He Looks Toward Tomorrow

The sun set behind the mountains, casting long shaded areas over the town. Malik stood at the edge of the field, gazing as the brilliant light moved across the matured harvests. His calloused and worn hands lay on the wooden handle of a cultivator, yet his psyche was a long way from the main job. He wasn't considering the reap or the climate. He was considering tomorrow.

For as long as he could remember, life had been predictable, almost stale. Born and raised in the small town, he knew every face, each story, every little bit of the land under his feet. The cadence of life was predictable: morning chores, early afternoon work, rest in the evening. Yet for a long time now, a fretfulness had been working inside him, like a developing tide that couldn't be halted.

He was perpetually the man people looked to. After his father's death, Malik took up the responsibility of the family farm. His younger siblings needed school money; he worked extra hours in the fields so they can go to school. But today, as he sat there and watched his family leave town one by one to find lives in the city, Malik sat alone with a question: What can be said about me?

One night, as she sat by the fire, Malik's elder mother noticed the look in his eyes, a distant, raked look. "What is it, child?" she asked, her voice thin with worry.

"I keep thinking about whether there's something else for me," Malik mumbled regretfully, even as he was uttering the words. "Something greater than this world. Something greater than these fields."

His mother smiled sweetly, wrinkles forming into a look of realization. "Your dad once felt the same way, you know. Anyway, he chose to stay. It was a good life for him, for us. Anyway, you. you have to choose your own path, Malik. You've always looked to tomorrow. Maybe now's the time to follow where it takes you."

That evening, Malik lay awake, his words turning over to him. The next morning, he rose before dawn, gathering a small load and walking out to the edge of town where the street marched toward the city. His heart pounded with the mix of passion and fear, but the fretful energy that had driven him for so long now seemed a propulsive force that kept him moving forward.

The road was new, and the journey long. Problems they encountered on their way include abrupt storms, rugged terrain, and glimpses of uncertainty. But he never forgot what his mother had said and that feeling inside him, which had really crept in such a long time ago. It wasn't leaving the village. He was walking to a future he'd never imagined.

At the point when he at last showed up at the clamoring city, Malik was overcome by the commotion, the speed, and the sheer size of the place in every way, In any case, amongst all of this mayhem, he found his reason. He started working at a small horticultural resourceful, using the expertise he had developed in the fields to help metropolitan ranchers develop yields in probably the most surprising places — rooftops, back streets, and deserted parts. Malik became known for his talent and his quiet confidence. His bound hands, to the earth of the village, had sculpted another kind of topography, one where wildlife thrives in the metropolis.

Years passed and, piece by piece, Malik built another life, a life as meaningful as the one he left. And though years went by without him, he still found time for his family, never forgetting where he came from. In any case, having reached this point, with every sunset, he no longer felt the restlessness of his youth. He saw broad possibilities and every morning looked forward to tomorrow optimistically.

Malik had found his path, and in doing that, he had found himself.