By: Manal Rabiey
Whenever I draw near to my grandfather’s house, my heart always arrives first, as if I am not heading to old walls, but to an embrace still waiting for me. The path leading there is steeped in the orange glow of sunset, the air scented with the damp fragrance of soil freshly washed by a passing rain. Even the small stones beneath my feet crackle with a familiar sound, remembering the footsteps of my childhood.
At the heavy wooden door, its creak returns like an old melody that never ceased. I stretch out my hand and feel the roughness that hid decades of tenderness, whispering, “Here I am again.” In the corner of memory, I see my grandmother on the stone bench, wrapped in a white dress scattered with faded blue flowers, holding a teapot that breathes the green fragrance of mint, the bubbling sound filling the yard like a little song.
Crossing the threshold, my soul expands. The kitchen still glows with the warmth of burning wood, and the smell of fresh bread drifts toward me like another embrace. In the corridor, our old laughter still lingers as faint echoes, mingling with the creak of doors we once darted through. In a corner bathed in soft yellow light, my grandfather’s rosary still hangs, carrying with it his trembling voice, whispering prayers like tiny stars that never fade.
I sit for a moment on the cool tiles, close my eyes, and let the house speak to me. The earthen-colored walls ask about my absence. The ancient ceiling, veined with dark wood, leans over me like a father with outstretched arms. Even the windows, their peeling blue paint breathing in the air, seem to open wide as though still inhaling our forgotten breaths.
This house was never just a place—it was a life that wore itself around us. It is an extension of my soul, a home that greets me with its shadows and holds me in its fragrance, even if its doors remain closed.
And so, when I leave, I do not turn away. I bid it peace and leave it my love, as though it were a living being that knows me as I know it, and loves me as I have always loved it… I walk away, a single tear caught on my lashes, like a jasmine petal fallen from an old window.
