The Yearning for Home

Every semester, it happens like clockwork. The hum of the air conditioner seems louder toward the end of the week, amplifying the emptiness in the room.

As soon as a public holiday approaches, my end-of-week class begins to thin out. I look out at the lecture hall, at the scattered few who remain, their presence almost an act of quiet defiance against the silent, magnetic pull that has already claimed their classmates. The excuses are polite, the faces eager, and their hearts are already halfway on the highway. They are going home.

Well, to be fair, it is not only my students; it is Malaysians in general. Every festive season, the highways turn into rivers of red lights. From the North-South Expressway to the Karak Highway, a singular, unified desire grips the country: balik kampung.

Cars packed with families, food, and anticipation move inch by inch toward their hometowns. It does not matter which celebration it is, whether Aidilfitri, Aidiladha, Chinese New Year, Deepavali, or Christmas. Everyone, whether or not they are celebrating, joins the crowd. The radio reports traffic congestion stretching for kilometres and lasting for hours. Yet that one destination seems to make every delay bearable.

This phenomenon fascinates me. What is this pull that makes us endure hours on the road just to be home for a few days? It feels so innate, so deeply human, that I cannot help but think there is more to it. Home, after all, is not simply a physical building. It is a sense of belonging and peace. It is where we do not have to pretend to be anyone or anything. We can simply be ourselves. It is the one place on earth where the soul can exhale, where the mask of survival can be set down by the door.

And this is where my thoughts drift from the sociological to the spiritual. Why is this desire so universal? Why does everyone feel an instinctive need to go home?

Perhaps this powerful, earthly pull is a divine remembrance of the soul's oldest memory. The Qur'an tells us that our story began elsewhere, long before our arrival in this world. We were all gathered before our Creator, and He asked:

"And [mention] when your Lord took from the children of Adam, from their loins, their descendants and made them testify of themselves, [saying to them], 'Am I not your Lord?' They said, 'Yes, we bear witness.'" (Surah Al-A'raf, 7:172)

That was our first Home, a place of peace. A place where our soul truly belongs, with the Rabb, the Creator. Perhaps since then, our hearts have been carrying the yearning of that moment, an unending homesickness that nothing on this earth can ever fully satisfy.

The Quran tells us repeatedly that this life, this dunya, is not our final destination. It is a temporary stop, a place of transit. Allah says in Surah Al-An'am (6:32):

"And the worldly life is not but amusement and diversion; but the home of the Hereafter is best for those who fear Allah, so will you not reason?"

This verse frames our entire existence on earth as a fleeting distraction compared to our true, eternal Home. This concept is beautifully captured in the famous hadith where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ told Abdullah ibn Umar:

"Be in this world as though you were a stranger or a traveller along a path."(Sahih al-Bukhari, 6416)

When we travel, we do not build permanence in a place we know is not ours. We stay for a few days, just long enough to have a place to rest and recover, and then we continue on our way. We do not get too attached to any homestay or hotel where we stay. Do we buy furniture for a hotel room we know is temporary? Only someone out of their mind would do that. A stranger does not build permanence in a place that is not their own, and a traveller does not grow too attached to the inn where they rest for the night, for their eyes are fixed on the destination.

The comfort of the journey is not in staying but in knowing where one is headed. Perhaps the Almighty placed this longing within us, the longing to be Home, so that we would not grow too attached to this dunya. He gave us the sense of home on earth, to teach us about the Home that awaits beyond it. Every return to our earthly homes is a rehearsal for the ultimate return to Him. The peace upon arrival, the relief of an embrace, and the rest after a long journey are all signs pointing to the Hereafter.

When we see people brave hours of traffic, is that not a small-scale reflection of the struggles of life's journey? The destination, the comfort of the familiar, makes the hardship worthwhile. For the mu'min, the believer, the difficulties of this life are made bearable by the promise of the ultimate Homecoming.

As I grow older, I find that the idea of home changes shape. It is no longer confined to a physical space but becomes a state of being. Home is where I feel at peace with God. It is in the early hours of dawn when the world is quiet, and the heart remembers Him. It is in the laughter of my children, the kindness of a stranger, and the serenity that follows each salah. It is in every moment that reminds me I am never alone. This feeling of wanting to go home is a spiritual compass. It keeps us from becoming too comfortable here.

So now, when I see people rushing to go home, I find myself contemplating this. We are responding to something deeply human, a rhythm that beats within all of us. This instinct to return to where we belong reminds us that we are all travellers. The roads may differ, but the longing is the same. It is the same longing that fills our hearts during salah, the same yearning that brings tears to our eyes when we seek forgiveness, the same comfort we imagine when we think of His Love and Mercy.

In the end, every journey mirrors the same truth. No matter how far we wander or how long the road may seem, the direction remains unchanged. We are all, in our own ways, trying to find the way back.

Back to where the soul was first at peace.

Back to the One who called us into being.

Back Home to Him.