Yesterday, after five and a half years, I had a relatively elaborate brunch.
I’m staying at mother’s. She made me a paratha and qeema. My brother put the plate in front of me, and kept asking if I needed something else.
He has changed.
After his three sisters got married and left, he has become sensitive to our needs, and keeps doing things to make it easy for us. Mind you, he was always the person who would go out of his way for you. But now, he makes sure that he is around. For us. For our kids. He takes the time out.
My parents are old. Staying up with kids makes them happy. Waking up early so that they can have that extra hour with their grandkids, gives them joy. My father would never tolerate us being out and about after bed time, but the grandkids – if they want the moon at night, he would probably go and get it for them if he could. My mom, the majority of her life has been spent of feeding deliciously home cooked food to people, keeps doing what is best at – making sure my fridge is never empty even though I live in a separate city.
Here I am, lying in my old bed.
My kids are downstairs with my mother and sister. If I close my eyes, and think really hard, I’m able to transport myself to a time where I had no responsibilities. Where my only prime concern was the next exam. Or how I’m going to get permission to meet friends three days in a row.
I miss it all. The freedom of doing nothing. The calm of just being.
We all miss the old days.
This is not to say that we regret marriage or kids or anything, no. We just miss who we used to be. If we wanted, we were everything and we could be nothing.
If only my 25 year old self could read this, I would tell her to travel more. Worry less. And live more, laugh more.