Ack, being 16 is hard.
↓ Transcript
It is now nighttime, two days before Zeynel’s departure back home to Istanbul.
Zeynel sits deep in thought, and mindlessly wraps wool to spindle as he looks out of the window.
He lets the spindle go. It twirls, then stops with a click.
He pulls the spindle back up, then lets it go again. He repeats this, until the wool is transformed into thread. He separates the thread from the spindle, and holds the whole length curled in his palm.
His mind is unsettled ever since his initiation into the world of carpets, and its disturbances have only grown.
Things are changing.
He once thought his future was to be an imam. If he didn’t feel desire for it, at least he felt convinced into it. Only because he believed he had nowhere else to go, and nowhere else to be useful.
But now… he glances at his copy of the Quran. While being an imam will not prevent him from seeking out his true passion in stories, he will still be lost. Of course, he loves Allah and his Prophets, truly and deeply. That cannot be denied… but in his heart he feels that he would not know them well in the madrasah, or even within the confines of a mosque. Islam's message is out there in this world, breathing, living, laughing at jokes and tending to sheep. He longs to join it, to experience it, to be part of the world which books could only tease a glimpse of.
Besides, he never truly felt as passionate about his future as much as being… As much as one day being part of this carpet merchant world, to be travelling, talking, free, like Ayse, like Amca Selim.
He resists this longing for a moment, and evokes in his mind’s eye the images of his grandfather, sister, mother, father… to remind himself of his family’s legacy, and his duty to succeed them. Yet, a stronger worry occupies him: if he could not put as much of his heart into being an imam, would that not be the worst disservice to Allah?
He sighs. He buries his face in his hands. The only honest and loving thing to do is to embrace this calling. He is going to be a carpet merchant.
He hopes his family will forgive him.
Zeynel sits deep in thought, and mindlessly wraps wool to spindle as he looks out of the window.
He lets the spindle go. It twirls, then stops with a click.
He pulls the spindle back up, then lets it go again. He repeats this, until the wool is transformed into thread. He separates the thread from the spindle, and holds the whole length curled in his palm.
His mind is unsettled ever since his initiation into the world of carpets, and its disturbances have only grown.
Things are changing.
He once thought his future was to be an imam. If he didn’t feel desire for it, at least he felt convinced into it. Only because he believed he had nowhere else to go, and nowhere else to be useful.
But now… he glances at his copy of the Quran. While being an imam will not prevent him from seeking out his true passion in stories, he will still be lost. Of course, he loves Allah and his Prophets, truly and deeply. That cannot be denied… but in his heart he feels that he would not know them well in the madrasah, or even within the confines of a mosque. Islam's message is out there in this world, breathing, living, laughing at jokes and tending to sheep. He longs to join it, to experience it, to be part of the world which books could only tease a glimpse of.
Besides, he never truly felt as passionate about his future as much as being… As much as one day being part of this carpet merchant world, to be travelling, talking, free, like Ayse, like Amca Selim.
He resists this longing for a moment, and evokes in his mind’s eye the images of his grandfather, sister, mother, father… to remind himself of his family’s legacy, and his duty to succeed them. Yet, a stronger worry occupies him: if he could not put as much of his heart into being an imam, would that not be the worst disservice to Allah?
He sighs. He buries his face in his hands. The only honest and loving thing to do is to embrace this calling. He is going to be a carpet merchant.
He hopes his family will forgive him.
