At my valima my dad surprised us by stepping up to the podium displaying a key chain in his hands. They were mine, and as anyone who knows me knows, I’m the absent minded and quite forgetful professor. As he looked in my direction I wondered, what an odd place for rebuke, when he said:
“Aisha beta, when you left your home, your old home, the home where you used to live, you forgot something. You forgot your keys. These are not keys to a house. They are the keys to a home. I want you to keep these keys because this home is your home to come to anytime. Come in the day. Come at night. But there is no need to knock because this home is always open to you”
Its spring break and I can’t help but remember when I lived in that home waking up at noon to fresh parathas as ami chopped vegetables in the kitchen, the phone tucked under her ear as we contemplated our day’s plans involving slight variations of nothing. When you’re in the moment, the moment seems to stretch forever, time tiptoeing subtly, nudging you along imperceptibly until you’ve reached the precipice when the moment latches off, as it must, slipping through your fingers into chambers where only your memories may visit. Its in those chambers, that every now and then, I find my heart taking a backward glance taking in a memory of a moment that once seemed though never promised to last forever.