Similarity by Christian Chlebek
Photography
The Faint of Family by Zain Raza
Nonfiction
When disaster strikes
There I was, by my computer, like a baby would cling to his or her mother. My mom, 43, comes and tells me to pray with her. I say no, ignorantly knowing that it is optional and that I could do said action at any other time with her. But the facts of optional prayer bugged me and my mom, but little will I know of what prayer can save you from. I go up, do a religious action called “wudhu”, sort of like baptism, as you use water. Washing my mouth and spitting it 3 times, washing my nose 3 times, and ultimately washing my face with full intention of my honorable preparation. Water goes into my hands and my arms on both sides, front and back, left arm and then the right, before my fingers between the sides of my head, washing back to front. Finally, the water washes my feet right and left, via wiping my toes front to back, before I simply walk to the prayer area. My mom arrives, proud of my preparation and my commitment to the prayer. Mash-allah, he is going to be a great man someday, my mom thinks, but the feeling of her fatigue runs wild in my mind, as she walks to the rug in a way I find very slow, but then something pops out in my mind, she’s 43, not 30, something like most American mothers. As my mom recited the beginning of the prayer, feelings of uncertainty sprang out in my body, whether it be good or what seems to be bad but for an exemplary reason. However, as my mom said something in what I hear to be Arabic or Urdu, we lowered our heads bent our knees with hands over them, and just as we were about to stand straight, I felt the impact of my shoulder with my mom’s, and before I knew it, I was lying the floor, knocked to the ground like a bowling pin alongside my mom, as she just laid there like a corpse. Something protruded through my mind, something, something terrible must be going on.
Crisis management
My leg, crying out for help in utter distress, so I yanked it out, and shook my mom, begging to stand up, but laid there like a corpse. I flew downstairs like a plane to my brother, called for help for what is happening with mom. He tried to do the same thing with my mom that I did, and did the unthinkable: He pulled out his phone, fingers on the 9 and 1 buttons, and asked for help. I wondered, how is it like to have emergency services right in your home? Will it be panicked like there is a pandemic or relaxed like it is an everyday situation? I never knew, until now. He called dad, who was at the mosque, and asked him to come home to help mom. Then the heart stopper: the ambulance was here and what looks like to be a firetruck. I saw people wearing blue and yellow, with what resembles a life-support machine, before checking my mom like a guardian. I thought, is mom asleep and the whole thing would be a false alarm, or would it be something worse like nothing before? Before I knew it, the responders picked her up and strapped her on the stretcher and evacuated to the ambulance as if she was dead. As Dad arrived, having a concerned look on his face after trekking through the roads and highways in his car before facing the ambulance vehicle, a sight he had never seen before outside our own home. As I ask about why Mom would fall like that, he says what I cannot comprehend with apprehension before the sirens go off into our ears and right in my own eyes, seeing mom be taken away for the first time.
Road to answers and destiny
Our car rushed to the hospital, while I used Rice-Krispies to satisfy my hunger and to ease my tension, and ultimately took our steps in the dehumanizing hospital. Everywhere resided a source of uncertainty and fear. There was at least 1 person everywhere I look, either standing still like a corpse on the bed or menacingly resting on a chair, or people in blue working like there is a global pandemic going on in the world. As butterflies in my stomach flew around, things sprang up: would this be the start of a dark future? A future where I would live with one dead parent like in the TV and movies? Eventually, as we arrived at the room, with the sight of my mom’s arms and legs comforted by sheets and pillows on the bed like she has a terminal illness being in my eyes. Regret started to fill my entire body, as well as questions that popped out of nowhere overwhelming me; what did I do to make her end up in this pickle? Did I do something intentionally or unintentionally to make her end up in this state? Was the actions I was doing in the past responsible for her situation? So many questions popped into my head, some unrelated to the situation.
Moment of truth
Words came out from my mouth to my dad: what’s up with her? Why is she in the bed like that? My dad explained that she fainted. I thought, that’s preposterous! Why didn’t mom faint earlier then if this is her problem? The fact of her blood sugar levels making her faint, just as me and my mom were praying came out from my dad’s mouth. A few questions in my mind were bugging me; what is it like to faint? Is it when you go out cold as if you were asleep, not aware of your outside world? Something was up with mom, I thought, as I looked at the ordinary paintings as well as the drawers of medical supplies in the torture chamber-looking room that I was in.
Recovery to normality
Eventually, the words of her falling down like a sack of potatoes when she was praying with me came out of my mother’s mouth, as white sheets and pillows surrounded her everywhere as usual, and I felt a pound pulling my heart. I would still have my mother with me for years to come, possibly into adulthood as the word “yes” unleashed out my mouth like any other teenager would. As the car neared us, my body felt like it was going to swell as our home came to us with the efficiency of that of an Uber driver. My mom’s bed, giving her every sense of comfort did the same to me, and I knew one thing from this experience. When something serious is wrong with someone, call 911, feel it is not a prank call and is as serious as a natural disaster, and simply kill time. This plan will never leave me like a doorknob never leaves a door, as if the situation that just happened is acting as a glue.
There I was, by my computer, like a baby would cling to his or her mother. My mom, 43, comes and tells me to pray with her. I say no, ignorantly knowing that it is optional and that I could do said action at any other time with her. But the facts of optional prayer bugged me and my mom, but little will I know of what prayer can save you from. I go up, do a religious action called “wudhu”, sort of like baptism, as you use water. Washing my mouth and spitting it 3 times, washing my nose 3 times, and ultimately washing my face with full intention of my honorable preparation. Water goes into my hands and my arms on both sides, front and back, left arm and then the right, before my fingers between the sides of my head, washing back to front. Finally, the water washes my feet right and left, via wiping my toes front to back, before I simply walk to the prayer area. My mom arrives, proud of my preparation and my commitment to the prayer. Mash-allah, he is going to be a great man someday, my mom thinks, but the feeling of her fatigue runs wild in my mind, as she walks to the rug in a way I find very slow, but then something pops out in my mind, she’s 43, not 30, something like most American mothers. As my mom recited the beginning of the prayer, feelings of uncertainty sprang out in my body, whether it be good or what seems to be bad but for an exemplary reason. However, as my mom said something in what I hear to be Arabic or Urdu, we lowered our heads bent our knees with hands over them, and just as we were about to stand straight, I felt the impact of my shoulder with my mom’s, and before I knew it, I was lying the floor, knocked to the ground like a bowling pin alongside my mom, as she just laid there like a corpse. Something protruded through my mind, something, something terrible must be going on.
Crisis management
My leg, crying out for help in utter distress, so I yanked it out, and shook my mom, begging to stand up, but laid there like a corpse. I flew downstairs like a plane to my brother, called for help for what is happening with mom. He tried to do the same thing with my mom that I did, and did the unthinkable: He pulled out his phone, fingers on the 9 and 1 buttons, and asked for help. I wondered, how is it like to have emergency services right in your home? Will it be panicked like there is a pandemic or relaxed like it is an everyday situation? I never knew, until now. He called dad, who was at the mosque, and asked him to come home to help mom. Then the heart stopper: the ambulance was here and what looks like to be a firetruck. I saw people wearing blue and yellow, with what resembles a life-support machine, before checking my mom like a guardian. I thought, is mom asleep and the whole thing would be a false alarm, or would it be something worse like nothing before? Before I knew it, the responders picked her up and strapped her on the stretcher and evacuated to the ambulance as if she was dead. As Dad arrived, having a concerned look on his face after trekking through the roads and highways in his car before facing the ambulance vehicle, a sight he had never seen before outside our own home. As I ask about why Mom would fall like that, he says what I cannot comprehend with apprehension before the sirens go off into our ears and right in my own eyes, seeing mom be taken away for the first time.
Road to answers and destiny
Our car rushed to the hospital, while I used Rice-Krispies to satisfy my hunger and to ease my tension, and ultimately took our steps in the dehumanizing hospital. Everywhere resided a source of uncertainty and fear. There was at least 1 person everywhere I look, either standing still like a corpse on the bed or menacingly resting on a chair, or people in blue working like there is a global pandemic going on in the world. As butterflies in my stomach flew around, things sprang up: would this be the start of a dark future? A future where I would live with one dead parent like in the TV and movies? Eventually, as we arrived at the room, with the sight of my mom’s arms and legs comforted by sheets and pillows on the bed like she has a terminal illness being in my eyes. Regret started to fill my entire body, as well as questions that popped out of nowhere overwhelming me; what did I do to make her end up in this pickle? Did I do something intentionally or unintentionally to make her end up in this state? Was the actions I was doing in the past responsible for her situation? So many questions popped into my head, some unrelated to the situation.
Moment of truth
Words came out from my mouth to my dad: what’s up with her? Why is she in the bed like that? My dad explained that she fainted. I thought, that’s preposterous! Why didn’t mom faint earlier then if this is her problem? The fact of her blood sugar levels making her faint, just as me and my mom were praying came out from my dad’s mouth. A few questions in my mind were bugging me; what is it like to faint? Is it when you go out cold as if you were asleep, not aware of your outside world? Something was up with mom, I thought, as I looked at the ordinary paintings as well as the drawers of medical supplies in the torture chamber-looking room that I was in.
Recovery to normality
Eventually, the words of her falling down like a sack of potatoes when she was praying with me came out of my mother’s mouth, as white sheets and pillows surrounded her everywhere as usual, and I felt a pound pulling my heart. I would still have my mother with me for years to come, possibly into adulthood as the word “yes” unleashed out my mouth like any other teenager would. As the car neared us, my body felt like it was going to swell as our home came to us with the efficiency of that of an Uber driver. My mom’s bed, giving her every sense of comfort did the same to me, and I knew one thing from this experience. When something serious is wrong with someone, call 911, feel it is not a prank call and is as serious as a natural disaster, and simply kill time. This plan will never leave me like a doorknob never leaves a door, as if the situation that just happened is acting as a glue.