This evening, my team and I went to catch the sunset. On the way, I was on a video call with my daughter. It was her first day back at school after a whole month off. Our call was the usual circus: weird faces, random stories, zero logic. But beneath the silliness, I was bracing myself. These long field calls with her usually end with tears and the dreaded question, “When are you coming home?”
And yes, right on cue.
Ten minutes and she broke down. I did the usual, tried to calm her down, play
it cool. But inside? Crumbling. Still, I let her cry. I didn’t interrupt it,
just stayed there, steady for her, even when I wasn’t steady for myself. The
call ended itself because her watch limited video call’s duration.
We arrived at the
beach. The sunset? Meh. Not the fiery orange I expected. But the air was soft.
Hardly anyone around, just us and a few snack vendors who looked like they
packed up hope hours ago. The waves moved in rhythms. Closer, then further,
then closer again. Nature’s way of breathing.
We walked along the
beach for a while. Fifteen minutes maybe. The sky was pale and already dimming.
We decided to sit and sip coconut water in silence. No need for small talk, just
the sky and its mirrored reflection on the sea slowly inching toward each
other, like the horizon forgot it had boundaries.
I dove into my phone,
scrolling news like it mattered. Then I looked up.
Boom. There it was. The sky, suddenly set on fire. Half burnt orange, half deep twilight, streaked with light purples like someone painted them in a rush and didn’t care if it matched. MasyaAllah it was unfairly stunning.
And just like that, it
hit me: the best part of the sunset isn’t when the sun is high or even halfway
gone. It’s minutes before the curtain drops. When all the colors clash and
coexist. When light meets shadow, chaos meets calm, and somehow, everything makes
sense.
That moment, silent
yet screaming beauty, made me wonder.
Maybe that’s how we’re
meant to go too. When our time comes, may we be at our most beautiful in faith,
even if it’s just minutes before. Hopefully long before. Life pulls us closer
or drags us further from Allah, over and over. But in every Muslim’s quietest,
deepest wish, there’s the hope to end like a sunset. Whole, beautiful, and
leaving behind tears, not of despair, but of peace.
Maybe that's what her tears were really about. Not just missing me, but sensing, like children often do, how fragile presence is. How even calls get cut, how holidays end, how sunsets slip away before you’re ready.
She cried because she loves loud, and love always fears distance. But I pray, one day, when I’m no longer just a call away, she’ll remember me not in the silence of missing, but in the orange skies, the in-between light, and the faith I tried to live. May she cry with peace one day, knowing all I ever do is to love and support her, steady and quiet, like the sunset we both didn’t get to watch together.
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Pantai Barat Mandailing Natal
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