I never had it easy.
From watching my parents succumb to the horrors of a car accident to craving the healing presence of the man I love-my entire life-I had navigated through this messy maze I call my life with a shard of hope in my heart.
Every da...
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"Hey, come look at this."
Wahdan looked up from the photo albums he was going through and walked over to where Mubaraka was crouched over a cardboard box large enough to carry an entire air conditioner. He looked into the box and instantly gave a scoff, his eyes twinkling in mirth.
"I can't believe this thing made it into the 2010s!" He said, as he reached into the box and tried to pull out the almost 30-kilo monitor, but failed miserably in his attempt and let the bulky monitor fall back into the box, a loud thump resonating in the attic.
"Well, with its weight and durability, there's no surprise there," Mubaraka exclaimed and knocked her fingers on the monitor.
"It's been a lifetime since these things went extinct. No one even uses a CRT monitor now, they're practically dead."
"And to think you've kept it safe and sound in the basement all these years." Mubaraka smiled. "Why did you keep it, though? I thought you gave away practically every ancient possession of yours."
"I grew up with this baby, Mubaraka. It is my childhood."
Mubaraka crossed her arms. "Baby?! Don't tell me you're calling this decade-old box a baby! It's practically-"
"Age of Empires!" Wahdan laughed, interrupting Mubaraka as he reached into a nearby cardboard box and pulled out a thin book-like case, with the title of the game messily scrawled over it. "I thought I lost this!"
"I wish you did," Mubaraka rolled her eyes, nevertheless smiling at the way her brother's eyes twinkled before the dull sunlight streaming in through the large, floor-length attic window.
"Mind you, I spent like thirty hours a week playing this game."
"Your horrible grades accounted for it," Mubaraka snickered, and she moved away from the CRT and a crazy fanboying Wahdan towards three boxes that were secluded from the rest, stowed away in a dark corner of the attic.
A shiver crawled up Mubaraka's spine as she neared the boxes, and she crouched beside them, taking in a deep breath at the sight. One box was labeled 'Baba' and the other was labeled 'Mama'. Every belonging of her parents was preserved in these now softened and dirty cardboard boxes. Her Baba's diaries, phone journals, books, watches, pens, wallets. Her mother's perfume bottles, makeup brushes, dinner sets, shawls. Wahdan had packed all of it up, he had even rolled up the carpets in their bedroom, leaving only a single picture of the four of them as a family on the hallway shelf. That was it. The rest was stowed away, for all it would be was a painful reminder of what wasn't anymore.
