Contrasting Realities 3

Wa ma adraka ma 3abdallah?

I’ve known 3abdallah since…ever. His mother and mine were best friends in college. When I was born, I used to spend the vast majority of my time with him since I was an only child. We went to the same school together, did our homeworks together, played together, and slept over at each others houses on the weekends. He was the brother I never had. His parents also treated me like their own daughter since they only had four sons.

When we finished Year 7, 3abdallah’s dad was assigned as a diplomat for the Kuwaity Embassy in the USA. 3abdallah and I were devastated; we couldn’t imagine ourselves apart. The day before they left, I locked myself in my room and pretended to be asleep because I knew the goodbye was going to be too hard. Ironically, he didn’t even come with his family to say goodbye.

The day they left, I lost my ability to speak. The doctor said that it was a common psychological manifestation to traumatizing events, and that I would eventually recover from it. Three weeks later, I did. What I didn’t recover from, though, was the fact that he picked up and moved on just like that, without even bidding me farewell.

His family moved back three years later, but 3abdallah stayed behind for high school and college. He was away for more than 10 years, and the only things I knew about him were the stories 5alty um-3abdallah told us about. Even when he would come back to Kuwait for vacations, he didn’t try to contact me, and neither did I him. We were never in touch.

I had lost my brother – my only brother.


About four years ago, 3abdallah finally came back home after getting his Engineering degree. His mom had a huge isti8bal to celebrate his return, and had invited all her friends.

I still remember that day like it was yesterday. His mom asked me to go and get her mobile phone that she had forgotten upstairs. I went upstairs to get the phone, but I couldn’t find it. So I called it from my cell phone to try to trace the sound. I followed it into the corridor with all the bedrooms, and tried to localize where it was coming from, but it wasn’t easy with all the music in the background.

I stood still infront of one of the closed rooms in the middle of the corridor with my eyes closed, trying to follow the sound. Suddenly, I felt something furry creeping up my legs towards my short dress.

What happened next is a bit of a blur to me, but all I know is that there was some screaming, there was a white Persian cat, there was some jumping and there was a door opening. Then, there was me in someone’s big broad shoulders, with my arms tightly clenched behind his back, and his arms completely surrounding me.

One moment of awkward silence.
Two moments of awkward silence.
Three moments of awkward silence.

I looked up, with tears of fear still in my eyes.

Looking down at me were dark brown eyes, with thick lashes. Looking down at me was a face filled with concern and sincerity.

Looking down at me was a smile more genuine than any smile I had ever seen.

Even though I hadn’t seen him in nearly 10 years, I knew that the person looking down at me was 3abdallah: the little boy I spent hours on the buggy with, the little boy I chased cats with all around the neighborhood, the little boy whom I missed tremendously when he was gone.

He finally broke the silence.

“Esmella 3laich…inshallah feeny oo mo feech” he said as he wiped the tears off my face.

“3abdallah?” I asked, still not breaking loose from him.

“Egolooon”. He winked.

I was staring at him, and still holding on tightly.

“3ad omy galatly Hayoo is all grown up and pretty now, bs ma galatly ennich 9rty gumar chithee”

I felt my face go red, and I let go of him. I couldn’t speak out of shock and embarrassment.

“Wain l bnaya eli kint afajer weyaha gwa6y elKDD ta7t sayarat oboy? Eli kanat tyee ten7ash bdary lman omha kanat tdawerha 3shan tmashe6laha sha3rha oo t9are5 lman eyeebonlaha nafnoof? Eli kan kil l9bayan blfreej ye5tar3oon oo yen7ashoun menha?”

I smiled, still speechless.

“Its not physically possible enna the brown-haired, hazel-eyed, perfectly polished slammin’ hottie in this strapless black dress jeddamy is the same person. Tekfain, shysawoon 9bayan lfreej al7en?”

“Ma kint m’3azel before you left 3abboud. Malat 3laik, fashaltny”

He elbowed me.

“Agool yal baree2a, 7aseseeny enna wa7da gumar methlich mo sam3a halkalam mn gabl”


From that day on, 3adballah and I spent a lot of time together whether in family gatherings or on the phone or on msn or smsing. I had missed him a lot, and it was great catching up with him after so long. We talked for hours everyday in our garden, in his garden, while driving and before we slept. Basically at any given time, I was reconnecting with my long lost brother.


About two years ago, and also about two years since I had reconnected with 3abdallah, my mom came into my room and sat on my bed, with a huge smile on her face.

“Hayoo, 5altch Um-3abdallah called...etgool she has some good news for you”

“5air mama sh9ayer?”

“Etgool 3abdalla yaby eyee ya56bch”