I'm ok

She wasn’t sure why she was feeling this way. Like she had truly lost her marbles, this feeling of hollowness of leaving fragments of herself everywhere but contained within her. She inhaled again, tensing her shoulders, willing her tears to recede back into their sockets. She exhaled deeply.

I’m ok.

She looked up at the skies, reminding herself of the umpteenth time that evening of her blessings. A loving family, a roof over her head.

A job she loved.

I’m ok. Her brain ground with will power to forge the mantra into mind. Yet a single tear escaped her façade.

Was it possible to feel as though one’s essence was ebbing away? Was it possible to feel exhaustion from constant decay? Of feeling as though you were not living as you were constantly replaying mountainous responsibilities.

Every. Single. Day.

Yet it felt wrong to bring it up.

Shourouk halted her attempts of wiping away her tears. She knew from a study she read earlier that crying did make you feel better. She just hoped her tears would run dry soon so that she’d be able to complete the rest of the day’s chores.

Her phone rang, and she quickly cleared her throat, drying her eyes with her shirt sleeve.

“Hello?”  The smile injected itself into her voice. Her swallowed down the thickness of despair, forcing it down to the pits of her stomach. It settled like a corrosive acid.

Shourook felt a pressing constriction crushing painfully against her sternum.

It was making it impossible to breathe.

“What?”

“You busy?”

Guilt racked through her, yet she felt the tears creeping foth and she knew she couldn’t prohibit them.

“Sorry mate.” She scratched her jaw tiredly. “Tariq I have to feed the horses. Can you tell Ummi that you guys can start eating without me? I covered the salad with the silver bowl. And the Man-esh should be in the oven.”

She heard the footsteps, knowing her brother was checking the areas she had instructed.

She heard a low whistle, and despite herself she grinned with exhaustion.

“Man, are you cooking for the Prince? Why’d you make so much? You made Fatoush, and riz ala dajaj, kibbeh and…YOU MADE DESSERT?”

Tariq groaned, and the guilt Shurouk felt opened a chasm on her heart. The familiar pressure built, a pain she often felt when she knew she was stressed.

“Shuroo, you gotta stop making so much. Ummi was so angry after you left. She’s telling us that you never ask for help. I mean, she was angry at me!”

Shuroo furrowed her brow. “Why was she angry, you offered to help? Plus as much as I love you mate, when cooking for guests, I can cook a lot faster without you.”

“That’s the problem!” Her brother sighed clearly exasperated. “You kept saying you didn’t need help. And not funny!” She could almost hear the face he pulled when saying this.

Shourouk placed the pail down and began scrubbing the stall of Pepper, the family pony. She balanced the phone against her shoulder.

“And now you’re not listening.” Her brother grumbled.

Shourouk’s heartbeat placated, the manner it always seemed to slow when she felt sensation overcome her. It was only Tariq that she felt she could confide in. She knew if her saw her now, he’d crack her façade with a piercing remark laced with his characteristic warmth.

Tariq’s warmth could melt glaciers.

Shourouk bit her cheek, her lips, anything to prevent her to start.

“Shuroo?”

The concern was what got to her. A blow that shattered the dam of demise within her as a loud sniffle escaped her, she held back her sob, opting to exhale shakily.

“I’m just tired.” She said softly, trying to inject the smile yet not quite mustering the strength to do so.

Tariq sighed. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Shurouk stayed silently. The barn opened and Tariq, hand still on his mobile with a gentle teasing spoke into it.

“Can you hear me?”

Shourouk smiled, wiping her tears in what she hoped to be incospiciously.

Tariq pocketed his mobile and took the brush from Shuroo’s hand.

“Why’re you sad?”

Shuroo sighed. “Nah it’s dumb.”

Im ok. The tears wouldn’t stop no matter how much she wiped them away.

“What’s wrong?”

Tariq looked at her with comic expectance, the way he did when he wanted to be serious. Remaining on serious hefty topics was often a struggle for Tariq.

Shuroo tweaked his ear.

“Whats wrong?” Her brother persisted in a singsong voice.

Shuroo took a deep breathe. Having her brother witness her struggle suddenly made the sensation feel insignificant. It was still there but felt so much lighter.

“I’m waiting Miss.”

Shuroo pursed her lips.

“Hmm?” Her brother placed a heavy hand on her head. “I’m waiting.”

“I just don’t want to be compared to Fatoum, of what she did before she married.” Was what she wanted to say.

Instead “I’m really tired”

Tariq groaned. Fatoum, the eldest of the Murad family had been a difficult child. Though obedient and dutiful to her parents, she was so… sensitive, unwilling to take criticism to the extent of having outbursts when things didn’t go according to plan.

It only increased in the two years before her marriage, the emotions and yearning during engagement making her tightly coiled spring, realising its tension at any momentary crisis.

Though she was the oldest, gave the best hugs, and was a wonderful person to hang out with, Shurouk had always found herself in a position of having to counsel her sister. Her sister often looking at her with her beautiful,trusting eyes, seeking for affirmation that whatever Endeavor she sought, whatever qualm she found herself in, whatever whatever she was in was well and true.

It was difficult, for the trauma Fatoum had suffered as a child from bullying had built her into a highly insecure and extremely sensitive adult. It was like trying to describe an entire ocean. She was a wonderful, empathetic, sincere person who would truly refuse to wrong anyone.

On the other hand, she constantly sought the affirmation of her family. Her family always had to be proud of her. Had to agree with her. And as the eldest sister, she wanted, and strived to be a role model, despite the fact her four siblings demonstrated a greater maturity than her.

Yeah. It was complicated.

Secretly Shourouk felt bad for her brother in law Hussain. She wasn;t sure how things stood in her sisters household. However, when Fatoum was upset with a momentary spat with Hussein, and

Shouuk, like a well seasoned performer would prod and ask what was wrong, the waterworks would flow. And it seemed, that despite her marriage, a lot of the dynamic between the two was the same.

The household of Fatoum living as a single woman was one rift with outbreaks, in which the functionality of the home was dependent on her mood. If she was stressed, it would affect the whole family. And when she was upset?

The tears, the hours of consolation, advice Shourouk would have to deliver whilst knowing none of it would be adhered to. The annoyance of Ummi willing Fatoum to think straight.

Though Shuroo loved her sister, the single greaest fear she possessed was ever resembling her sister.

Thus she worked harder. Studied harder. Loved her family harder.

And hid her thoughts and pain well into the recesses of her veins. She learnt how to feel happy when she was not. And that migrane when things were so overwhelming , the sensation that her heart was moments away from bursting, became a sensation she learned to bear.

She was about to admit this to Tariq, yet her practice of bottling served her instincly. Besides, and here the though curdles around the edges, twinges with the melancholic reality of things. How was he to understand? Tariq never sacrificed the way she did. A sacrifice to him was ten minutes of his time to change the bins, an hour or two a week to wash the bathrooms. He was out at uni almost all day, and had to study.

Yet for her, even though she too was a uni student, it was quietly expected of her.

A guilty paradox she questioned sparingly was that, had she made a mistake, by excelling so much, that now it had become a silent demand?

She wasn;t completely transparent either, and knew if she detailed the whole, true extent of her responsibilities… no she couldn’t do that. It would just hurt, seeing that her one confidant, the moment she told him, would reach that blankness in his eyes as they reach the abyss of no common ground.

“Yeah I gotta ask for help.” She sighed, as she always did, knowing nothing would change.

Getting comments from her mother of being her right hand was an affirmation that she was doing it right. And the one time she did cry, the stinging remark of being like her sister forever drawing the line of what was wrong.

It was traumatizing to know that Fatoum had rewritten the family dynamics, and it felt like Shurouk was paying.

Shurouk took a shaky breathe and focused on Tariq cleaning the stall. Another preservation technique, seeking gratitude.

“Thank’s for cleaning the stall.”

“I’ll be thankful when you go eat dinner.” Tariq said without turing around.

Shuroo laughed and left the barn.

I'm ok.

She had to be.