Day 10 of my writing challenge

This is something I feel so strongly about that I might start writing a book about it. Although I could never do it justice, not the way my father can.

We grew up to countless stories about my father and his three brothers from back in the day. How they spent most of their childhood and teenage years in boarding school while their parents worked and lived abroad. How my great grandmother Maryam cared for them on weekends and questioned them on what the Sunday mass sermon was about in an attempt to find out if they’d gone to church or not. How she brought them traditional home-cooked meals to the steps of their school and at the risk of being bullied for their grandmother’s old-fashioned ways, they ate quickly as she watched them endearingly. How winter and summer vacations were bliss because they got to see their parents and how bittersweet and redundant these days became at every goodbye.

My dad has been writing memoirs about his childhood for a while now and I know that a compilation of those will make for one of the most heartfelt reads. I imagine it as a book – a story of four boys and their journey throughout life.

Boarding school. War. Basketball. War. Death. War. Love.

A six year old having to care for his younger brothers.

Children getting spanked for peeing in their undies.

Boys turning into men a bit too early.

I imagine it as a story of life in its most extreme and passionate forms and I’d love to see it finally come to light.