I carry

I carry

by Noor Al Bahrani

In my pocket I carry an old brown picture of my grandfather. He was a wise man who wore huge glasses, and a smile on his face. He carried his lush green plants everywhere he went showing me that life one day will end, but it is what you make out of it that matters. He taught me that how you nourish the moments in your life will allow you to grow to be the person you’re meant to be. He taught me to take care of my body the same way he took care of his plants. He used to stroke his big hands on the small leaves tenderly, listening to the plant’s needs, nodding and smiling. He comes to visit me and taps me on my shoulder from time to time, reminding me that he is still with me and will always be. He cheers me on with each milestone I take, I see his lips curve up, his dimples appear and the wrinkles around his eyes become more and more defined. He carries me with him in a place I do not know, assuring me that as long as he’s there, he is safe. My mother carries my grandfather in her thoughts. She also carries her mother’s ghost who follows her around wherever she goes. My grandmother with light blue eyes and a laugh that warms your heart, reminds my mother of where she comes from, the green lush plants and vast lands. She warns her of who to be and who not to be, she reminds her of how she should raise her kids to know what is right and what is wrong. She follows her like a shadow, a pure white guardian angel protecting her from the cruel world. My mother carries her words with her wherever she goes. She passes that weight to us when she looks at us and whispers the words “if only my mother was here, what would she say?” I carry the weight of my grandparents with me. I carry the paintings they owned of our country, of beautiful palm trees and flowers rich with colour. My parents place them on the walls to remind me of where I came from. I carry the plants they watered every morning to remind me of health, happiness, and caring for others. It reminds me to be proud of the rivers and hills in my homeland Iraq, to be proud of who I am. It reminds me of who my grandparents were, their childhood running around in the gardens, falling in love, growing up raising their children, and later teaching them how to raise us. They pat on my back making sure I stand tall and making sure I am proud of who 22

they are, that I am proud of my family, my ancestors, my ghosts. They tie a dainty gold string around my neck that was passed from their parents, showing me the years they spent carrying their people and family, passing it down to me to carry my family and my people. My grandfather carried the knowledge of plants that he used to take care off back then. He woke up every morning as the sun trinkled into his bedroom window and would walk outside. With his watering can, he spoke to every flower, every plant, and every tree. He made sure they were doing okay, like a doctor checking on his patients. He looked after them like the way he looked after his neighbours. This taught me that a smile goes a long way, that being connected with the people of your country and many other countries makes you grow. I carry my family who smile at me, reminding me of the moments that pass in an instant, like the wars where my uncles had to be standing in the front row of the battlefield at the age of 20. They smile at me to remind me that life is way more than just the pain and burdens weighing us down, life is the family we surround ourselves with and the family we create. They show me that happiness is a mind state, and although we are far from home, we can make a family where we are. I carry the hope that my mother carries, the hope they instilled in us, that one day I will get to see my land, that one day my mother and father will go back. My grandparents give me their plants to water so that one day I can take them back home. So that one day I can teach my grandchildren how to take care of themselves, how to take care of their people, and how to enjoy every moment of their lives.