I was setting my alarm last night before bed when I skipped over a screen to my world clock settings. I have several times zones selected–Chicago at GMT-6, Columbus at GMT-5–but my favorite time zone is Tashkent. It’s the capital of Uzbekistan and a city that I visited only four times: when I first flew into Uzbekistan, on a weekend vacation from Samarqand about three months after my arrival, on another weekend when I was in dire need of a visa renewal, and lastly, when I flew out of Uzbekistan to return to America. More importantly than Tashkent though, the city that grabs my heart with long, pinching nails and twists it around between it’s hands of memories is Samarqand, the city where my life changed forever.

When I look at my clock and see the time zone of GMT+5, 11 hours ahead of me, I think of my family there. They had a little boy since I’ve been back. Three girls and a niece who they cared for and now after 13 years since their last baby girl, a surprise little boy. I laugh imagining the joy that Bahram Aka must feel when he sees his son. For a period of time, he lived in the same small apartment as 7 women (his wife, three daughters, a niece, myself and another American girl).

For Women’s Day, a day highly celebrated in their culture, Bahram Aka gave me a small piola–an Uzbek teacup without handles–that was painted in beautiful dark blue with white swirls and a gold edge. It was the nationally famous style of chinaware and when I came back, I brought a set for my mom. But mine?: my piola is in my kitchen and every time I see it, I say a little prayer for my Uzbek family.

Sometimes mentally, just for fun, just so I don’t forget, I take myself through their house, room by room, and remember the squeaky floors, painted with a thick dark brown paint, and the chalky walls that made your hands feel gritty and the bathroom that had just enough room to turn around in, where your knees touched the door as you sat. I can still visually remember the details. My sisters’ smiles and soft, long, shiny hair, Fatima Opa’s hard-worked hands and golden-capped teeth, Bahram Aka’s shy smile as he tried to speak English and managed very well, producing my favorite quote, “Who want, they can.”

I hope they are well. I hope they are happy. I hope they find peace. I hope that while I sleep during my night, the sun shines brightly on them in their day. It feels like we’re worlds apart, but I guess it’s just half the world apart. 

Goodnight moon. When you see them next, please tell them hi from me.