وہ دقیانوس ہیں کہ میرا کھانا پینا پہننا اوڑھنا سب اپنی مرضی کے مطابق ڈھالنا چاہتے ہیں۔
میں دقیانوس ہوں کے معاشرہ کے فرسودہ نظام کے آگے آج بھی زبان نہیں کھول سکتی۔
وہ دقیانوس ہیں کہ میرا کھانا پینا پہننا اوڑھنا سب اپنی مرضی کے مطابق ڈھالنا چاہتے ہیں۔
میں دقیانوس ہوں کے معاشرہ کے فرسودہ نظام کے آگے آج بھی زبان نہیں کھول سکتی۔
Aqal sawaal uthati hai ishq amal pe dorata hai.
By now I have thrown away more things and (almost-)neatly packed the things I am saving back in the drawer. Can’t say it’s done but sure feels lighter.
Besides that [literally] grey old diary that I didn’t bother reading, there are all these papers – mostly poems that I wrote (even those sad Urdu ones), and then other handwritten accounts of things like our regional Spelling Bee contest that we won, my ninth grade result, an essay on “My most memorable day of life” where there is McFlurry by the sea, last school exam and a really fun night ending with dramatic sentences like ‘I bid farewell to my family and the full moon.’ Not just mine but I also used to give my brothers topics to write on, then I would check them and sometimes reward them. That was a whole system. Look at this part from Ibad’s story about a ‘mejician’s whose spell was ORAME SIM SIM where O is for Omnivorous animal, R is ramp, A is and, M is maar do, and E is eel. The omnivorous animal walk on ramp and eel eat the omnivorous animal. And magic were not worked the people laughed. He did spell 3, 4 times but his magic did not work. Moral:- We dont want to be a mejician.
There’s also a super adorable sorry card. Lined paper and pencil, a highly decorative spelling of my name, a bag of 5o rs drawn as a gift. You will accept such apologies with a kiss.
I used to write essays and speeches. There is this one I won a competition for. Starts with a stanza I learned from Sam and very much adored. I had read it with a lot of energy.
Then I am looking at these goals I had, and it’s neither saddening nor surprising but there but there’s still a hole – and you wish it was big enough – that we don’t think like that anymore. There are more screens and more individual chaos than deeper thinking, or better yet, practical anything.
And I think you feel it too
What I no longer try to hide
It’s buried beneath the scars
Truth behind the lies.
7 July 2019. My most recent material in that drawer is a bag of gifts and Eidi. The space that wasn’t there before reeks of maturity.
“Don’t run on the stairs, Maria”
“Miss, I am Moniba”
Or was it vice-versa? 😂 Even the memory is jumbled now but we know it was Miss Ismat who scolded one of us and smiled the very next moment because she had mixed us up. And it wasn’t the only time it happened. Oh, not at all!
We got asked in the lift as well. And then we would always measure if we actually looked that alike. Lekin kahaan se? Oh and your maami’s. 😁 and then “are you sisters?” even in university. Yes, yes we are.
But one of my favorite twinning memory has to be sharing our pair of shoes while going to Taye abba’s. A school shoe and a casual chappal wappal. Best. Feeling. Ever. 😆
Not even a day to your Nikkaah and here I am, far but there. May Allah always keep us close. 💜
Ily. So much so much so much.
MashaAllah, Alhamdulillah and everything good.
Three days to go, three things to show.
A heart pebble. You love pebbles so much there is an entire collection of it in a box on your table. Probably left it for your niece here. Of course you will find another in Dubai. Achi jaga hai.
But we won’t find people who would gift us PEBBLES. And flowers. Look at that cloud, sit on the grass, come let’s admire this abnormal looking very fascinating tree. SubhanAllah. Remember our walks from Sufi? VS. Leaves falling. Magic, magic, magic.
A key. It might not be the same but I think it is. Because I saved it in a very old piggy bank type of thing that I got at my aameen or something. It had these little memories packed aesthetically. And in there was this key. Of your “secret drawer” that you had hidden from me at your old house. So I sneaked it, all those years back, think pink maxi and Nayalish at your party, it’s that old a story. What did the drawer have? Your socks?
This poem. You are my quart. That’s an emotional one so I will say it without words. I love you.
I read this again today. Because of course, it’s the day. Three years to Taye Abba. Just three!!! It feels like forever. I am feeling a mix of things right now esp. because of going through that old one.
I got featured on TV for something recently so Tayi ammi called me to congratulate about that. She said your taye abba would have been so proud of you. Like he always was. And in that moment I said thank you, tayi ammi, it feels special to me that you would say that.
It’s like everyone in the khaandaan finds moments to think and talk of him randomly. He is still very much there in that sense but DEATH does this THING. Death tears everything apart and it’s not true. Nothing after it is true so there’s that.
Anyway, another Ramadan is here. I don’t even have anything else to add right now.
Secrets are gifts. They don’t belong just everywhere. A secret lives where lives Love.
I have my grandmother’s stories within me,
and my mother’s, and yours—
Why do I have yours?
I have someone else’s anger, a tragedy from another place in time
Where I wasn’t, where I’ll never be – except in the future of their past
that is already a memory
Numberless faces read out their stories and not one I could tell not to
Like I could not tell you
“I don’t want your stories!” I scream now when it’s too late—
Waking up from a dream, and sleeping into another
Why do I still find you near?
If you’re happy** and you know it and you really want to share it with your family, brace yourselves for comments like:
“What’s the great news? Are you getting married? Already found someone?”
Haha. You really thought I was going to announce just that in front of the entire family?
“Bohat mubarak ho!! Allah tumharay naseeb achay karay.”
“Ohhh I’m so happy for you! *Insert jhappi* Allah tumhain bohat acha miya de.”
“Haye that’s so wonderful! May Allah give you more success in this life and Hereafter. And may you have a great husband/ married life.”
“I am so happy about your success! Also I was just saying to your uncle that may you get a spouse like —. Then your uncle said, why not a spouse even better than —. I said yes, may so be!”
OH, MY, ALLAH!!! I am looking for presents not husband atm!!
* in a desi aka (blunt stereotype but) obsessed-with-shadi society
** about ANYTHING ELSE LITERALLY
*** not saying these are the only kind of responses cuz there’s an AMAZING variety but you get the point
About a day or two before it happened, I was thinking how Inaya and Abdur Rehman have shaped the meaning of love for me, or how, because of them, I have come to know this particular aspect of love, which includes selflessness as well as a very personal and real attachment. I was also missing her – more than I missed AbdurRehman this time – and had put a very cute photo of her on my phone’s lock screen so I could keep seeing her, though that made me want to pull her cheeks, and somehow, to pull her out of screen too. Her mom, my sister, hadn’t visited in a few days as Ramadan has started and it’s a pretty busy month for most, but then her husband dropped her and the kids one night so they could spend time here. Before that, they checked into a hospital for Inaya wasn’t feeling very well.
Over here they had dinner, we talked and laughed; I took my niece in my arms and she got really playful which was delighting, as it typically is with babies. Then, to cut it short, when bro-in-law left we started preparing for sleep. In our room, the lights were off, my sister tucked Abdur Rehman into bed and stood up for Taraweeh prayers, giving Inaya to us to put her to sleep. As it happened, Abdur Rehman refused to visit his dreamland without her even though he was quite tired. I was really really tired myself, so I sat on the vinyl floor by the bed and putting my head on its frame, closed my eyes while also running my fingers through his hair. You get the picture? It was all very normal and relaxed… when suddenly Inaya got a serious coughing thing, and her mom quickly held her, trying methods to heal. She was having trouble breathing and her mom was screaming and running now, I ran quicker to my parents’ room to call them and they came rushing frantically. We were all shaking and crying ourselves, completely in chaos, helplessly praying, watching, being. Please breathe, Inaya, breathe Inaya. Baba held my sister while my mom held the baby, trying to get her to breathe. She did, eventually, and they ran to a nearby hospital where her heartbeat was monitored then she was treated with a nebulizer. Before Sehri (late, late at night), all of them returned to their respective homes: kids and parents.
At Fajar, though, Inaya’s parents rushed her to a hospital again and this time her condition was more serious. Finally she was admitted into an ICU and there she stayed for two days (stretching to third) which was really tough. I don’t think I can rightly put in words the events or emotions of this phase.
When I went to visit her, through large glass windows I saw three beds, three babies, and with them, three moms in a room. On the middle one was Inaya, she had a drip attached to her, and breathing tubes, plus a monitor, and it was a poor sight – seeing her like that. She is hardly two months old. Her dadi and nano stood beside me and then just before us, she had another intense attack. The doctor and nurses hurried into action, a mask was put, prayers and tears were spent, heard, and she came back once again. This happened a lot of times in total though I only witnessed it twice – then, and another which was thankfully shorter. But the thing about each of them was that it shook us to the core. Every single time, it was a miracle to see life again when it had almost stopped.
AbdurRehman is a little more than three. The most heart-wrenching was hearing his voice break, and his eyes teary as he asked Allah taala for her. Indeed His rehmat is immense.
Inaya got discharged from hospital last night. She is doing a lot better now infinite Alhamdulillah for that.
Without actually wanting to, some events leave with different understandings of things, people, and feelings. This was one of those.
We were sitting on the terrace; it was a cool, sweet night. Now when I say terrace, picture a large one. But it’s only on the right side that the takhat is placed, and several white chairs are set surrounding it, and there are a whole lot of plants lined at the other side by the wall. So we are all sitting together, talking, enjoying, and it’s ultimate family time.
There’s dadi. There’s taye abba. There’s tayi ammi, my mom, my dad, my siblings and I (we’ve come to visit). And I’m probably just, I don’t know how old, but a school-kid. Then they’re talking about aams (mangoes) and we’re probably eating them as well, when I remember this joke about kairis (unripe mangoes, them green ones) being hara-aams. And I tell them that. Dadi doesn’t quite hear it, she was very old. Taye abba asks me to relate it to her, he’s so adamant that I do. And so I go to her and tell. What do I get? A HEAVY (as heavy as it could be from her, the darling old one) SCOLDING!
Psst. How’s kairi haraam? What Allah has made halal, how can that be haram? We eat mangoes, don’t we? Are we eating haraam?
No, daadi, I don’t mean kairis are “haraam”. I just meant they’re “hara” “aams”! Dadi mock-slaps me. Taye abba is laughing. I am bewildered. And I look at them confused, pleading for help. They’re all enjoying it. Probably for a while they got scared too, because dadi had actually minded that. And ammi goes like, why did you have to start on this one? And taye abba encourages me again to explain it “better.”
Anyway, dadi didn’t quite get the joke. So it was on me. And taye abba, very mischievously, had done it. And right now I love him at this thought. I miss him.
Taya abba, baba, baray abbu and chacha. These brothers would all joke and tease around, and still they were those dignified sorts, utterly respectable and similarly lovable men MashaAllah. Taye abba passed away last month after staying for eight months in coma. He had had a brain hemorrhage and then he had disappeared like that for all this time. Like he was and he wasn’t. That’s another story though… For another time. Maybe. Or maybe not. I am not sure how much I am willing to say but you see, today I am going to write a bit. Until I am stopped.
Basically, it was around this time some seven years ago, that dadi died. It was Ramadan [Fifteenth]. And my parents weren’t here – they had gone for Umrah. (Like when taye abba got his attack, his son and son’s wife weren’t here – they had gone for Hajj.) So nana (my grandfather) and aani (my aunt) were staying here at our place. This was so long ago, man. And then I was sleeping and just the day before we had opened our fast at Taya’s where Dadi had been staying. Because like, when your parents aren’t there and it’s Ramadan, then your relatives kind of call you for Iftar parties and set your pick-and-drop and try to lift you up, etc. It’s a good practice, btw. And we (kids) had already been to Chacha’s and Phuppo’s and Baray Abbu’s, etc. Then we had gone to Taya’s. and that day, we had actually kind of freaked out because Dadi looked too unwell. Now, dadi was already half-paralyzed. It had been months since her stroke attack (it had first happened at ours, months-months ago), and she had those pipes attached and her hands and feet had swelled so much. When we saw her that evening, the weird sounds coming out of her throat had terrified us. They did. And my sister had asked Taye abba that maybe it was too serious and dadi should be taken to a hospital again. And Sara Appi (another cousin who had also been invited, because, well, her parents had gone abroad too) went towards her bed and sat there and held her blue, swollen hand and caressed her. and I stood there and called her again and again, coaxing her to see and respond somehow. And we were almost crying. And we stood near but I didn’t kiss her like Sara Appi was doing. And then we had come out of that room (and maybe Sara appi came out last, maybe) then we had Iftar. Then that night I was sleeping at my own home and my sister woke me up and she was crying loudly and I had just woken up, I couldn’t understand anything. Then I was like, tell me what happened. And she called my name then stopped and I pleaded her to go on and she only said “daadi” and I screamed “what happened to dadi?” but she won’t say anything because she couldn’t and then I ran out of my room and there Samar was crying too. I probably ran to Nana or maybe Aani and I know that I had never cried that much before.
The next morning the entire family, etc. had gathered at Taye abba’s and everyone was in the same state. I remember the day like nothing else. and baba had called and he was so impatient to return and he was told to offer an Umrah for her there instead… etc. and then in that room where dadi was laid and many women of our family had gathered to recite the Quran, samar had came with her phone turned on speaker and announced that baba would like to talk to dadi and then baba had talked. And I remember how almost everyone in the room had uncontrollably sobbed and I had heard baba break.
The next time I saw baba break was on taya abba’s situation. When he got severely ill. It was September 17th last year and the first nine days were so damn tough. We knew nothing because it was this moment or that. And the doctors had given up and we were hoping, praying and we wished for Faizan bhai to just make it here. He was his only son. And taye abba had even planned a grand party for their after-return as to celebrate… And it was so unexpected. So hard. So bad. So something, anything that you can put in words because I can’t?
Anyway. If you’re reading this right now it means I pulled the courage to post it which should be a great thing because I am not sure I will, as I write. So you know, excuse the mess.
there’s so much more about taye abba that I can say. About dadi, somewhat. I remember her love. I remember her talks. I remember scenes with khala begum, her younger sister who had died before her. I remember how dadi looked like on her funeral. I remember when she was here, when we heard this naat together… When I recited too. I remember combing her hair. I remember her Ensure milk supplements, and her packet of medicines from before her big sickness. And I also remember the flowers printed on her shirt, basically not their color but a glimpse, like how a memory is and isn’t? Her photo from after she got wheelchair-bound, and when Anna Phuppo was here and she had insisted on taking a family photo. that’s our only major family photo. There’s dadi in the center and her sons and daughters and their spouses and all of us so-many-cousins and even some cousins’ kids which is to say another generation MashaAllah and everyone’s happy and everyone’s smiling.
I think my dadyaal (dad’s side of the family) broke when Dadi died. Because before that we were connected like something else. And wherever dadi would stay (she would take turns, and I remember requesting that it’s our “baari” now and that she should come – we would all do that) the other family members would unite. It was gatherings after gatherings and always were really nice.
Taye abba was the next key-person, the ‘eldest’ they all relied on. Someone who had a reputation for being loved by all of us because he chose to be with a person according to their age and caliber. I remember him planning a family picnic some four years ago (when my sister was getting married) and it was on our request that he had called and made the preps then and there (from our place – he and tayi ammi had come to visit. He was sitting in the lounge on a cushion by the wall). We had (run to mama’s room and) jumped in glee.
Also the other time when he brought gajar ka halwa because I had topped in my exams. Then his favorite thing of all time: he used to be like, ye tou pharray rakhti hai. Maria, tum cheating karti ho na? And he used to do this every time. I used to say, of course taye abba, I hide my notes here and there and there. This was our thing. But one day I was like, no taye abba, I don’t cheat, and he had called me the other day and apologized because had I taken it to heart? But he was that one and only person in my extended family who most valued my academic accomplishments. I used to call dad at his office to tell my results since school and later taya would call me specially, and congratulate me, and make it beautiful, always. From there to university. Last Eid he gave me extra Eidi because I had done something and he was proud of me. Right now I am thinking of how proud I am to have had that kind of person in my life. He made it obvious every time that it mattered to him, what I did, what any other cousin did.
I have other things in mind too. The opposite-word-games that made our childhood, the conversations in the car, the times when we were kids and went to their office and ordered chicken tikkas for lunch.
When he renovated his house, there was this huge abstract art painting in his lounge. And he knew I was fond of abstract and he would say, this is your favorite, isn’t it? You get it?
We had a nice time.
I am not sure what to say now. I gotta stop.
Move him gently
Anything might rouse him now.
No prayers nor bells
Nor any voice of mourning.
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells,
And bugles calling.
I should die, I think.
His face bears a wrinkled smile of completeness.
From this heart: all evil shed away.
But his sights and sounds; dreams happy as day;
Is he so hard to stir? Was it for this
That he slept at all?
Did he sleep at all for this?
(Written in response to Writing Challenge 201: Found Poem. This is a kind of poetry composed of words and letters you’ve collected from elsewhere, and arranged in a way that it gives a different message. Our theme for this was “faces”, which I’ve used in two ways. One is the face of this person in my family that I saw yesterday. He is awake but he is not awake. He is just….there. Second is the face of the greater thing that leaves us all helpless before it. Nature, death, disease. Anything like that.
Our assignment also included the task of adding a chiasmus which is a reversal in lyrics. I invented one in the last line. Apart from that, the words of this poem have been taken from four random classical poems of English literature including Futility, Beautiful Old Age, The Soldier, and Anthem for Doomed Youth.)
When the baby was given in her hands, the mother let out a scream of joy. A flood rolled down her eyes and laughters full of life and love echoed all about. She was standing on the gates of heaven.
When the baby was shown to the father, he refused to pick her up. A daughter, oh? Not mine. He stayed as quiet as a ghost until they were in the hospital ward, and only became a devil when they reached home. This, he pointed to the bundle of new breathes, is not to live here. Take the filth away!
That day, a TV set broke. A row of perfume bottles was thrown to the floor. A knife was shown to threaten the weaker sex. Curse words were gifted. Tears were shed. Hell visited house.
That day, mother didn’t leave. That day, baby didn’t weep. That day, my father didn’t sleep.
“Abba ki death ke baad ziada sukoon hae, nae?”
(This place looks calmer now that dad is gone, no?)
“You think so?”
“Yes.” she nodded.
They were older now. Older and distanced by a time so long and tough that it had practically torn apart every and any chances of reconciling. Standing by the giant glass window, she looked out at the world outside which had now accepted peace. The world which had decided to move on, as it always does. Where ever she looked there was peace, except in her home: her heart.
“Look here at me. You think life is better now? Show me if your eyes say that too.”
“No,” she silently whispered. She clutched the silver pane with both her hands so he won’t see they were trembling. Stupid fingers! Stupid eyes! How they reveal your weaknesses to wrong people at all the wrong times…
He stepped forward. “Aena! This is not good. You have to talk to me. I have come to take you. I am going to make things right like we want!”
“This is not what I want. Hessam, this isn’t it.” She shook her head. “I have come out of it and you should too. It’s high time we start respecting each other’s independence and just let things be.”
“What do you mean by that? I am not stealing away your freedom or anything. All I want is you come and stay with me and Rebya now. I want you to be happy!”
“Why? Why live with you when I can live with myself on my own? First I had ma, then dad, and now you want to boss me? Please, NO! I am happy the way I am and I am glad our ways are already parted. We can be free and drive our lives the way we want!” she said.
The color of his eyes changed. Was he hurt? Perhaps. But he shouldn’t have been… After all this time, he deserved nothing to be hurt about. All pains were hers.
“See, I understand your want for freedom.” He said after a while. “And I am not going to be an obstacle between that. You can come with me and do what you want, live it your way. It’s just that I feel you should be with me, and not alone over here. How will you deal with everything? We have both lost something precious Aena. It’s a hard time for both of us.” Looking at her, he said with a voice laced with sincere emotion: “I want you to know I am with you!”
“Precious, Hessam. How precious it was for you!” she laughed in her heart while resisting her urge to laugh out loud too, crazily. She wanted to laugh until her insides hurt. But she would do that once he was gone, her mind decided.
“They are both gone but we need each other, Aena. We need to gather back the moments we have lost. Sometimes I miss you so much, God, Aena, you remember when I taught you how to ride a bicycle?”
Aena looked at him surprised. Why must he bring back the memories now? Now?
“Remember when you had finally learned it you would keep nagging me to let you ride us both to school on that big grey one I owned? We both sat together and I was so proud, and a little embarrassed, but mostly proud (he laughed) and then I bought you a pink one on our birthday so we would both ride on our own bikes.”
“Our birthday,” she breathed.
They had birthdays on the same day. Because God-the-good had decided to hand them out their fates on the exact day and instructed their souls to go down then into their mother’s womb… But Hessam will go half an hour before you, Aena. Okay? Just thirty minutes.
Hessam had gone half an hour before Aena. Aena had waited thirty minutes after Hessam. He had left her earlier because it was so destined. There was joy everywhere.
He was saying something. Probably about the bicycles or the school or their birthday. She wasn’t listening until he called out her name.
“Yes, yes. I remember. You don’t need to use this against me now, it won’t change my plans, alright? Don’t try! You shouldn’t try!” her voice raised despite her trying to stay calm.
“I am not changing your plans, Aena. I am just surprised how much YOU have changed! You are so cold, so different, Aena. Don’t you hold any compassion for relations as close as blood’s anymore?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I carry no compassion whatsoever. I have a heart of stone, if asking for a right to be free makes you think of me as that. I have cared enough for everyone and now I want to be my own responsibility. Go, and let me live!” her voice was strong and came from somewhere she didn’t belong to. It was indeed different, he thought, how his sister had grown up so much and become so… brave.
“I am my own responsibility now,” she repeated– softly this time– as if trying to coax him… Hoping deep inside her heart he won’t agree. Hoping he would somehow ask her to drop the facade and end this drama so they would both cry and tell how they’ve missed each other and how it was impossible to “let go” now that they had already let go of so much. She thought of the pens and chocolates he bought for her, when they were young, and how ma would make them both parathas before school. How dad would hand them out sikkas (coins) for their daily expenditures from which they’d both buy cones.
“Yes. You are right.” he said slowly. And moving towards her he put his hand on her head. “Time has changed, my lovely twin, and it’s not your fault. You have every right now to change time as per your command.” “I am proud of you, Aena. You are one brave woman. I shouldn’t be selfish to ask you what is against your will. And I am sure you will handle your life pretty well, inshaAllah. Just know that I am always there, always a call or email away. I will come to you whenever you want, and so would Rebya. We all love you and you can come to us, too, whenever you feel like it.”
He smiled. She managed one too.
“I know that bhaiyya. Thanks.”
He kissed on her forehead, erasing for a minute whatever these years had collected between them, and whatever hardships she had bore alone.
After that he was gone. Gone forever to his land where he lived with his wife a happy life. Aena had apparently given him permission to be the man he was; the satisfaction seeking which he had come back. Now he was free of the burden he was carrying before, and gone because Aena was free and happy, and very settled in her ancestral home! She had peace, he thought, and now he would too.
Found this great story from http://hussainjaffery.wordpress.com
A doctor entered the hospital in hurry after being called in for an urgent surgery. He answered the call ASAP, changed his clothes and went directly to the surgery block.
He found the boy’s father going and coming in the hall waiting for the doctor. Once seeing him, the dad yelled:
“Why did you take all this time to come? Don’t you know that my son’s life is in danger? Don’t you have the sense of responsibility?”
The doctor smiled and said:
“I am sorry, I wasn’t in the hospital and I came the fastest I could after receiving the call…… And now, I wish you’d calm down so that I can do my work”
“Calm down?! What if your son was in this room right now, would you calm down? If your own son dies now what will you do??” said the father angrily
The doctor smiled again and replied: “I will say what Job said in the Holy Bible “From dust we came and to dust we return, blessed be the name of God”. Doctors cannot prolong lives. Go and intercede for your son, we will do our best by God’s grace”
“Giving advice when we’re not concerned is so easy” Murmured the father.
The surgery took some hours after which the doctor went out happy, “Thank God! Your son is saved!”
And without waiting for the father’s reply he carried on his way running. “If you have any question, ask the nurse!!”
“Why is he so arrogant? He couldn’t wait some minutes so that I ask about my son’s state” Commented the father when seeing the nurse minutes after the doctor left.
The nurse answered, tears coming down her face: “His son died yesterday in a road accident, he was in the burial when we called him for your son’s surgery. And now that he saved your son’s life, he left running to finish his son’s burial.”
NEVER JUDGE ANYONE because you never know how their life is and as to what is happening or what they’re going through or why their doing !!
What is it about grandparents that is so lovely? I’d like to say that grandparents are God’s gifts to children. And if they can but see, hear and feel what these people have to give, they can mature at a fast rate. ~Bill Cosby
I had been to my maternal grandparent’s house for a night and two days stay and I must say that I absolutely loved each moment of it!
The love, the affection, the special treatment, the delicious dishes cooked by my nano (grandma) and the sweet dishes brought by my uncle and the wise talks of both my nana(grandpa) and nano and the cute steps of my little cousin who just learned to walk – was really delightful!
Grandparents are true blessings. Getting moments together with them is just awesome. They are the best teachers, trust me!
♥Grandparents surely are the best!♥
So you just got another year ahead of me and sigh, ’cause I can never be equal your age. :p
Lots of love and prayers for an awesome future!