Childhood memories are sweet, but we can't get lost in them

I’m home and it feels lonely here. My visit to Lahore, Pakistan was eight days long. When we planned the trip it seemed like a lot of time, but once we were there it was hard to leave.

The biggest surprise to my children wasn’t the extreme change in temperature (it was consistently between 25 C and 30 C) or the culture shock, but the fact that their mom has such a huge family — dozens of people they are related to but have never met.

“Mom, you have so many cousins!” my five-year-old said to me after the first few days in Pakistan. I do, I have nine of them on my mother’s side alone, all younger than me, and it pains me to think about how I missed five years of watching them grow into teenagers and young adults.

The thing is, despite how interconnected the world is now, I lost touch with my extended family over the last few years — the stress of life, work, raising two kids and the pandemic’s toll on our collective social wellbeing resulted in my pulling away from the people I love without knowing it. I stopped making time for them. I don’t want to do that anymore.

What I lost these past few years was a sense of belonging. I lost it in dribs and drabs and I didn’t even realize the magnitude of the hole left behind.

What remained were childhood memories, the strong ones that surface when new memories haven’t been made in a long time. I needed to fill myself up again, with love, conversations, hugs, moments, new memories.

What does it mean to belong? I never thought about this question until I was in Lahore. The answer was waiting for me there.

Memories of Lahore

I feel like I am starting to understand nostalgia in a different way as I get older.

The swing my maternal grandparents got for me as a four-year-old is still in their front yard, rusted but well-loved, and you would never know it was once bright red. There was once a young lemon tree beside it and I loved to pick the leaves and smell them - so fresh and vibrant.

My kids spent every free moment on this swing. It warmed my heart to see them on it because I also spent every summer day here as a child.

My favourite thing about the upper terrace of my grandparent’s house was the jasmine that grew along one side. I used to sit there, pick flowers and join them together to make fragrant bracelets and necklaces. The smell of jasmine reminds me of my grandparent’s house, and it is my absolute favourite scent to this day.

These are just feelings now, deep and full of longing for a time that no longer exists and a place that doesn’t look the same.

Then there are the memories of moments, like sitting with my grandmother in the evenings while she cut up a mango into little squares for me to eat. I can still smell that sticky sweet goodness.

Or looking for my mamoon (maternal uncle) in his room to bug him for more spiral notepads I just adored writing in as a kid (I had a thing for lined notebooks, I kind of still do).

Or roaming through the markets with my mom and two khalas (maternal aunts) and listening to their animated gossip; it made me feel like a grown up. Then stopping at the side of the road to buy a cold drink from a cart. I always picked Fanta, and I can still recall the cold glass bottles handed to you with a little serviette napkin wrapped around it, already soaked as the bottle sweats in the summer heat. That first sip, so refreshing, followed by one khala’s complaint that it isn’t cold enough.

Example of a cart that sells drinks. This one is selling “fresh lemon soda water.” That is the literal translation of what is written on the green banner.

Ah, memories. They are wonderful but I can’t live in them, I can’t get lost in them. I can’t let these childhood memories be my only impressions of Lahore, but that is what happens when you are away for a long time — memories take the place of real moments, of relationships and how they evolve.

Old memories can prevent the chance to create new memories, so I won’t dwell on them because I have a lot of new ones to fill my heart now. The memories, both old and new, helped me realize where I belong and whom I belong to. Yes, it feels lonely to be back home in Kitchener, so far from my kin, but I also realized that home and where one belongs can be two different things. I belong to Lahore, but my home is in Canada. I can be at peace with that.

Oh and remember when I wrote about the smell of Lahore? I didn’t get a chance to properly analyze the smell when I stepped out of Allama Iqbal International Airport because my relatives put garlands of fresh roses around our necks.

So what does Lahore smell like? Roses I guess.

Garlands made of fresh rose petals to welcome us to Lahore. These two got a bit tangled up but the girls didn’t mind one bit.