Copyright © While They Sleep

Thursday, August 1, 2013



Web definitions
cyclic: recurring in cycles.

As we are getting older - as my 32 birthday approaches in only a couple of months - I sit back and think of how cyclical our lives are.  Yesterday, I spent the evening with my parents.  Elijah, Avin and I had dinner in their home for iftari (#Ramadan). It was so nice to be back home. My parents home will always be my home. And I realize how fortunate I am to be able to say that.  My relationship with my parents is better than it ever has been.  We have grown so incredibly close in the years I feel like I need them the most, once becoming a parent myself.  It never ceases to amaze me the thought of how in our youth we did everything possible to run from our parents - whether that meant every opportunity to spend time away with friends, or chasing after some boy we had a crush on - young people are always in a rush to get away from their parents.

I guess that's just life.  

You get to an age where you want to branch out, break the chains, spread your wings... and fly.  I am thankful, that even though I come from a religious household, with a strong Indian-Muslim cultural background, which comes with many expectations and a huge level of respect, I was born to parents who allowed me to spread my wings and fly.  And now that I am on my own - with a family of my own - with a son of my own ... I find peace and solace the most when in the home of my parents.

Their simple presence, their gentle touches, the way they are so attentive - you can tell they miss us (their children) and subsequently, they miss their grandchildren.

I couldn't help by caress my father's hair as he sat next to me on the couch - how old he was getting.  His hair thinning, but healthy, the beautiful shades of gray and silver soft in my fingertips.  Both my parents are slowly creeping to 70 - and I almost just can't believe it.  Where have the years gone?  I remember being only seven years old - following my mother, who was only in her late 30s, as we shopped from store to store.  Where did the years go? I remember eagerly joining my boo (my Abba [dad] is my one and only boo. You'll hear me calling him that often) as he played tennis and made his way around the tracks at the local college, jogging along.  It all went so fast.

I wonder how they must feel.  Once upon a time, my brothers and I were born in an island in the South Pacific. Born to two parents who struggled and overcame so many hardships being raised in a third-world country. Parents who overcame the odds and got their college educations abroad, came back to their home, married and shortly after migrated to a whole new world - where they started from the bottom and had to rebuild everything they lost as immigrants to a foreign land.  They must sit back and think, where have the years gone?

And I look at them now and can't believe that one day they will be gone.

That's as much of that I can think or speak about... the mere thought, for even a split second, brings tears to my eyes.  And I know that when the day comes, hopefully a very long time from now, I will be a mess.

My father, who so sweetly told me last night, that he needed all of Elijah's personal information as he's starting college funds for all his grandchildren.  The same man who showers us (his children) with love through sweet gestures and actions.  My mother, who whispers prayers in my ears as I lay on her lap and close my eyes as she gently caresses my hair. She knows that's my favorite thing.  

This is where I find peace and solace.

No amount of working out, yoga, or anything else can relieve my stress the way being in the arms of my parents does.  

I'm a lucky girl.
I count my blessings everyday.
And each day, I ask Allah Paak to give my parents a long, healthy and happy life.

Without them, I am nothing.

This reminds me of my boo <3


Post a Comment