A bright unearthly light shone before me like some scorching sun set against the darkest of nights; stars spun of the finest silk sewn intricately on the most heavenly patches of sky. And still, even with such a beauty before us, tears had formed within a stranger's eye. I had not even noticed her standing beside me until a light tap of her finger struck my shoulder. And as I turned around, I could already see her tear stricken eyes before I had faced her. She did not cry out of the sheer magnificence of the sight before us but of the thought of a loved one looking upon the same beauty with the same hope she held deep within her heart.
"Malaria," she had said, "Malaria is tearing my world apart."
What a sight this was; a scorching sun burned into memory, a rain filled night, tears cascading from heaven, a warm embrace, a silent reassurance, and most importantly, that scorching sun.
How strange and awkward, one must have thought when watching us. Yet it didn't matter, it never will. All that mattered was that she felt safe within my arms, away from the clutches of sorrow, away from her decimated world.
As I held her serenely, all the world quieted. It was if all the world had stopped for this very moment; the world like a time capsule. And I wasn't so sure of how to believe in such a moment. With the sun burning above us and the rain pausing after a harsh flood, I knew that something had changed within her. And when she lifted her petite little head, I could see in her eyes, in her baby blue eyes, that she believed. She believed in hope, in faith, in love.
How strange and awkward indeed that such a petty and trivial thing such as a mere hug could captivate something as magnificent as belief.
I know my hugs cannot cure the severe virus and I know I cannot derive medicine from my heart. However, I also know I can try to make her decimated world disappear by showing her that I too care, that I too feel her pain.
Although the sun does set, it rises again and again, time after time. It will forever burn through the darkest of nights and the lightest of days. It shall never falter.
And as I watched my stranger walk away towards the arena lights, wiping the tears with an over sized sweater that she must have borrowed, I couldn't help but to think that I, at least for that night, was his apostle. And as her muddy brown shoelaces followed after her, I knew that like her shoelaces, she too would follow.