Open Call: Beyti Beytak – What is Home to You?

My depiction of old Qatari houses as preserved in my childhood recollections, from the days when I used to visit them.

My grandmother passed away, and the light of the house went out.
She wasn’t just a woman she was the soul of the place, the warmth of the walls, the scent of coffee in the morning. Her laughter brought life to every corner, and her voice filled the house with peace. With her departure, the house became silent — tasteless, joyless. Even the sunlight through the windows turned cold. Everything changed — even the food we used to prepare together lost its flavour. I miss her in every moment, in the smallest details, in time that no longer moves, in a life that has lost its sweetness. My grandmother is gone… and the house left with her, while longing continues to live within me.

My grandmother prepares my grandfather’s favorite meal — stuffed grape leaves — a dish she has continued to make since his passing. In the quiet rhythm of her hands, she finds a way to remember him, to stay close to the things he loved. Shot on 35 mm black-and-white film, this image captures how love lingers in the rituals of everyday life. For me, home is not just a place but a gesture — the act of keeping someone’s memory alive through care, repetition, and the intimate language of food.

Home is hidden in a small cup of Turkish coffee. In its grounds settle the echoes of childhood, the sound of the pot stirred on the stove, the warmth of respect offered to a guest. The saying “A cup of coffee is remembered for forty years” in truth describes home itself — a place of gathering, forgiveness, and remembrance. A journey that begins with a single cup at an engagement ceremony continues through coffees shared between neighbours. For home lives not in walls, but in that memory, that ritual, that quiet grace rising with the steam.