I was 10 years old 10 years ago, coming downstairs at 5 a.m. to catch the iCarly reruns before my cousins woke up from their sleep on hard floorboards and lanky mattresses.
We would sit in the mosque, turning red, holding in our laughs in the silent prayer area until the aunties had enough of us. We would dye our hair with blue Kool-Aid and attempt to make kulfi out of just milk and nuts.
And when night hit, we would obnoxiously chase their parents’ cars to the end of the street, waving goodbye, knowing the next time we would see them again.
The year is nearly coming to an end, and somewhere between now and 10 years ago, we all grew up.Â
My mother immigrated from Pakistan at just 12 years old, learning a new language and trusting her parents to navigate this change for her. She remembers eight of her family members swinging on just one tall swing in Hyderabad, Pakistan. The people she grew up with are now scattered across the world. She only recently reunited with them 30 years later.Â
I saw tears of love fill my mother’s eyes after flying eight hours to finally see her cousins in Europe. She left the living room, wiping her eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of their arms wrapped around her shoulders. So this is what love feels like. They stayed up until Fajr at 5 a.m., giggling all night as turmeric face masks were lathered across their faces as if they were 12 again.
My father tells me that he came to Canada when he was 18 and lived in a three bedroom apartment in the Laurence and Keele area with his family of seven. I was so privileged to live just a couple minutes away from each of their homes — but now that we are all growing older, I feel like I’m losing something I once thought was my whole world.
That was when we were kids,
Why did conversations seem endless when we were just kids?
We laughed until we cried,
And we cried until we laughed.
We could not wait to grow up then,
We cannot wait to go back now.
Distance is a burden,Â
And time starts moving slower.
Tension fills the air,
And conversations turn dry.
We could not wait to grow up then,
Family does not feel the same now.Â
Nostalgia can be sickening, taunting you with the fact that you can never go back to what once was. Even, it’s a warm reminder from the past, acknowledging that this was life then. Now look ahead at what more you can make of it.
I always wanted to figure out my own answers. In what ways have I evolved from the person I was a decade ago? I began to feel responsible for the dynamic change in relationships from when I was just a child. Over the years, I began to accept how one is meant to grow as an individual being.
No matter who someone is, we all have unique values, process things differently and find interest in various matters. It’s more than okay to encounter the same stage of life in alternate ways.
Coming of age, I had the most toys to play with and a plethora of stuffed animals that soon got old and dusty in the basement until I became a teenager. I had Robert Munsch books to read even if they were bought discounted from the thrift store and a wild family picnic where we ate biryani and barbecue kabobs until sunset when August came around.Â
Estrangement is a nostalgic feeling when one sympathizes with life as it’s playing out. I walk into this new wave of adulthood treasuring the late-night walks in salwar kameez after family dawats. Days at the mall where $10 could get us a meal with a surprise bag of overstocked jewellery and trinkets. And long summer nights after chasing the ice cream truck for four-dollar Cry Baby sour ice until we could no longer feel our tongues.Â
Yes, estrangement is a nostalgic feeling until one realizes that the beauty of youth lies in innocence, connection and the delicate complexities that shape who we are.