To: Khalid, Mohammed, and Abdulla

A short story written by: Waterlilie

Up until this point in her life, she was held victim to the Khalids, Mohammeds, and the Abdullahs out there. Three relationships with three Kuwaiti men were all it took for a Kuwaiti girl to get her heart fractured into tiny jumbled pieces. Her heart that once pumped passion, innocence, pride, sincerity, creativity, happiness, comfort, substance, and depth is now a playground for the rich, and famous. Her life goes on; her passages of love get blocked forever by the opposing forces of emotion that manage to align themselves perfectly in a heart that once used to beat for love.

Khalid was wealthy, educated, and ambitious. She loved all three qualities about him, only to find out that he was an even bigger fan of the number three. He managed to juggle three beautiful, educated, and loving girls. Ayesha, Sawsan, and her, who were all victims of a short, played-out, real-life drama, where the Khalid, the Kuwaiti male was in charge of the script, and all three girls were his favorite pass times between his so called life of chalet and diwaniya. Had he ever stopped to wonder what happened to the three girls he once knew? Probably not! He walked all over them, leveled them off little by little, because why would a Kuwaiti girl feel special and appreciated, anyhow?

Her second tragedy was with Mohammed. I am sure you all know the Mohammeds out there. They are the boys disguised as men. Need I say more? The two met at their little sister’s graduation ceremony. Their families came over to say their hellos. Then, magically their eyes met. They both wished they had locked lips right then and there. Puppy love; oh, puppy love. He told his mother about her; he bragged to his friends about how he had found his soul mate. It had been two years since then. She was 28, and he was 32, and we all know what the next step should have been. Well, we all knew what the next step should have been except for Mohammed. How could he have given away his freedom of weekend travel and momentary sinful pleasures? A child needs his freedom of exploration, so what did she do? It’s more a question of what could she have done? She leaves him to be“forever young.”

To get her mind off Mohammed, she left to Beirut to allow herself time out from her life. She allowed time to rediscover her life. During the first night, her girlfriends planned an explosive night tailored to diminish the initial shock of break-up. At the night-club, high on music and wine, she danced the night away with Thomas, a Lebanese investment banker that was blown away by her beauty and innocence. When Thomas looked into her eyes, she felt wanted. When Thomas got her a drink, she felt appreciated, and then when Thomas touched her hands, she felt beautiful. The next day, she and her girlfriends invited Thomas for lunch; she was happy to see the man that brought back feelings to her heart. They spent eight long hours together. He took her on long drives up in the mountains, and they both talked about everything, and anything that crossed their minds. Thomas never laid a hand on her, and purely enjoyed every moment of their platonic time together. Both of them seemed to share the same amount of pleasure for each other’s company. And before she had to unfortunately and logically return to her hotel for the night to catch her early flight in the morning, she kindly asked him with sadness to drive her back. As she was about to leave the car, his tears started to roll down like waterfalls, he was sad to part, and she was feeling an ache in her heart that she had never felt before. It was substance. It was quality versus quantity. It was purity verses lust, and it was everything a girl yearns for and more. She took one step out of the vehicle, and one last long look at the man that had changed everything. She started walking away wondering if she could have stayed a little bit more, if they should have held hands a little bit longer, if she should have run back into his arms. And finally, as she entered her cold hotel room, she wondered if it all really happened at all or not.

Back in Kuwait Abdullah was waiting. When Abdullah had met her at a company dinner around a year before, he was taken aback by her sense of confidence. He started to be a frequent passerby, a frequent caller, a frequent curious Joe about anything and everything that her department was humble enough to offer. She had noticed his interest, and after a while, it was confirmed late one night, when he called and confessed his admiration. All she was able to do was explain to him that she was involved, and extremely flattered, and thanked him for his kind words. She was still with Mohammed at the time. Abdullah could not sleep for days querying about her, wanting to know everything about her life to its last detail, and most importantly, who she was with.

Abdullah was one of those guys that was incredibly ecstatic about the news of her break up. He could not wait to try his luck once more. After several months of nagging, she decided to give it a go. Any Kuwaiti man with knowledge that she had once known another guy for several years without the conclusion of marriage would translate to slut in their language. After several phone calls from him, and passing by her office, she rediscovered comfort again. She smiled with every phone call, she was happy when he had come for his daily visits. One day he begged her to meet him at his apartment solo. When she realized his intentions, she was in disbelief. When she firmly said “no” after several attempts, he magically disappeared, and never called her ever again.

She was alone in a world where love is but a distant memory. And somewhere along the paths of the olive trees and the vineyards lain her womanhood, forever preserved. It was there that God was kind enough to show her a glimpse of the true essence of love. It was there where she heard a baby’s cry amongst the berry trees. It was there where she felt the need of wanting to create a love child. It was there where she practiced and exhausted love. It was away from Kuwait, away from its society of despair and ridicule. Away from the handsome, wealthy men that lack the most important qualities set fourth by God. It was without the help of Khalid, Mohammed, or Abdullah that she discovered life. And it was without their hands that she discovered touch. It was without their words that she discovered poetry. She will never give in to their lack of sympathy and appreciation. She felt a sense of power she knew her experience would soon become as a common one.

There is a Thomas in every corner who will remind us of Khalids’, Mohammeds’, and Abdullahs’ shortcomings. And she knew that one day the men of her country would have to aspire to become Thomas in order to fulfill the Kuwaiti girls’ standards of love.

© COPYRIGHT WATERLILIE 2005