Oman and an Ever-Nearing Return

لُبان

root: ل-ب-ن / noun / definition: frankincense

Land of frankincense, endless arches, and smiling eyes: Oman, where I spent the past week on a solo trip. And upon my return to Doha, I’m caught off guard by only two-and-a-half weeks left of class and forced to gulp down the reality of flying back to London soon, straight into the depths of its winter where seasonal depression and cold feet reside.

Even those sentences feel like they went too fast.

It wasn’t long ago that I was writing about an ever-nearing trip here to Doha. And, suddenly, I lose track of time all over again and realise I never really had a grasp on it.

I think I lost whatever grip I had since I found out—at some undefinable stage of my childhood—that I’m one year older in “Turkish years” than the age I’m familiar with.

I’m turning 27 in just over a week but perhaps I should say 28. Perhaps I shouldn’t even count, or think about how I was only 21 when I wrote my first post on here.

I left Statistics and Additional Maths back in my GCSE days anyway and I’ve preferred words over numbers ever since.

(Except the numbers of Arabic verbs forms. Love those.)

But maybe there are some things we should count. I’m not sure which ones yet, but I felt that writing that sentence would spark some inspiration. Maybe I still need more time—

—Ah! Blessings. They’re worth counting.

And I’ll start with the fact that I’m living out my dream of being the ever-student.

It’s why I’ve loved being here in Doha so much: I’m here as a student, and just that. It’s my first living-on-campus experience too. So if I wanted a fully immersive studying experience, I certainly got it.

I know we shouldn’t obsess over numbers, but I just realised this will be the 525th post on here.

I can’t comprehend how we’ve come this far, how I’ve written so much about Arabic and my journey with it. It just shows, I guess, that the journey is long—never-ending, really—but that we never run out of things to learn, to explore, to discover.

And in my head, I see myself walking again through those endless arches in awe.

“Couldn’t they think of another shape?” my sister asked when I sent her photos from Oman.

Well, *clears throat*. I’m sure they could.

But isn’t there such beauty in those arches? In the consistency? In those successive gateways to whatever lies beyond?

.في أمان الله