Al-Blaad. The homeland. I call it the homeland, even though it’s not where I was born, raised, or lived for very long. Amman, Jordan: the destination of my (not really) annual summer vacation. I took my first trip there when I was 4, with my parents and my sister, to visit my dad’s family. I knew nothing of the language, environment, or people I would encounter once there. From the second I got off the plane, it felt different, but in a good way. Every time I go back, I take in the view of the runways while unboarding the plane, knowing I’m going to have the most relaxing 2 weeks of my life.

We stay in my grandparents’ home, or building, rather, in which each of my aunts/uncles has an apartment with their own families. I find it comforting that our whole family shares the whole building, kind of like a family hotel. Cousins running up and down the stairs, all apartment doors stay open, you can smell the maqluba cooking on the first floor all the way on the third-floor terrace. This close-knit familial lifestyle that I immerse myself in for the 2 weeks I am there makes me wonder why it is considered odd for people to remain living with their parents/families in American culture.

The terrace. I would go back to the terrace for a minute, an hour, a lifetime, if I could. In the early mornings, while I’m still getting used to the 7-hour time difference, I find myself wandering to the terrace on the third floor. It’s quiet, since everyone is still asleep. I tiptoe up the stairs, into my aunt’s apartment, across her living room, and out the door to peer over the stone railing. It’s bright out, the sun is rising, the light reflecting off of the white-stone buildings and sandy roads. In the distance I can hear the cars honking and swerving, and I know that everyone is in their own lane because there are practically no driving rules. I can smell the fresh bread and cookies from the local bakery’s morning supply, and I crave delicious zaatar manaqeesh. There aren’t chirping birds, but there are stray cats, roaming around for food, usually surrounding the kitchen window on the first floor waiting for my grandma to put out whatever leftovers she had from last night’s dinner. I see clotheslines and small gardens hanging from the balconies and terraces of the homes across the road. I take in the view, the sounds, the smells, and the fresh breeze, before I go back inside to start my day by helping the rest of the women to set the table for breakfast.

Al-Blaad. I wish I could go back. I was there only 4 months ago, but I wait (impatiently) until I can return and enjoy the experience of being a part of a greater family and taking a break from the rushed American life.