something more essential moving—a deeper reason to stay.
My children and I are beginning to settle into our new home. There is an unseen energy in a house once lived in by others, and I feel called to make our presence known—not through ceremony, but through living. A quiet claiming of space. A soft cleansing of old echoes. These things take time, and they ask for full presence.
We are finding our rhythm. Morning flows into night, and in between: chores, work, rest. Garbage taken out without a word. Small duties are embraced without command. Each of us, in our own way, is stepping into this shared life voluntarily. My intention has always been that we move together in harmony, and now I watch it unfolding—not by force, but through a shared trust. This, too, is sacred.
Years ago, I would’ve left without a second thought. No debate, no hesitation. Just a gut instinct and a bag. That spontaneity served me well—helped me chase and catch impossible dreams, made me braver than I had reason to be. Make it happen, I would say, and more often than not, it did.
But age has tempered my fire. Not extinguished it—just shifted it inward. I no longer need to leap buildings or wrestle demons to prove I’m alive. I choose now to listen longer before I move. To feel the rhythm of the moment, and act from presence, not pressure.
Pulau Kapas is still calling. That call has not dimmed, only deepened. I will go—when the winds align, when the flow says go now. But until then, I am rooted. I am listening. I am here, where I am needed most, tending the small garden of daily life with care and attention.
Where It All Began
My bond with Kapas began long before this dream of a retreat. It goes back to 1963, when I was a schoolboy at Sultan Sulaiman Secondary School. I used to follow my Gayong teacher and mentor, the late Dato’ Ariffin Zakaria, then the District Officer of Marang. He loved fishing and hunting, and every weekend, he and my Silat instructor, Tengku Azmel bin Tengku Myzzafar Shah, would bring a group of us, including my twin brother, along for island trips.
Back then, the islands were wild, untouched, and ours. Kapas, Gemia, Redang—they were our playgrounds. We didn’t visit them for leisure. We lived them. We learned silence, strength, discipline, and respect for the land.
Those men—Dato’ Ariffin and Tengku Azmel—shaped us. Their intelligence, presence, and guidance left marks that remain today. And in ways I’m only now understanding, they planted the first seeds of this journey. Kapas isn’t just a destination. It is part of my story. And my story is not done unfolding.
The island is not lost.
It is simply not yet.
And I—
I am in no hurry. #WhenTheIslandWaits #EchoesOfSilence #RootsAndSalt #TimeUnfolds #HeartsInHarbour #WisdomInStillness #FlowNotForce #ElderFire #BreathOfPlace #SeashellMemory
#PulauKapas #TerengganuNostalgia #AnakPantaiTimur #SilatGayong #KenanganLama #SantaiDiPantai #WarisanGuru #AlamDanAnak #TenangDuluBaruBergerak #CeritaTanahAir
No comments:
Post a Comment