of kin.

I had a chance to talk to my aunt today. She lives in Pakistan with her husband and three little kids. When I was younger I, and my siblings, were very close to her. I have a lot of good memories with her and her family, and all of them resonate a sense of unquestioned belonging and kinship. I stay informed about their lives through my parents but don't really get a chance to talk to her so I am always hesitant of awkwardness on the phone. And frankly sometimes it is a little awkward; and my lack of practice with Urdu doesn't help either. But despite that it is such a emotionally rewarding experience. As much time I spend with my other aunts who are geographically closer, or with friends, there is no comparison to the feeling of 'being home' that is invoked by the people you spend your childhood with.

There are times that I am saddened by the fact that they are not part of my everyday life, especially through my transition to adulthood. And it is highly unlikely, but maybe I will be able to play a bigger part in their children's adolescence.

I still picture Abdullah, her oldest son, to be 6, making stories about lamas and pretending to summon up whatever it is you wished for. And my sister, brother and I fighting over who got to play with him first or take him for a walk if he was upset. And I still remember the younger son, Osama, as a curly haired toddler who scratched anything that got in his way and then smile innocently exposing his two teeth. I have yet to meet Rehma, the youngest daughter.

My aunt was always the one to tell me and my sister about awkward things that girls should know about. She was sometimes like a sister, sometimes like a mother. I wonder what they are all like now, and about what they would think of me now. I miss them.

certainepic