By Hadiqah Khalil
I was ten years old ten years ago, coming downstairs at 5 a.m. to catch the Nickelodeon reruns before my cousins woke up from their sleep on hard floorboards and lanky mattresses. We would sit in the mosque turning red, holding in our laughs in the silent prayer area until the aunties had enough of us. We would dye our hair with blue Kool Aid and attempt making kulfi out of just milk and nuts. And when night hit, we would obnoxiously chase their parents’ cars until we reached the stop sign at the end of our street, waving goodbye, knowing the next time we will see them again. The year is nearly coming to an end and somewhere between now and ten years ago, we all grew up.
My mother immigrated from Pakistan at just 12 years old embracing a foreign language, trusting in her parents to navigate this change for her. She recalls eight of her family members swinging together on just one tall swing in Hyderabad, Pakistan. The people of her youth are now dispersed through the clouds, squinting to find who they now are amidst the fog. She only recently reunited with them 30 years later.
I saw tears of love pervade my mothers eyes after flying eight hours to finally see her cousins in Europe. She left the living room wiping her eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of their arms wrapped around her shoulders. So this is what love feels like. They stayed up until Fajr at 6 a.m. giggling all night as chickpea flour and turmeric face masks were lathered across their faces, as if they were 12 again.
My father tells me that he came to Canada when he was 18 years old and lived in a three bedroom apartment in the Laurence and Keele area with his family of seven. I am privileged to live just a few minutes away from each of their homes—but now that we are all growing older I feel as though I am losing something I once deemed to be infinitely there.
My grandfather and grandmother too must have wondered about this unfamiliar world. They were shaped to abandon their youth, and strive to build a family that would conform and navigate this twisted society I now call home. Does my grandfather ever look in the mirror and recognize his reflection? Does my grandmother ever comb her fingers through her curly hair wishing her mother could have braided it one last time?
Nostalgia can be sickening, taunting you with the fact that you can never go back to what once was. Evenso, it is a warm reminder from the past acknowledging that this was life then. Now look ahead at what more you can make of it.
That was when we were kids. Why did conversations seem everlasting when we were just kids? We laughed until we cried and we cried until we laughed. We could not wait to grow up then, yet we cannot wait to go back now. Distance is a burden and time starts moving slower. Tension fills the air and conversations turn dry. We could not wait to grow up then; family does not feel the same now.
I always wanted to decipher my own answers. In what ways have I evolved from the person I was a decade ago? I began to feel responsible for the dynamic change in relationships from when I was just a child. As the years unfolded, it is a privilege to realize that the chapters of life are meant to be lived anew—each time through a different lens.
Coming of age, I had the most toys to play with and a plethora of stuffed animals that soon got old and dusty in the basement until I became a teenager. I had Robert Munsch books to read even if they were bought discounted from the thrift store and vast family picnics until sunset when August came around; with colourful dupattas scattered around the grass and the smell of biryani with barbecue kabobs emitting through the trails.
Estrangement is a nostalgic feeling when one sympathizes with life as it is playing out. I walk into this new wave of adulthood keepsaking the late night walks in salwar kameez after family dawats. Middays at the mall where 10 dollars could get us a box of cajun fries and a surprise bag of overstocked jewellery and trinkets. And long summer nights after chasing the ice cream truck for four dollar Cry Baby sour ice until we could no longer feel our tongues.
Estrangement is a nostalgic feeling until one realizes that the beauty of youth lies in innocence, connection and the delicate complexities that shape who we are.
Road to Riadh
Riadh Magazine 