benz

(12/12) “Last week we received a visit from one of our favorite customers. Her name was Janet. And she walked right in the front door, which surprised me. Because it wasn’t something she’d normally do. Janet usually ate her meals alone in the back, away from the other customers. But on this day she seemed to be excited about something. She walked straight up to the register, and leaned over the counter. ‘I’m in remission!’ she shouted. And immediately I started to cry. I thought back to the day that I’d first met Janet. It was just a few weeks after we’d opened the restaurant. And we were having one of those days when it felt like nothing was going to work. We hadn’t had a customer all day. I was working all alone in the kitchen, and I was feeling depressed. But suddenly I heard the cash register ring and Sebastian passed me an order for golden milk, without the coconut oil. It was an unusual order, so I went out to find the customer. Just to learn about her needs, and maybe share a little of my research. I found her sitting all alone in the back. She seemed a little timid. Like she was frightened of something. And right as I introduced myself, she began to cry. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘But I just found out that I have cancer.’ My heart broke for her. Because I knew exactly how she was feeling. I’d been there: that deep hole, that darkness, where nothing makes sense. And I wanted so much to comfort her. My English was very bad at that time, but I tried. I sat down next to her, and I tried to share the story of my family. I told her about all the things we’d been through: the sickness, the heart attack, the bankruptcy. I told her about all the times when it seemed like we had no hope. And we felt like giving up. But always a path appeared. ‘God was always sending us signs,’ I told her. ‘But in the moment we were too stressed to see them.’ And at that point I also began to cry. And I really hate to cry, but I began to cry. Because I was telling her all the words that I needed to hear. It’s like I was talking to a mirror. ‘You are going to heal,’ I said. ‘But you have to believe.’”   

“My parents had just graduated from university when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. My father studied physics and my mother studied engineering. But neither of them were able to begin their careers because the fighting had become intense. My father was in danger of being drafted into battle, so they fled across the border into Pakistan. They had four young children, and it wasn’t an easy place to raise a family. Afghan children were not given access to proper education. So eventually my parents decided that something needed to be done. My mother was presented with an opportunity to travel to Canada as a refugee, but she would have to go alone. It was a frightening prospect. She’d never been away from her children before. And our youngest sister was only two, so my mother was terrified that she’d be forgotten. But she was willing to make the sacrifice. Mainly because she believed we’d be reunited after six months. The journey turned out to be much tougher than she imagined. She lived in a women’s shelter when she first arrived in Canada. But thankfully she spoke English, so she was able to work odd jobs and save enough to move into her own apartment. All of her extra money went towards a single long-distance phone call every other week. We’d all gather in our neighbor’s house, and each of us would get a few minutes to speak to our mother. She was struggling with depression at the time. But she told us that after those phone calls, she would be happy again for a few days. It was tough being away from our mother. But our dad never let us feel abandoned. Even though he worked full time, he always cooked our meals, and did our hair, and brought us to school. Finally in April of 1999 my mother was able to sponsor us. It was a three-day journey with many delays. And by the time we landed, my little sister was so tired that my father carried her in his arms. When my mother found us at the airport, she was overcome with emotion. She ran straight to my youngest sister, and asked ‘Do you recognize me?’ Three years had passed. My sister was now five years old. She was shy for a moment, but finally she was able to give a response: ‘Madarem asti,’ she said. ‘You’re my mom.’”

WAVES (2019) dir. Trey Edward Shults

Blind cat hugs his favorite pianist when he hears him play. (via sarperduman)

(sarperduman)

I have a little sis and I’m scared she’s going to turn out like me

Time spent with the right person a feels like a holiday in the world.

—

—