Yesterday, I picked up my younger brother and sister (now not so young at 13 and 17 respectively) from school and as usual listened to them rehash their days. I heard my sister talk about the exam she had tomorrow, the standardized test she had coming up at the end of the month, the extracurricular activities she devoted her time to after school. I listened to my brother talk about the Math test he needed to spend today studying for, how he hoped so hard for an A I could see it in his eyes.
By this point, we had reached our neighborhood and I reached the STOP sign we always stopped at en route to our home. To go home, you would turn left. But if I turned right, I would drive to the elementary school where there was a park my siblings used to play at when they went to school there. Now they were older, and all I could hear from them was the list of commitments and things that were taking away any ounce of mental free time they should have at their age.
"Who wants to go to the park?" I asked as I hit the brake at the STOP sign.
Silence. Confusion.
"Are you serious?" my sister asked.
"Yeah, why not? You guys deserve to release stress before you even think about studying again."
Once, again, silence. Zero resistance to the idea. Three brains ticking, three imaginations conjuring images of letting go of responsibilities and enjoying a fun moment on a Monday.
I changed my blinker and turned right.
"Yeaaaaaaaaah!" my brother shouted from the backseat.
I parked and we slowly, even hesitantly, walked out of the car, eyeing the slides and steps that we know felt like strangers to. What if the kids were still in school? There were cars in the parking lot, so maybe there are still students in school, teachers, parents who would see us-
Pause. Breathe. Run.
"I'll beat you there!" I said, and bolted into a run, without thinking, worrying, or hesitating any longer.
We slid down the kiddie slides, tried and failed to go down the poles like we used to when we were a lot smaller, hung onto monkey bars and felt so much older. We pretended the woodchips on the ground were "danger zones." We tagged each other, and raced up and down the slides, under the steps, under the slides, jumped off of heights we couldn't before. We climbed the jungle gym and felt fear and the fearlessness of our childhood all at once.
"We should probably head home," my sister said. I could see her think of her list of commitments again.
Pause. Breathe. Run.
I stared at her, tapped her, and shouted, "Tag you're it!" Once again, we all broke into a run. As I think back to yesterday, I imagine it all in slow motion. I feel myself running, running, running and forgetting everything. I forgot that I'll be moving, I forgot life commitments, decisions I need to be making, the fear I have had over the past week about losing those I love.
Instead of dwelling on how much I'd miss them, I ran with them. I watched my brother and sister let loose in ways they haven't in years. My sister, who is definitely not the athletic type, ran with her hair blowing behind her until she had to lay on the playground and catch her breath. My brother screamed with joy and for a quick second it was like he was five again and I was chasing behind him while I was 14, his toddler giggles echoing as he ran.
While I ran with my sister behind me, she started to yell that my phone was ringing. I told her I hadn't been responding to my notifications so it probably wasn't a call I couldn't return later. She insisted, and I stopped and pulled my phone out. On the screen was the number of a medical school I had recently interviewed at and hadn't heard back from yet.
They both stood around me, probably due to the shock on my face, and paused. I answered, and lo and behold, I was granted my the grace of Allah, another seat at a medical school.
I hung up and tears welled into my eyes. "I got in. I got into another school."
Aseel jumped up and down and I smiled at her joy. But inside, the fear I had all week was back. Fear with excitement, but mostly fear. I tucked my phone back in my pocket and looked at the slide we stood next to, where we were.
Pause. Breathe. Run.
We climbed onto the "fortress" of the playground and felt the wind and sun against our faces. I turned and faced them and mentally captured their pink and elated faces.
"Promise me something," I said to them, and they both stopped to listen. "Let's promise to remember this moment right here. Freeze for a second and remember this day forever."
Silence. Three brains ticking, three imaginations sorting these few memorable minutes into a place they could pull them out from when they needed them.
Pause. Breathe. Run.
"Are we racing to the car?" my brother asked. Three smiles silently agreed.
By this point, we had reached our neighborhood and I reached the STOP sign we always stopped at en route to our home. To go home, you would turn left. But if I turned right, I would drive to the elementary school where there was a park my siblings used to play at when they went to school there. Now they were older, and all I could hear from them was the list of commitments and things that were taking away any ounce of mental free time they should have at their age.
"Who wants to go to the park?" I asked as I hit the brake at the STOP sign.
Silence. Confusion.
"Are you serious?" my sister asked.
"Yeah, why not? You guys deserve to release stress before you even think about studying again."
Once, again, silence. Zero resistance to the idea. Three brains ticking, three imaginations conjuring images of letting go of responsibilities and enjoying a fun moment on a Monday.
I changed my blinker and turned right.
"Yeaaaaaaaaah!" my brother shouted from the backseat.
I parked and we slowly, even hesitantly, walked out of the car, eyeing the slides and steps that we know felt like strangers to. What if the kids were still in school? There were cars in the parking lot, so maybe there are still students in school, teachers, parents who would see us-
Pause. Breathe. Run.
"I'll beat you there!" I said, and bolted into a run, without thinking, worrying, or hesitating any longer.
We slid down the kiddie slides, tried and failed to go down the poles like we used to when we were a lot smaller, hung onto monkey bars and felt so much older. We pretended the woodchips on the ground were "danger zones." We tagged each other, and raced up and down the slides, under the steps, under the slides, jumped off of heights we couldn't before. We climbed the jungle gym and felt fear and the fearlessness of our childhood all at once.
"We should probably head home," my sister said. I could see her think of her list of commitments again.
Pause. Breathe. Run.
I stared at her, tapped her, and shouted, "Tag you're it!" Once again, we all broke into a run. As I think back to yesterday, I imagine it all in slow motion. I feel myself running, running, running and forgetting everything. I forgot that I'll be moving, I forgot life commitments, decisions I need to be making, the fear I have had over the past week about losing those I love.
Instead of dwelling on how much I'd miss them, I ran with them. I watched my brother and sister let loose in ways they haven't in years. My sister, who is definitely not the athletic type, ran with her hair blowing behind her until she had to lay on the playground and catch her breath. My brother screamed with joy and for a quick second it was like he was five again and I was chasing behind him while I was 14, his toddler giggles echoing as he ran.
While I ran with my sister behind me, she started to yell that my phone was ringing. I told her I hadn't been responding to my notifications so it probably wasn't a call I couldn't return later. She insisted, and I stopped and pulled my phone out. On the screen was the number of a medical school I had recently interviewed at and hadn't heard back from yet.
They both stood around me, probably due to the shock on my face, and paused. I answered, and lo and behold, I was granted my the grace of Allah, another seat at a medical school.
I hung up and tears welled into my eyes. "I got in. I got into another school."
Aseel jumped up and down and I smiled at her joy. But inside, the fear I had all week was back. Fear with excitement, but mostly fear. I tucked my phone back in my pocket and looked at the slide we stood next to, where we were.
Pause. Breathe. Run.
We climbed onto the "fortress" of the playground and felt the wind and sun against our faces. I turned and faced them and mentally captured their pink and elated faces.
"Promise me something," I said to them, and they both stopped to listen. "Let's promise to remember this moment right here. Freeze for a second and remember this day forever."
Silence. Three brains ticking, three imaginations sorting these few memorable minutes into a place they could pull them out from when they needed them.
Pause. Breathe. Run.
"Are we racing to the car?" my brother asked. Three smiles silently agreed.
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