Qurbat notebooks

On the threshold, I stand watching the wall plastered with white lime. My grandmother rises from her sleep, enveloped in the same awe I see in the eyes of others, and I approach her. Aisha protests and tries to grab my hand and pull me away. “Get up, my grandmother wants to break her fast,” she says, signaling for her to leave me alone. Aisha winks at me to get up, but I don’t.
I love the colors of her clothes, the scent of her hands as they stroke my hair, and her eyes as they teach my father to stop his bad habits and grow up to be a respected man like my grandfather, or at least like my uncles who have passed away. My father sits on the threshold and stares into space. My grandmother speaks very little. She only leaves her room to visit the shrine of Anab, whom everyone believes is the great patriarch who settled in this land and granted this dynasty legitimacy to exist.
My grandmother tells the story to those gathered around her. I love the light emanating from her hands and hear the fables she tells about her and enjoy. I was that male swaying his masculinity, carrying this great legacy that began to shackle me as I forgot the scent of the prairie that emanated from my pores. On the doorstep, I stand and observe the wall covered with white lime. My grandmother rises from her sleep, adorned with this awe that I see in the eyes of others, so I approach her. Aisha objects and tries to grab me by the hand to keep me away from her. She says, "Get up, grandma wants to have breakfast." My grandmother gestures to her to leave me alone, but Aisha still winks at me so that I get up, yet I don't.

I love the colors of her clothes, the scent of her hands as she holds onto my hair, and her eyes, which conveyed to my father that he should quit his bad habits and grow up to become a respected man like my grandfather, or at least like my uncles who have passed away. My father sits on the doorstep, gazing into emptiness. My grandmother rarely speaks. She only leaves her room to visit the sanctuary of the jujube tree, which everyone believes to be the great father's tomb, the one who settled in this land and granted this lineage the legitimacy of existence.

My grandmother narrates the tale to the people gathered around her. I love the light that emanates from her hands. I hear the myths that are told about her and enjoy them. I was that male who swaggered with his masculinity, carrying this great heritage that began to weigh me down as I forgot the scent of the wilderness that emanated from my pores.