Family Matters

"Staying home on a Friday night?" the chinese dude who owned the store just below my pad asked as I was paying for the pack of cigarettes. I threw him a smile.

For some reason today, I feel pretty home-sick. I miss my dad. I miss our tennis games, our trips to Baskin Robbins. I miss my mom. I miss her shouts. I miss her cooking. I miss my sister Jehan. I miss her hugs of comfort. I miss my brother Amir. I miss his witty self. I miss my brother Waleed. I miss our long conversations. I miss my brother Zen. I miss our drinking sessions. I miss my sister Ness. I miss our debates, fights, then trips to McDonalds afterwards. I miss my brother Mansour. I miss his patience as I throw tantrums at him. I miss my brother Ayman. I miss his radical thoughts. I miss my brother Othman. I miss his weirdness. I miss our cats Yuri, Katrina, Gloria, Salem, Tigger and KitKat. I miss home.

That is exactly why I am not out partying. I just want to sulk home alone in my pad. All alone.

When I was in Manila for vacation, my brother was gonna throw out some papers and stuff that belonged to my sister. It was taking a lot of space plus it was of no use anymore he said. I took the whole box with me back here in Cagayan. I found a write-up my sis did and it reminded me so much of the good times with my family back in Jeddah. Here it is:

Desert Sun

"Get your foot off my face!"

"You touched my nose!! Mom!! He's at it again!!"

"I wouldn't touch your nose if you paid me a million."

"Move and you're dead."

"Dad, are you whistling? Are you counting to ten?"

"Mom, did you leave the faucet on in the kitchen on purpose?"

This is the ordinary conversations that takes place inside our Isuzu Trooper when we're traveling. I have eight brothers. You get the picture. On this particular day, the boys are hyped. We are going on a family trip to Riyadh (capital city of Saudi Arabia) from Jeddah (tourist capital of Saudi Arabia) to visit some cousins for the summer. It is a 12-hour long trip; that is, if we make at least four quick 30-minute stopovers at gasoline staitons cum restaurants dotted along the sides of the desert road.

Traveling to Riyadh is not new to us; we've done this several times before. And everytime, on the first couple of hours of the trip, this same scene is replayed. My father would be driving, whistling to himself most probably to drown the sounds of our bickering. He would have his Frank Sinatra tape playing, perhaps in an attempt to calm down the passengers. No such luck. My mother would be on the front seat, mentally checking and re-checking the list of things we need, if we have enough to eat until the next stopover, if she plugged all the appliances at home, and maybe calculating how much time it will take for me and my brothers to quit kicking the back of her seat. It is at these times thast I have the utmost respect for my my parents' patience.

Our seating arrangements whave been prepared by my old folks beforehand. Siblings are strategically positioned according to their traits to avoid clashes and to make the least possible noise. The moody sibling gets the seat next to the silent who is then seated next to noisy sibling with the eldest (and therfore, most 'controlling') sibling right next to him, etc. etc. I am the only sibling who doesn't have a trait. I am the GIRL sibling, therefore, I get any seat I want; in this case, the window seat behind my father's. I look at my parents who are pretending nothing is happening. Oh, yes, my father was right. We did not take the airplane, not because it would be expensive (yeah, yeah, sure, sure), but because traveling by car with the whole family builds character. I concur. Look at all these characters we've built so far, and not even halfway through the journey!

An hour and a half later, the boys are sedated. Two are snoring, one has earphones plugged on-- supposedly so only he can hear the sounds coming from his Discman, but by the volume he's going by, he might as well have brought his speakers, one is preoccupied with his GameBoy, three are talking in hushed tones-- most probably about girls. I look out the window into the vast, vast desert and watch in amazement as the little whirlwinds pass us by. We set out at about 3 pm, so that by this time, the sun is preparing to set. Outside it is hot, hot, hot, and our air condition is working it big time. The desert is swathed in an orange-red light, making it all so romantic. I sigh into the window and watch my breath fog up the glass. Nighttime is slowly creeping up on us, and in a matter of time, it will be dark, except for the glow of our headlights, the white stripes of paint on the road, and the signs on the side, 45 km exit to Basrah, etc.

"What if you were left out there, lost in those mountains , with only sand as your companion, at this time of the day? What would you do? What if you suddenly bump into this huge monster who breaks you in half and devours you? What if you see a ghost?"

This comes from my seatmate, the talkative sibling, breaking my reverie. I nudge him away and close my eyes to shut him out. But I think about what he said. What if...?

I awake to the sounds of our car doors opening and slamming. The fluorescent light of the gasoline station momentarily blinds me. I get out of the car and follow my brothers to the little restaurant on the side. Everyone is stretching and yawning. The early evening sky still, and silence surrounds us. We enter through the Family Entrance of the restaurant. There is always a Family Entrance and a Male-Only Entrance for those traveling alone. There are booths with curtains around them for privacy. Two of them are occupied by Arab families. We take the third one from the door. A man appears to take our orders. We don't really have a choice, they only serve Arab Khabsah, which is Java rice with spiced whole chickens. The man offers us "Bebsi" for our drinks. (Arabs do not have the letter P, so everything with that sound comes of f as B) and we nod our heads so he would leave us and hurry with our orders. We are all starving. My brothers rub their arms, the night desert air is cool outside, and the door is wide open, bringing the draft in. My father starts to talk on how ancient Arabs made their houses (with mud). And goes into the details. We fidget around, trying to sound interested. We've heard this one twice before.

After thirty minutes, the waiter comes up to us and serves us our dinner. It was good., and we all finished our food in a very short time. My father goes through the Male-Only Entrance, where the cashier is and pays while we head back to the car. More groaning and complaining from my brothers, who long ot stay out of the car. They hate the cramped positions they get. But we are all ushered in by mom. As we resume our road trip, I watch the outline of the mountain as they go by and let them lull me to sleep. We still have about eight hours to reach our destination. I expect more complaining, more bickering, more request to go to the bathroom. I close my eyes and drift to slumber.

On my third waking-up , we are already inside the city of Riyadh. We are greated by the old, magnificent buildings of the oldest university in the Middle East, the King Saud University. The buildings are very low, no skyscrapers, no towers. The streets are immaculate. It's 4 am. The sky is brightening up. My brothers slowly wake up and stretch about in their limited spaces. I smile inwardly. We have arrived.

***

We are not an interesting family. Nothing special. Just the typical family everyone's got. But we are pretty entertaining though. I think. Sigh...I miss everybody. I hate being a grown-up.