You Are My Home

Chapter One

ZEHRA

The early light of the morning dawn filtered through the beige curtains that covered the small, oval shaped window on the side of the room hitting directly behind my closed eye lids. I knew this was my que to get myself out of bed and get dressed so I could prepare breakfast. But like every morning my body longed to remain on the soft, white sheets that were hand washed and dried by Nana. I could smell her jasmine, flowery scent seeping through the very fibers of these sheets. It was not my Grandma's intention however her smell always managed to fill me with a sense of peace and hope no matter what. Both of my grandparents always were my safe haven.

I grabbed the blankets and pulled them over my head. It was not just any blanket however it was made especially for me. On my fourteenth birthday my Grandma had pulled out the pictures which I had drawn since the age of two and managed to embroide them onto different patches of material that she had scavenged from the material factory she used to work for.

The square patches at first appeared to be simple squiggles of a child just beginning to understand the different strokes of colour and their meaning, simple scratches, gradually as the years passed they evolved into shapes of scenery and pictures of my grandparents, pictures with certain messages and a degree of beauty or so my grandparents loved to tell me. My Grandmother or Nana as I always referred to her, would always say to me these pictures are the window to your soul my dear, your eyes always display happiness and kindness but these pictures have always managed to draw out the good and the negative emotions that you bury deep inside yourself afraid to let them out, as though it is a sin for you to feel angry or disappointed in someone. "Honey!" she would caress my hair while softly kissing my forehead saying "you have to let your feelings out, you have equal rights as much as everyone else, no matter what your mother and brother say. You have the right to fight for yourself. Do not let anyone take you for granted." ­­­­­These words were indeed true to some extent. My pictures always exposed too much, showing my unhappiness and everything I want to hide. This is why I normally did not show them to anyone apart from Nana and Dede, not my mother or to Sedar my brother. Not that they would care anyway. For them this will be a waste of time, it was not productive enough to provide food on the table which is my obligation and duty for this family since I was the reason my father couldn't. Right when my mind began to process the matter of my late father.I distracted myself from this tragic thought by glancing at my black, torn leather- band watch that my grandfather had given to me when it was big enough for me to wear at the age of sixteen. He had seen me constantly glancing at it, so one time when my brother's beating had been too much, he had given it to me saying: "remember everything passes, even if your days were as dark as night, there will come a time when your every minute will be filled with peace and happiness. Trust me my dear evil never wins no matter how long it takes for justice to win over it."

I can talk for days on end about the things my grandparents had taught me and how much these teachings had always given me the guidance I needed when faced with a situation that was too hard to solve. They were always adamant that the right choice was to do the right thing no matter the cost. Smiling at the thought of their kind faces I heaved myself out of the warm cocoon of my tiny sofa located in the far corner of grandparent's bedroom and tip toed to the bathroom in order not to wake Nana up, poor woman had to clean the house as well as working part time in the near-by bakery. My Grandfather must have left early in order to reach the construction he worked at temporary now after his wood shop was sealed. Yet another courtesy of my lovely older brother. In a record of half an hour I had brushed my teeth, combed my long black hair and tied it into a straight high pony tail while tucking my side bands behind my ear so that they would not bother me and dressed into my smartest jeans and one of my two blouses which I reserved for the office use only. I glanced at the mirror in the hallway as I was passing the brown, handmade mirror my Dede hanged in the narrow hall way of our two room, one bathroom and tiny kitchen with a small sitting room with two comfy squishy sofas in the sitting room that I managed to scrounge from a second hand shop when my brother Sedar had managed in one day two sell them in order two feed his never ending drug addiction. I immediately placed a halt on these depressive thoughts, after all wallowing never managed to solve anything. I managed to take a fleeing glance at myself before entering the kitchen. There was nothing speculator about my appearance to be honest, short five feet four, with short legs and arms and tiny everything else: hands, feet, ears and nose with large, heavily framed violet eyes which most people found weird, on the contrary they were my favorite. My mother when she was in a good mood always said I resembled a down trodden mouse that was not useful in any way while my Nana bless her soul would glance at her irritated and say, this girl is no mouse woman but a blooming flower that once ripened enough will fill this world with colour and love. Maybe said was the wrong expression more like she signed with her calloused, warm hands. Since the day I was born my lovely Nana had been a mute not that this managed to stop her ever. In fact, it seemed to increase her will to live and fight and despite her disability which made her look weak and helpless, there was no stronger person than her in this world and the only person whom my mother listened to when she got into one of her many moods.