We were stepping out of the mall when I first saw it.
The crowd were bursting with music, beer and sweat in the Oktoberfest-like atmosphere, and I was getting dizzy from the craziness of it all.
I don't really like crowd. They make my heart race.
But then I saw it from afar, shrouded in golden light, and my heart quickens - this time for a different reason.
My stride turned into a quick run. I didn't bother explaining my euphoria to my colleagues. I only turned briefly towards them, while pointing in frantic to the other direction. "Find me over there," I mouthed, and then I was off.
Knowing I only had little time in the city and confined to certain kilometre radius around where I stay, I didn't make any specific plans to visit generous temple and wats in Bangkok. I was contented to just roam around its streets and find what little signs of devotion I could in its people.
I don't quite understand my obsession with all things religious. It's just ever since the moment when I found out I have lost my faith (in God), I am always in search of a way to fill this gaping hole inside me. And no matter what I do, I can't seem to fill it.
It makes you wonder if you have some incurable disease no one else can't know what it feels like. It makes you feel as if you are forever missing out on something.
"Having faith is a gift", I blurted out to my friend. We were standing on the sidewalk, watching the locals stop by and pay respect to the towering Lord Ganesha, the one I was so excited to spot not a moment ago.
To be honest, I envy all of them. For having such devotion, such belief. Some of them are on their way home from work, some of them are itinerant youth with their spiky hairs and low cut jeans, bottles of beer in hand - but they all stopped, knelt, and prayed.
I concentrated my stare on the golden statue - elephant heads, four arms and all - and waited to see if I feel something stir inside.
Nothing, yet again - and I feel like a failure.
"Having faith is a gift", I blurted out to my friend as he walks towards me. A cloud of understanding wash over his face, and he looks at me helplessly. How I wish he knows what I'm talking about.
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