Love With a Pinch of Black Salt - Maha Waseem
An early memory, possibly the earliest wet grass glistening under a light summer sun perpetually blooming in the house I grew up in.
Mid-day my heart vividly remembers, we’d sit outside my mother and I a plate and knife in hand, a bunch of cucumbers the same color as the grass, and a couple of oranges the same color as my intuition. She’d cut the cucumbers and my tiny fingers would attempt at orange peels, I’d stare at her skills in awe.
She’d sprinkle it with black salt and we’d eat all our worries away the rest is history. Every time I see cucumbers and oranges now and taste the tanginess of black salt in my mouth I get taken straight back to my mother’s lap. I’m twenty three now, she’s aging gracefully, we no longer live in that house
but the garden continues to bloom.
I still stare at my mother’s skills in awe, how fast her knife makes art. She unconsciously offers me the first bite, always without even realizing how her selflessness inspires me like the serenity of a starry night.
Love with a pinch of black salt taking me back to that garden again reminding me that a mother’s love has no bounds, it surpasses time, it dwells in infinity.
So, this one’s for you mom, if life ever gets too tough, take a break and sit outside in the garden with me teach me your ways, I may be a couple of months and 4760 miles away from home, but I’m counting days. Gratefully rejoicing in a childhood, my heart vividly remembers.
Maha is a writer at Perspective Magazine. She is also a certified behaviour technician and a strong mental health and female empowerment advocate