My religion makes it hard for me to travel to my home country. My parents come from a place that doesn't accept our beliefs as acceptable. I've spoken about this before on my blog in: The Reunion back in August 2007. During that summer I was probably the most in touch with that part of my life. With the upbringing of my parents. With my background. With the root of my Faith.
I took a class at TC a few years back about non-formal education and how memories are passed on. I sat and listened to everyone in the class talk about where they grew up and how they would frequently visit their grandparents' home and would learn from the places their parents lived. I listened with envy, knowing I may never be able to see those things and experience and learn in the way they did. In the way that they probably took for granted.
My mother tells me stories of these delicious donut-like desserts she used to buy hot and fresh on her way home from school. My dad talks about the bike shop and the kababi (kabab shop) right outside his home where he would get lunch and then rent a bike to ride around for the day. He tells me about the cotton factories my grandfather managed and the swimming hole they would all play in. And then mom tells me of the day they met - where they were and what happened. I imagine it all in my mind but feel a certain emptiness knowing I may never see those places (some of which don't even exist because the government has overtaken them and turned them into new condos). I wish so much that I can go there, tread the paths they tread, see the things that made them who they are, learn more about a part of me that I know is there. I wonder what I will learn when I have the chance to see and do as those before me did.
Hopefully, God willing (as my mom used to put it), it will happen in my lifetime.
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