He placed a mat on the floor and all of sudden grabed the candle by the window. The candle was put on top of the table beside the mat. He looked at her and grinned, “I’m going to do my prayer.” She stared away from the book she was reading with the go-ahead look. He was going to do his prayer in his own way, as he is a buddhis, and considered himself as a lousy one. Or maybe a good one, how can she be sure. No clue for this difference practice.
The praying ritual begins with placing his forehead on the mat and then he sat on his legs. It is similar with sujud in moslem praying then istisqa. His small fingers were folded nicely on his lap and he closed his eyes. She continued to read the book, but couldn’t help noticing the notion.
That night, as she watched him praying and she was reading Rumi’s poem silently, she felt like all the candles he lighted in the room were brighter than usual. She felt like there was a chanted music playing in the room, although he has already turned off his iTunes volume. A bliss, something soothing as if her heart wrapped around by her brown polar blanket. The joy being in a little piece of diversity and united at the same time.
She could imagine, her mom would cry a river if she dared to say “Mom, I have a new and he believes in different religion than us.” And she knows exactly the reaction of the big family. The golden-girl aunties most probably would put her in a corner and preach her for days until she have enough and eventually change her mind. She never thought would cross this line somehow, as she always plays in the safe zone, never had an idea to do the twist plot, not even a bend.
But this time she couldn’t help it.
He looks so cute when he prays.
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