As I take a walk here at almost 1am in the huge hayaat (courtyard) of my khwabgah, I realize the amount of freedom, happiness and spiritual upliftment I feel here. The sweet frangrance of Mogra and Nightangale fill the night air. Leaving aside the fact that I can take a walk around here in the nature in my t-shirt and pajamas, and that this, is the only place i've known where I can raise my head and see the blue sky without having to wear my hijab, or lie on the green grass staring at the sky, or walk in the rain, with my hair getting soaked wet and laugh freely without having to worry about any male presence.
The khwabgah is a highly protected place, and the only time males enter it is when something needs to be repaired or for gardening, which is usually when we are all off to class, and even then the mike announcements of "khwabgah ya allah. khwabgah ya allah" echo everywhere (once 10 minutes before the men enter and one when they are just about to, so that we're ready with our chadors if we want to leave our rooms.) Its routine that we're used to.
And still, its a mix of so many wonderful and beautiful things here that makes my heart ache at the thought of having to leave this place at some time. Its an imminent thing bound to occur for everyone. As much as you love it here, you cant stay here forever. You have to leave one day; just as you have to leave this world. And yet, I do crave to go home, to see my family, to hug them and to laugh with them, and to receive their love.
And yet, it also breaks my heart to go away from here, even if afterall, one lives as a stranger here, a foreigner. How can two contrasting desires contain themselves in one very human and fragile heart? Two desires and emotions equally strong. Paradise is here in Qom. In its freedom and in its spirituality. Near Hazrate Masoomeh. And paradise is there too. In my home country, next to my mother. Under her feet, and in her love. How is one to resolve this conflict, this jihad...
The khwabgah is a highly protected place, and the only time males enter it is when something needs to be repaired or for gardening, which is usually when we are all off to class, and even then the mike announcements of "khwabgah ya allah. khwabgah ya allah" echo everywhere (once 10 minutes before the men enter and one when they are just about to, so that we're ready with our chadors if we want to leave our rooms.) Its routine that we're used to.
And still, its a mix of so many wonderful and beautiful things here that makes my heart ache at the thought of having to leave this place at some time. Its an imminent thing bound to occur for everyone. As much as you love it here, you cant stay here forever. You have to leave one day; just as you have to leave this world. And yet, I do crave to go home, to see my family, to hug them and to laugh with them, and to receive their love.
And yet, it also breaks my heart to go away from here, even if afterall, one lives as a stranger here, a foreigner. How can two contrasting desires contain themselves in one very human and fragile heart? Two desires and emotions equally strong. Paradise is here in Qom. In its freedom and in its spirituality. Near Hazrate Masoomeh. And paradise is there too. In my home country, next to my mother. Under her feet, and in her love. How is one to resolve this conflict, this jihad...
Aaaahhhh I wanna comee tooo :(
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