Vein of Life.

Chapter One.

C H A P T E R   O N E 

Aristotle, a famous Greek philosopher, once said, that the energy of the mind is the essence of life. 

If we really, truly contemplate this concept, we come to a shell-shocking stop due to it’s relevance. Some say, that an unhealthy mind equates to an unhealthy body. The ruin of the mind, is the demise of the whole body. 

And oh, how right Aristotle was. 

It wasn’t until my family had escaped the civil war in Lebanon in 1987, approximately eight years ago, that I realised the power of the mind. Growing up during war was hard, but attempting to have a semblance of a life - to actually live - whilst F16’s flew over your head every few minutes, was even harder. 

Trying to cope during a war, with an Autistic older brother, was catastrophic.

And attempting to flee the war with an Autistic brother, moving to a whole new country…well, that was almost impossible. Almost. 

But we did it. Albeit with a few scars on the way.  

When we had first arrived as immigrants in Australia, my anxiety had followed me. Mentally, I knew that once we had stepped out of the plane, I was in a much safer place. I didn’t know what to expect, none of us did, but we knew, that whatever we suffered here, would not add up to a minuscule of the pain we suffered back home. 

So even though I knew that a bomb wouldn’t be exploding near me at any moment, it didn’t halt or inhibit the choking feelings accompanied by stress and fear, nor did it stop the constant worry and questioning. 

The first time I stepped foot into an Australian, English-speaking school, I had almost passed out in terror. Every time I walked passed someone, I half-expected them to lash out at me. When I slept at night, the ominous, whooping sounds of the F16 still rang in my ears. The first time someone offered me a hot meal and clothes, I rejected the food, forcing myself to believe that it had somehow been poisoned and that if I ate anything from this God-forsaken country, I’d die.  

Despite the long journey, the fast change and our new scary environment, we were grateful. It had taken Saleh a very long time to adjust and accept that we were leaving home for good. Even though my parents had warned and tried to prepare him before hand, moving overseas, was a load  most Autistic people wouldn’t be able to handle. 

And until this day, I’m extremely proud of my brother for powering through.  

My younger brother, Wael…well he didn’t hesitate a nanosecond before jumping onto the aeroplane, without even a single glance back at our homeland. 

And me? I harboured the most complex of feelings. I wished to be in a safer place, yet every step I took towards the aeroplane, further and further from home, my heart chipped and cracked. I wanted to howl, shout and screech at my parents to let us be, to not rip us apart from everything we’ve ever known. But then I wanted to kiss and hug them for pulling us out of harm’s way and securing us in a country where we were ensured all the basic of necessities - food, shelter, water, education, a right to life. All things we had practically been denied in Lebanon.  

Back then, I had truly believed danger was still present at every corner. That anxiety and caution shaped me into the person I am today. Don’t get me wrong - I know I’m safe now. But I’m not one of those cheerful, prancing around, delusional idiots, who expect that everything will be handed to them on a platter. Nor do I believe that life is a phase of difficulties that will eventually pass. 

To me - life will always be difficult. Good can only last so long. 

And I had trained my mind to accept this fact.