Susan LaffertyAncient paths. The image fixed in my mind is a smooth clay trail in the bamboo forest. A path of my childhood. Worn by years of feet traveling from one ridge to the next. Winding through the valley. Around boulders and past simple thatch homes.
It’s an old path. A good path. That takes me where I need to go.
She lost her faith, she says. I read the interview and pause on the photograph.
Her eyes are sad. Haunting.
Throughout the day her heart cry crosses my mind and I pray for her. For others like her giving up on faith. Walking out on worship.
Empty. Doubting.
“Is your arm hurting?” she asks. Yes. The broken bone near my shoulder is healing. Slowly.
It’s 2015 and Manga is prepping me for physical therapy at a hospital in Malaysia. “Be happy!” she says. “Think positive thoughts. Then you will not be hurting.”
I smile. She’s friendly. Gregarious. Her speech and ways and dress make me feel at home.
South Asian home.
