Homecoming.

I'm back home for the summer. Alhamdulillah! I'm near my mom, dad, and family- people who will always love me, I know. It's feels absolutely wonderful and amazing to be near my mom and dad again. Despite being awake all night and a lousy flight, I can't feel the fatigue when I reach my building. My dad who is still unable to deal with my absense, says on first seeing me, "You're back! Just to go back again... " and i'm like, "Daaaaad!"

My mom is busy offering salaat when I reach home, I open the door to her room, she hears my voice and smiles while she is in prayer. When she is done, she comes to me, smiles her big fat smile, pulls my cheeks and grabs me in a big bear hug.

But its still the little things that touch me. To see the folded pile of new clothes for me ready in my cupboard. I don't need to hunt for any of my things. They're there how they used to be. Like i'd never left my home. The new pink bedsheet on my bed, the scent of bukhoor filling up my room, and more importantly making sure the place is insect-free are all subtle ways of welcoming me back. My 11 kgs of excess luggage is a way to show them I love them, too.

The tiredness may not have crept up on me yet, but the hunger sure had. I thoroughly enjoyed the Mutton Biryani. My brother, always teasing me tells my mom, "Whats the need to make Biryani for her? Hasn't she given up these (worldly) things." "Yes, like food." I retort back. I, so used to Iranian food, still find the specially made less spicy biryani very spicy.

And inspite of all this love I receive at home, I still find a tear or two treckle down my cheeks as I sleep at night. I can't help miss Iran, and my friends. I can't help thinking of my closest friends, and the ones I will not see again when I go back, Inshallah. I remember when I hugged K, the night before while bidding goodbye, telling her, "I will see you again, soon!" She is from a different country than mine, and the idea of me seeing her (except if she comes for ziyarat to Iran while i'm there) seems implausible. But in my mind I know that I mean seeing her in Heaven. Agruably the best person i've met at the khwabgah, i've no doubt she'll Inshallah be there. (Well I hope i'll be there, too!)
I can't help thinking of my telephone conversation with F (she wasn't at the khwabgah when I was leaving) and laughing with her, telling her how i'm going to make french fries and finish up all of her potatoes and oil before leaving.
I can't help thinking of Q, when she slid a gift wrapped box in front of me while I was packing. I gasped AAHHH! (It contained pretty bracelets and a souvenir from Kerbala)
And I can't help thinking of A, when I kissed her cheek and said goodbye while she was sleeping.

Leaving is always tough. Be it leaving Iran, or home.