THE MOON WAS full two nights ago. I sit now on the first-floor patio of my friend Fazil’s beach house. This is in Marang, just south of Kuala Terengganu. It is 5.30 in the morning.
The regular passing of trucks and cars pulsates at an erratic pace. Unpredictable, but expected. This is unlike the soft waves I hear rolling upon the beach 100m away; those are well-paced. Predictable and much more exact in their rhythm. Expected, and yet, I can discern that the crashes differ slightly from each other.
At 5.43am on this July morning, the mosques begin their call to prayer. The muezzin in each of them recites the azan. I note that while they may have been prompted by the clock, they do not begin in unison, nor do they end together.
Once they begin to fade away, I hear the waves distinctly again. They are louder now because my ears have pricked up, having responded to the louder volume of the azan. A bike rushes by, its loud engine fading away very slowly in the morning air, and is overwhelmed by a truck now passing the house with a much louder roar.
From within the house, I can make out the breathing of my wife.
