As I walked up to my flat door, the rather boring and plain looking door adorned with a silver 310, from the outside it was just a normal…very, very modern, sleek and designer styled building that I hated. As I unlocked the front door of my flat, I heard the door behind me open roughly.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve!” my neighbor across the hall said as I looked towards the door still. “Every fucking day…my kids have to smell that disgusting ethnic stench of your gross cooking!” they added as they closed their door behind them. “I have to hear that gross Hispanic music of yours, hear you talk in that disgusting language of yours and everyone in the building has to smell the putrid shit that you’re cooking!”

“I…am not…Hispanic. I am Egyptian!” I dryly snapped as I looked towards my door still.

“Well, you’re American now: speak American, you don’t need any of your third-world cat-praying devil worship that you people do! If you want to worship your false gods, go back to Iran or Afghanistan! Go back to your bombed out village where you have to marry your cousins because that’s all you’re good for and just wait for the US to bomb it again and hope that one hits you! We don’t need any of your kind here! This is the US and all that matters here are good Christian white people! We don’t need anyone else!” they added, I closed my eyes as I breathed deeply as I flexed my hands a little. “There’s only one God and his name is Jesus! We don’t need any of your kind here!”

“I am not Iranian or Afghani…I am from Egypt” I said dryly as I still looked forward at my unlocked flat door.

“If I hear you praying in that disgusting desert people tongue of yours, I’m going to tell God to smite you down for worshiping your false gods!” they added poking me in the back making me breathe deeply in exasperation. “The next time I hear you speaking your devil-worshiping speak, I’m going to report you to the secret service for being a part of ISIS and that you’re planning a bombing on our good Christian United States!” they added repeatedly poking me in the back between my shoulders.

“I’m not even Muslim” I said quietly

“Good!” they added before stomping back towards their flat, “Fuckin’ camel-jockey immigrant praying to false gods, sticking the air with your gross food and language!” they added as they stormed back into their flat, slamming the door after screaming at me one more time. “The next time I hear you speaking back into their flat, I’m calling the police! If my children smell like your ethnic gross food one more time, I’m reporting you to the HOA!” As their door slammed, I heard the cry of a baby inside before the person yelling at me started screaming at the baby.

I sighed deeply as I walked into my flat: as I stepped into my flat, I was greeted by the usual medley of spices, incense and the age of all the furniture inside the place: the warmth of old wood, varnish and old, old books. I set my shoes on the rack beside the front door as I hung my coat up in the hall closet. Inside opened into a very small foyer with a small closet where I kept blazers, coats and most outerwear along with umbrellas and extra bedding. Just past that is a pair of slatted pocket doors hiding the washer/dryer and just past that was the large great-room which had an L shaped kitchen on the left with a three seat island and to the right was the living room, a door on the left wall led into the second small bedroom which I use as an office, a double narrow doorway on the right wall led into my bedroom.

Inside had dark hardwood flooring and cream colored walls, but the floor was littered in rugs and pieces, the walls blanketed in art, tapestries and other pieces, everywhere you looked were curious, shelves, armoires, dressers and curio cases wherever I could find the room to put them and they were packed with things. The thick rugs covering the floor were all sorts ages, sizes, shapes and from every possible background nearly making the flat carpeted and silencing footsteps. Random bones, taxidermy, amber encased bugs or pressed and pinned butterflies, flowers or leaves were in frequent spaces along the walls and throughout the room. Where I had space were vases of dried flowers, colorful glass stones or beads amongst whatever I wanted to store in them. I usually have a minimum of four-five incense burners going at once with different incense in them: all making the air thick, heavy and extremely deep, often times I’ve seen thin clouds of incense clinging to the floor. All of the lights were dim to the point of only being akin to candle light, all of the widows and the balcony’s glass doors were covered in layered, dark and colorful curtains that were thin fabric, but there were so many of them that the light was blocked. The kitchen had white cabinets and matching countertops, assorted spices, teas and pieces littering the entire back wall to the point where things were stacked over and over. Little statues held things like dishrags or various kitchen implements like the jade Buddha currently holding a few wooden spoons, or the ivory elephant holding the kitchen sponge.

The entire right wall in the great room was covered in bookshelves, packed to the brim. A low dark wood table was in the center where there is a TV, but I don’t really like TV save for something like the news in the morning, I much rather prefer the company of books. The air smelt heavily of safe, teakwood, spices, tobacco, coffee and musk inside and was far warmer than most people would be comfortable with, but it was perfect for me. Even the ceiling wasn’t free of adornment and layering as the ceiling was blanketed in vaults of fabrics, tapestries, rugs and things tacked up there making a beautiful patchwork of color and patterns. It left the ceiling fans unusable because of the things hanging off them, but I didn’t mind. Candles, lanterns and things were frequent because florescent light gives me headaches.

As I went to walk into my bedroom however, the doorway filled for a moment with golden light and what I walked into wasn’t my room, but something far, far grander and far more magical…but still just as much of my home as my flat…Dad’s house...