tea & texts

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Tea & Texts [img[images/teacup.gif][begin]] A story by [[Lehi Naseem|https://lehinaseem.com/]] [[Credits]]

Class is over. You feel a sense of relief as you reach for your keys. You’re finally heading [[home.|home]]

[img[images/11.9miles.JPG][11.9]]

You have this rule: the 20-mile-radius rule. Your friends always make fun of you for not wanting to leave your house and when you finally do, you must stay within 20 miles of it. If you break this rule, you start to feel a heavy feeling, a feeling you can never seem to explain and rarely ever try to. You don’t remember when the feeling started, but it’s there and it stays there, sometimes, even when you’re [[home.|7 miles]]

Home. <<timed 2s transition>> It’s strange the way we attach ourselves to ideas or places that make us feel safe, comfortable…[[young]] again. <</timed>>

You turned 21 yesterday. You blew out your candles but didn’t wish for anything, you can’t really remember the last time you did. Everyone around you was smiling but you were sulking, as usual. Thoughts about the past, the future, and life carry that same heavy feeling. And some days, the feeling is too heavy to hide. Yesterday was one of those days. <<timed 5s transition>> Dad peeked out from behind the camera lens to tell you, “[[Smile]], aziza min.” <</timed>>

You smile because you know how much it hurts him when you don’t. But it doesn’t feel like anything anymore; the corners of your mouth work harder to lift, your eyes half squinted to make it look more genuine. And it works. [[camera flashes]]

They believe it. <<timed 2s transition>>They believe [[you]]. <</timed>>

[img[images/4miles.JPG][4 miles]]

Flowers along the highway bank remind you of your summer in [[Kurdistan.]]

[img[images/7miles.JPG][young again]]

The only exception to the [[20-mile-radius rule|1 mile]].

[img[images/1mile.JPG][phone]]

Mom is calling. [[pick up|ringing]] [[hang up|Voicemail]]

"Hey, ma." “Daya, Jihan is coming over today. I’m still at work so please head home right after class and clean the place up a bit, it’s a mess!” "Do you need me to pick anything up?" "No. Are you driving? Don't answer that, I'm hanging up. I'll see you when I get home!" [[Head home]] [[Head to the bookstore]]

The house is rarely ever a mess. All you see is unfolded laundry, a few crumbs on the coffee table, and a single toy hanging out on the carpet. You clean it because that’s what you’re supposed to do. [[Start the tea]] [[Turn on your laptop]]

[[The strainer...]]

[[Twitter]]

The strainer...where is the strainer? You can never seem to find it. It’s as if your mom purposely places it in different cupboards after every wash as a special challenge designed just for you to fail. [[Keep looking for the strainer]] [[Grab a few tea bags]]

What happens if you find the strainer? You don't even know how to make tea. [[Grab a few tea bags]]

She wins, again. You reach for the tea bags. They're in the cupboard to the right of the stove, where they always are...where they’re easy to find. You place them in the teapot filled with boiling water. You forget to add the carda[[mom]]. You hope she doesn’t notice.

You hear her at the door, struggling to find her keys. <<linkreplace "Honey, I asked you to clean the place.">>You did. <</linkreplace>> She checks the teapot. <<linkreplace "Tea bags? And where's the cardamom?">>[[She noticed.]] <</linkreplace>>

[[Upstart Crow]] has been your secret hideaway since you were 14. You can smell the coffee and aged pages from the parking lot.

You feel your phone vibrating. [[check your texts]] [[assort the pastries]]

They renovated the place last year, added a laptop lounge. You’ve never taken your laptop inside. You feel like it’s an invasion; the present intruding on the hints of nostalgia that [[settle]] into the dust in the place.

It’s [[unsettling.]]

The boy you like: Hey, you coming tonight? <<timed 2s transition>>[[Yes]], I'll be there in a few.<</timed>> <<timed 3s transition>>[[Can't.|jihan]] Potential mother-in-law is coming over.<</timed>>

<<timed 1s transition>>Pistachios<</timed>> <<timed 2s transition>>✓<</timed>> <<timed 3s transition>>Pumpkin seeds<</timed>> <<timed 4s transition>>✓<</timed>> <<timed 5s transition>>Almonds<</timed>> <<timed 6s transition>>✓<</timed>> <<timed 7s transition>>Baklava<</timed>> <<timed 8s transition>>✓<</timed>> <<timed 9s transition>>Kelecha<</timed>> <<timed 10s transition>>✓<</timed>> <<timed 11s transition>>Wafers<</timed>> <<timed 12s transition>>✓<</timed>> <<timed 13s transition>>[[Find Mom's favorite tray]]<</timed>>

Will this exhibition meeting end in time for you to go? That's it. You're an exhibit now. Your time isn't your own anymore and you've got two choices: [[embrace it|jihan]] [[fight it]] Really, you belong to them now. All of them. The community, the mothers and their sons. You are theirs to look at, to appreciate, to brag about. It's in good faith but it also really sucks.

You step over the wires clumsily as you make your way toward the third shelf on your left. It’s there. Right there where you left [[it.]]

[img[images/warsan.jpg][warsan]]

You have your own copy at home but this is where you discovered [[Warsan]]. 4 years ago, in this exact spot is where you discovered how to heal yourself with words.

The doorbell rings. It’s Khalat Jihan. You know why she's here. Her son just turned 27: ripe age for marriage. You’ve known him since you were 10 but [[he’s changed.]] He parties, he drinks, and he’s nothing like Jihan describes.

“He’s so tired from working late nights.” <<linkreplace "Translation">>[[He]] works hard gambling at the casino.<</linkreplace>>

“He never has time to eat breakfast with the family because he needs to sleep in to get his rest.” <<linkreplace "Translation">>[[He's]] still hungover from the night before.<</linkreplace>>

“He prays now. He's such a good Muslim boy.” <<linkreplace "Translation">>[[He|baklava]] smokes pot and wears prayer beads as an accessory.<</linkreplace>>

You’re smirking but your mom is staring. Worry written on the lines across her forehead as she pushes the plate of pastries near you. She's waiting for you to reach for a piece of baklava. You don’t because you’re not hungry. Of course she thinks you don’t for other [[reasons.]]

Jihan starts to realize you’ve both stopped listening. “So the sweets are more interesting than my [[stories]]? Honey, just eat it. You don’t want to be a skinny bride. People will talk.”

When [[Jihan|1]] was 21 she was a grammar school teacher in Duhok, Kurdistan.

“I used to wake up every morning and pick daffodils for the kids. They enjoyed it so much. There aren’t many daffodils here but I pick wildflowers instead.” [img[images/flowereyes.gif][feeling]] You watch her smile fade as the last words pass her lips.

You can almost see the sorrow clouding the light that shined in her eyes moments before. It's the feeling...the ash. You glance over at your mother and notice that she can see it too. We can all see the pain that lingers long after the wounds of leaving home have healed. We can all feel it. <<timed 6s transition>>[[phone vibratation|2]]<</timed>>

[[Tea gif|https://giphy.com/gifs/hot-cup-tea-3oz8xFA1SJJZd8Bkly]] [[Warsan Shire|https://www.amazon.com/Teaching-Mother-Give-Birth-Mouthmark/dp/1905233299]] [[Daisy gif|http://bestanimations.com/Nature/Flora/Daisies/Daisies.html]] [[Flower eyes|http://pf.gy/6040dc]] [[back|start]]

Page 24 When I meet others like me I recognise the longing, the missing, the memory of ash on their faces. No one leaves [[home|home2]] unless home is the mouth of a shark.

[[0 notifications]]

[[Facebook]]

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[[Instagram]]

[[1 notification]]

Sarah liked your photo. <<timed 1s transition>>Ah, fucking Sarah.<</timed>> <<timed 2s transition>>[[Start the tea]]<</timed>>

"That's the wrong one, honey." Of course it is. "Use this one." You take the //correct// tray and begin to place the pastries on one side. You wonder if this is what life is going to be after college. You wonder why it matters which pastries are served with black tea and which are served with green. You wonder why being 21 means you're [[ready for suitors.|jihan]]

The boy you like is waiting. He's perfect too. Dark hair, brown eyes, and a heart that feels nothing for you. Harsh, I know, but it's true. He's a selfless crusader. And he has no time for you. He's too busy [[saving the world]] to tell you you're beautiful.

Ah, yes. Speaking of saving the world, he's invited you to an academic panel discussing one of the million causes he cares about. Thought it'd be something more intimate? I told you, he barely knows we exist. <<timed 7s transition>>[[phone vibratation]]<</timed>>

Great! See you then! <<timed 2s transition>>[[*sigh*]]<</timed>>

"What are you smiling at? I wish you knew how silly you looked giggling at your phone." "I wasn't smiling and I'm going out." "[[No, no you're not. You know Jihan is here for you. Cancel your plans, you're staying.|belong]]"

You belong to [[them|jihan]], remember?

[[Twitter: 5 notifications]]

<<timed 1s transition>>Zoe T retweeted your tweet. <</timed>> <<timed 2s transition>>Aliyah liked your tweet.<</timed>> <<timed 3s transition>>AZ mentioned you in a tweet. <</timed>> <<timed 4s transition>>Mohammed started following you. <</timed>> <<timed 5s transition>>Zara sent you a direct message.<</timed>> <<timed 6s transition>>[[open Twitter]] [[pick up a pastry]]<</timed>>

You don't know why you care about who favorited your last tweet but you do and it drives you mad. You wish you didn't care. You wish you could be like other girls your age: [[ready.]]

You reach for a piece of baklava. You made them with your mom yesterday. It's pretty much the only thing you're good at and she //notices.// A part of you knows she only notices because it's a good talking point: "Jihan, you know my daughter made the baklava? I'll pack some for your son!" The other part of you likes to think it's because it's the only thing that [[connects]] you both to Kurdistan.

Maybe they're not ready. Maybe they all feel as unsure as you do. Maybe they're all as afraid as you are, desparately finding comfort in connecting with others. Whether it be through words on Twitter or in a book, they're looking for the same things: Acceptance. Reassurance. [[Space.|space]]

She's been married to Ali for 30 years. She assures you that love comes after marriage sometimes and that her and Ali are proof of this. They immigrated to California 20 years ago. [[Jihan still misses her sisters and the kids she used to teach.|Jihan]]

You know she loves you but you also know how different you both are. You didn't grow up the way she did. You grew up here, in America, where you're expected to be Kurdish at home but American everywhere else. They expect you to behave a certain way when you're around certain people but you mess up sometimes. However, it's different when you bake with her. You can both be different but exist in the same [[space]]. She always tells you stories about her past as she teaches you new techniques in the kitchen. It makes you feel close to Kurdistan but more importantly, close to her.

A space for you. <<timed 3s>><<goto "place">><</timed>>

A place for you. <<timed 3s>><<goto "placeyou">><</timed>>

A place where they can be themselves. <<timed 3s>><<goto "he">><</timed>>

A place where he knows you exist. <<timed 3s>><<goto "everything">><</timed>>

A place where everything exists together. <<timed 3s>><<goto "all">><</timed>>

A place where you can be you. <<timed 3s>><<goto "they">><</timed>>

Double-click this passage to edit it.

A place where everything seems to happen all at once. <<timed 3s>><<goto "fill">><</timed>>

A place where you can fill the emptiness. <<timed 3s>><<goto "smile">><</timed>>

A place where you can smile. <<timed 3s>><<goto "own">><</timed>>

A place that's your own. <<timed 3s>><<goto "easy">><</timed>>

A place where it's easy to be yourself. <<timed 3s>><<goto "celebrated">><</timed>>

A place where being yourself is celebrated. <<timed 3s>><<goto "this">><</timed>>

A place like <<timed 2s>>this.<</timed>> <<timed 4s>><<goto "last">><</timed>>

[[start over|start]] [[credits|Credits]]

At times you notice the memory of ash on your mother's face. Some days it's faint, on other days it's overwhelming. The weight of the world collapses on her everyday. You try your best to lighten it. [[Head home]]

It goes to voicemail. You should've answered but you already know what she's going to say. "Are you driving? Call me when you get home." "Pick up some wafers on your way home." "Come home." [[Maybe]] it'll be something different this time.

“Daya, Jihan is coming over today. I’m still at work so please head home right after class and clean the place up a bit, it’s a mess!” Maybe not. [[Head home]] [[Head to the bookstore]]