In my retreat from life's chaos - the clamor of disasters, the cacophony of sounds, voices, blinding lights, the tumult of war, the incessant barrage of news, the relentless rhythm of parties, and the demands of work - I found solace in the serenity of my quiet room. Amidst the stillness, a captivating blue box caught my eye. Opening it revealed a classy and exquisite surprise – a golden thimble, a name I only discovered recently when my son gifted me this unique item.
Never did I anticipate possessing such a precious piece. Within the sanctuary of my quiet room, devoid of the need to achieve worldly importance, garner awards, or produce something of significance, I find myself engaging in simple acts – altering the hem of a blouse, shortening a pair of pants, tweaking the style of a garment. I spend moments immersed in contemplation, surrounded by the soothing melodies of Kurdish music. Often, I find myself shedding tears, moved by the poignant songs of Ahmed Kaya, Rojda, and the narratives of executions.
The golden thimble rests before me, a symbol of craftsmanship and heritage. Though I refrain from using it, I derive pleasure from merely observing its intricate details. Memories of my mother flood back, as she skillfully wielded a silver thimble in the days when sewing was a common skill. In those times, it was deemed essential for a woman to be adept at sewing, cooking, cleaning, and maintaining decorum. Lost in my thoughts, a needle pricks my fingertip, a reminder of the journey from trial and error to formal education in the art of sewing. As I nurse the minor injury, I reflect on the expectations placed upon women and the evolving roles we play in the tapestry of life.
And in this quiet space, where the golden thimble adds an extra layer of meaning, I realize that even without this tangible symbol, my son is always with me. His presence is a silent companion, enhancing the warmth and significance of every moment spent in the embrace of my quiet room. The golden thimble becomes a bridge, connecting generations, and making the solitude feel less solitary. It is not just an heirloom but a testament to the enduring bond that transcends time and material possessions. With the thimble in hand, my son's spirit becomes even more palpable, turning this space into a haven where the past and present seamlessly intertwine.
Happy to have him in my life, so bold, so enduring, the quiet room becomes a haven not just for memories but for the ongoing narrative of our shared journey. The golden thimble, now a cherished artifact, symbolizes not only the art of sewing but the timeless threads of love and connection that weave through the fabric of our lives.
In the midst of these reflections, my mind wanders to iconic bridges – the majestic San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge and the resilient Saqez Bridge, both standing as testaments to human ingenuity and determination. Their architectural marvels, like the golden thimble, span gaps and connect distant points, embodying the strength of bridges that endure despite challenges. Just as these bridges link shores and communities, the thimble, with its intricate links to the past and present, becomes a bridge across generations in the quiet room. Executions, resistance, hope, and the structural resilience of bridges weave together, creating a narrative that spans time, culture, and the shared human experience.
In the quiet room, as I hold the golden thimble in my hand, I marvel at how a seemingly small gift, as small as a thump, can create such profound and lasting feelings. It is a testament to the power of thoughtfulness, the beauty in simplicity, and the emotional resonance that transcends the physicality of the object itself. The thimble, once a mere tool, has transformed into a vessel carrying not only the weight of craftsmanship and tradition but also the intangible weight of love and connection, proving that the most modest gestures can evoke the richest emotions.
