Part 1

Thank you everyone for your support. I'm sorry if I was bit brisk on msn. I'll explain the reason why in this post. The rest is just bits and pieces of what happened and how I've felt during this past month. It's more for me than it is for you. Again, thank you all for being there. I truly appreciate it.

My sister is a mother. She's at the stage where she can't bear to be apart from her kid for more than a couple of hours. Her kid is barely a year old. So dad got us twin webcams. One, my sister took with her along with her laptop to Germany. The other, we hooked up to the laptop in the downstairs living room. So, I'd log on to msn and start a video call with my siser, so she'd be able to see her kid for an hour or two everyday. That's why I couldn't chat with you guys when you messaged me, or in some cases was a bit brisk, maybe even rude. Sorry.

My father told me that I would be joining my mother and sister in Germany. Somehow, what registered with me was that Dad and I were going to go to Germany. "No, you are going alone", he corrected me. Me? Alone? I couldn't believe it. I was ecstatic. It didn't occur to me that something terrible had happened or was discovered. I just assumed that the tests and such, were going to take longer, and since sis was in a fragile condition, and mom was depressed, I'd be going over there to help 'em out. Plus it had been awhile since they'd left so I missed them terribly. Webcamming with them just wasn't cutting it.

Dad ran a list off his fingers. "Leave your suitcase open and toss your stuff into it throughout the week, so that KumKum can pack your bag for you. Don't wait till the last minute. Go shopping. Buy some heavy clothing. It's very cold in Germany right now. Call your sister. See what she needs so that you can get it for her. Go to the doctor and get your cough checked out. Make sure he gives you antibiotics or an injection. You have to be cured before you leave for Germany or else your mother and sister might catch it.

Obviously, I said yes to all of the above while I kept nodding. I was really looking forward to it. Traveling by myself. To Germany. A SIX hour flight. ME. Alone. Fucking awesome!

I daydreamed about strutting around the airports with both thumbs hooked into each pocket, "The Jack Sack" draped across my shoulder, and iPod blaring softcore rock. I'd be wearing a fitted pinstriped pant suit, maybe with a tie or a vest over a slightly unbuttoned white shirt. Six inch heels would be a bit much, but I'd be wearing donning something with high heels for sure. Maybe ankle-length boots.

During most of the week, my dad would ask if I was getting ready, and I'd always reply with "almost done", even though I hadn't done a single thing besides daydream about the flight. I was sorta' doing mental checklists so technically, I was getting ready. When reality finally set in, I realized that I had no clue where to start.

My whole life, I've been sheltered, practically spoon-fed and dare I say spoiled, to the extent that even an everyday task for normal people, was actually an achievement for me. Obviously, I never bothered to learn. My father just expected me to jump in and take the reins. Thankfully, my sister called and without me having to even hint at a single thing, took charge. She told me what to bring, and what not to bring. The latter was a longer list. She explained carefully why I shouldn't bring such and such and why I needed to bring such and such. She told me which salon to go to, and what to get done, and what not to get done. She also told me which hospital to go to, and when I should go to it. Finally, she told me what she wanted me to get for her and for mom. Then sis went through the whole thing again with pops, in case I forgot.

Two days before I was supposed to leave, dad was finally fed up with me. He told the driver to start the car. Gave me yet another copy of my I.D. ('cuz somehow I always end up losing the real one so I'm only allowed to carry copies), and told me to get dressed 'cuz I was going to the hospital. I did as I was told. "You're going to be taking me?", I asked hopefully. "No. You're an adult.", was his blunt reply. I felt abandoned for about all two seconds but eventually realized he was right. I was always going around moaning about wanting more freedom, wanting more responsibility, and wanting to be independent. I had to prove that it wasn't all just a bunch of bullcrap.

I forgot which hospital sis told me to go to so I went to the only other hospital that I actually know the directions to "Daar Al Shifa" hospital. The new(ish) one in Hawally. After roaming around for a bit, I asked around and figured out where I was supposed to go...sorta'. I handed my I.D. to some guy behind a desk, and he handed me a number. There was no queue, since it was so early in the morning. Even the doctor wasn't due for another 45 minutes. The guy behind the desk told me where I could wait, but when I get flustered, my brain refuses to cooperate. I couldn't think straight. After a minute or two of wandering around aimlessly, the guy behind the counter eventually took pity on me, and led me to exact spot where I was supposed to go. He motioned that I was to take a seat and reminded me again that there was more than 30 minutes left. I was bored out of my mind. Kinda' nervous too.

When the doctor finally showed up, I gave him and the nurse a couple of minutes to get ready (common sense ya3ny) and then decide to enter. He kicked me out. I quietly cursed him out. He called me in, after a couple of minutes. Asked me some questions. Starts calling me dandoona. I cursed him again. Asked some more questions along the lines of "Do you smoke?" To which I replied, "Never!". He started the physical part. I got grossed out cuz he wasn't wearing any gloves. Then, to top it all off, he patted me on my head. I gritted my teeth. He prescibed a shitload of meds. I smiled and thanked him. He hands me his card, and told me to give him a call. I give him a toothy grin and tell him that I will give him a call as soon as possible. I went to the pharmacy and bought the meds. As I left the hospital, I took out his card from my back pocket, and tore it up into little pieces and threw them away (keep Kuwait clean). As I got in the car, I couldn't help but wonder. Would any of this happened if I'd gone with someone?Prefferably, my father.

So I go home all pleased and proud of myself. Then dad breaks the news. A tumor had been pressing against mom's organs. That's why she couldn't eat, and why she'd turned yellow. It was also the cause of the unexplained pain, and the vomiting. The tumor was huge. Mom had undergone major surgery. It was FIVE hours long. They removed what they could which was the size of a small child's head, and yet there was still a lot more of the tumor left. They couldn't get it all out. She was currently in the intensive care unit and my sister was all alone. My younger brother wasn't allowed to go because neither mom nor dad wanted his grades to go down especially since it was his last year at uni. Dad was going to stay back to hold down the forte. That's why I was chosen to go. I was supposed to go there for morale support.


My head was reeling. My mother didn't deserve this. I know that nobody ever really does deserve it but seriously my parents are the sweetest, kindest, and most generous people I know. I understand that alot of people might think the same of their parents but in my case, I've honestly never met a more decent human being than my father or mother. The amount of anonymous charity work, donations and such alone is astounding. They helped and still are helping people in Kuwait and around the world. They payed for two, not one, but two completely blind men in another country to get operations done to restore their eye-sight. They payed for mosques to be built in this country and in that. They put so many people's kids through college. They each have an orphan under their care in another country. Mom buys and donates stuff annually to the poor in other countries. India, Iraq, Egypt, everywhere. That's not mentioning to door to door beggars that pop up around Eid whom mom gives suitcases of clothes along with their lunch, and money to tide them over. So to have them go through this... I don't even know what to call it. Streak of bad luck? It's just too much. One devastatingly terrible thing after another.

I loved Fahad. He'd finally come back again from States for good, during the summer of 2007. We were just getting to know each other, all over again. I loved him as a brother obviously but I genuinely liked him as a human being too. He was a great person, really easy to talk to, and alot of fun to hang out with. He regaled us with stories ranging from a Pink Floyd concert, to his time working as a bouncer, to the time he served in Iraq. He was hilarious as well. His ring tone was Queenie (his mom's German Shephard) howling. Whenever the mo'athin called out for prayer, she'd howl in sync. When he told sis and I that he'd asked some girl in the mall out for coffee, we sat him down and explained to him that things were still very different in Kuwait and he couldn't just ask women out for coffee sometime. He laughed it off which was just as well because he wore his heart on his sleeve.

I watched "Green Street Hooligans" my favorite movie of all time with him. He loved it and borrowed it to watch with his friends. I remember being so pleased that he wanted to borrow it, as if I was the one that had made the movie. He was very perceptive too. He noticed my sister and I mock-fighting over the red tablets (strawberry) and urging each other to take the rest which were yellow (lemon) and green (lime). The lemon and the lime tasted awful. On his last trip to the States, he got us both ten packs of berry flavored chewable tablets from Tums, all pinks and purples. "Now you guys don't have to fight. These all taste great", he said with a smile when he handed them over to us. Once sis had to leave and only Fahad and I were in the living room so she handed her newly born to him. At first he protested but my sister insisted that he give it a try. He was so careful with the baby. He picked her up and held her as if she was made out of glass. The baby looked so incongruous in his massive bodybuilder's arms. It was very sweet. The last time I talked to him was on the phone to wish him a happy birthday. He was in Friday's with his friends.

Then we left to Cyprus. Sis and I made so many plans to go out with Fahad. She wanted to take him out to dinner with her husband. I wanted to show him all my favorite hangouts. We had so much to show him. We also wanted to make up for lost time.

Sadly, he was taken away from us. He was gone from my life just as fast as he'd appeared into it. I felt so much pain and sadness. I also felt regret. I also felt bad for my older brother and sister. They used to go to school together with Fahad, then they would all come home, have lunch together, nap, then do their homework and finally get to play. They used to go to the chalet together. I remember Fahad telling me about my sister's infamous cakes at our chalet. My other older brother and Fahad would try sticking a fork into one of her cakes and the fork would actually bend. Or another time, each brother would be holding one side of the cake and they'd tug to see how far it would stretch. They all grew up together.

My other older brother also shared an apartment with Fahad in States when he went to highschool. They lived in San Diego, L.A. It was where my dad went to college so he sent all 3 of his 4 sons to live their at one point or another in their lives. When my sister went to visit them, it coincided with her 21st birthday so Fahad took her by car to Tijuana, Mexico to celebrate. Fahad's death affected us all deeply, but a father having to bury his own son just isn't right. My heart ached for my deceased brother, and for my mourning father equally. The worst part is dad wouldn't even cry in front of any of us. He refused to even talk about it. He kept all his suffering to himself. Private as always.

Me on the otherhand. Anything and everything set me off. I get heartburn about 5-7 times a day so whenever I reached for a Tums tablet, I'd remember that Fahad got those for me, and I'd start crying all over again. All I had to do was glimpse something that I associated with Fahad and the tears would flood. The ultimate cliche... it got easier with time. That doesnt mean that I don't love him anymore or anything like that. The ache in my heart is still there, no longer sharp but more of a dull pain. I miss him terribly, as does the rest of my family but I mourn him more privately now.

So finding out my mother has cancer only mere months after my brother passing away shocked, angered, confused, saddened and hurt me. The days leading up to my trip passed in a haze.

The day of the trip, I (read: KumKum) packed my suitcase and zipped it shut only 3 hours before takeoff. Dad kept popping in every 5 minutes to tell me that I'm late and that I should hurry up. On a whim, I stuffed in a shitload of magazines (Marie Claire, Vogue, Teen Vogue, Cosmopolitan, CosmoGirl, InStyle, Allure, and Glamour) that'd just arrived in the mail a couple of days ago in my "Jack Sack". My brothers came in to check up on me. My younger brother explained to me that what I was wearing was inappropriate since it was freezing over there, and that I was going to be doing a lot of walking at Frankfurt airport. Long-sleeved blouse under blue motorcycle jacket, jeans, and white Steve Madden Moon Boots, it was. Very, very far from what I imagined. The drab olive green messenger bag totally clashed with everything.

I sat cross-legged in front of the wall-length mirror in the hall (because the hall is very well lit) and applied makeup while my younger brother updated my iPod for me and older brother called out advice from the living room.

"Don't take candy from anyone, and if they toss a string in your direction, do NOT follow it."

"I'm not an idiot. By the way, where do I go when we land?"

"Follow the rest of the people."

"What if they're on transit flights."

"Do NOT follow them."

"How do I know which is which?"

"Ask?"

"Never!"

"Follow the ones that aren't on a transit flight."

"Useless."

"and YOU have too much makeup on."

My younger brother told me I looked fine. Then he made sure that I didn't forget anything. I said my goodbyes to dad, and my older brother. Then my younger brother drove me to the airport. I was going to see my mom soon.