'Obeys, Listens, Kisses, Loves'

For the past week or so, I have been passing the makings of a small Indian temple where the entrance is facing the main road. Situated directly opposite from it, is a street sign which says Jalan Masjid Kapitan Keling. On days still bright, and not too late in the evenings, I would pass using the rear side of the site and witness a gathering of two to three men. Or perhaps: shadows of the men whom they used to be.

Two would be sprawled on the ground. The third would be lying against the wall of a well established traditional Chinese medicine shop, inhaling deeply from a plastic bag, the same which hawkers commonly use to sell drinks in, locally. Trapped within the bag are gases from a chemical degrading: murky, desperate, lethal. He tries to hold it tight with whatever degree of grip he can muster at the top, crumpling the plastic into chokepoint and takes the channel into himself.

Each inhalation a high.

Each inhalation a high.

And maybe, I said to myself, this was the substitute for the kisses from their wives, laughter and play from their children, respect and pride from work, the state of wanting to belong and be lost in God - all of which were gone now. A poor substitute - but they didn't know what. Or perhaps they did.

Somewhere along they way, they must have realized.

I walked away then, with a scene from the Bible replaying in my mind.

But: I wasn't Him and they weren't desecrating His house.

The one and the same red flows through all of us. But I didn't help them. I didn't rebuke them. I did nothing but walk away. I told myself that they chose to be this way. It's theirs. Not yours.

( _")