I arrived at the other end of the world on an April day. Living here felt like being a day ahead. The seasons were different, just like the time difference. Where would I settle in this land of migration? I pondered over what I had left behind.
My brothers welcomed me at a train station and took me to the place where I would stay. It wasn’t a dark, locked cell; on the contrary, it was a guesthouse where you could feel sincerity and genuineness to the core. My brothers, who sowed seeds of hope in my heart, greeted me. The guesthouse had seven rooms with beautiful quotes hanging on the walls, a narrow corridor, a French kitchen, and a reading area that opened to a medium-sized garden. Seven refugees and two cats were the guests of this building.
Three and a half years had passed. I looked out into the horizon from the balcony upstairs. I contemplated the hurried years. My children, my spouse, my mother, my father, my siblings, and my comrades who remained behind and endured hardships. Adnan, the eldest and the most experienced, was like a big brother. Yusuf, on the other hand, was a recent university graduate and my roommate. Everyone would share their memories from the countries they had previously lived in and reminisce about the unforgettable days. Adnan was one of the dedicated ones of the end times. In his room, there was a simple bed and his aged books and notes on the desk.
He would ponder with his hands on his chest about what he had left behind. Our souls would be liberated by the takbirs in the Prescribed Prayer. Our hands were filled with gratitude and prayers. The desire to do good and the longing to do so were intertwined. The path to happiness passed through making others happy. Cats would sneak into our legs while we observe our daily Prayers. They would play with the tassels of the Prayer mat while we performed the dhikr, accompanying us with their purrs. A gathering after the Prayer was a must.
One day, nobody was home, and I felt suffocated. I was swaying in time like a laundry hanging from a clothespin, about to fall. Time was not passing. I couldn’t bear it. I watered the lemon and avocado trees in the garden. I placed a bowl of water and crumbled some bread on a small wooden board next to the back wall of the kitchen for the timid tropical birds who were overwhelmed by the hot days. Joyfully, they chirped and filled their bellies with bread crumbs as the sun set, teaching us through their actions how to express gratitude to our Lord with their silent tongues.
