WE LOOK ALIKE

 

In the early hours of the morning, Harun would wake up and wait for someone to help him get out of bed. He would stare at the ceiling, noticing every tiny detail, sometimes getting lost in a single spot for hours. He never wanted to trouble anyone; he wouldn’t call for his mother unless it was something truly important.

It was one of those mornings again. He had been awake for almost two hours, and he needed to use the bathroom. He called his mother, and she came immediately. She had hoped to slip into the room without waking him up. She helped him up and took him to the bathroom. Afterward, once he finished the breakfast she had prepared, he said, “Mom, I want to go to my desk.” That was the place he felt most comfortable. Writing always soothed him. He wanted to write now, but he didn’t know how to start…

He wrote a few lines, crossed them out, and wrote again.

Tarik…

Tarik, salam my brother…

How are you, my friend?

Come on, don’t be shy—go ahead and write…

Tarik… how are you?

I’m writing this letter to you from Istanbul. My mother told me about you. She showed me your videos. She said you’re the same age as me. I’m 10 years old too. She said you look like me. I also love playing football.

I loved it so much.

I still love it, actually… I just play a little differently now—you know what I mean…

My mom told me we look alike. She said you love playing outside just like I do. She said you have curly hair—mine is curly too… She said there’s something in your eyes. I don’t really know what kind of look she means, but she said you have it as well. Maybe she meant the color of our eyes, I’m not sure.

Tarik…

I wanted to write to you. I know we’re far from each other. I’m in Istanbul and you’re in Gaza.

But Tarik, we are so similar, did you know that? You’re not alone, did you know that? I can’t walk, but I have a wheelchair, and I can turn the pedals with my hands. I’ve gotten pretty fast, by the way.

Tarik… I know you’ve been through a lot of pain. I know yours is even greater than mine, because I also had an accident—but your story is something entirely different…

Tarik, I want to tell you this: life can still be lived this way too. Our legs aren’t like before, and we can’t run or walk, but even like this, we can still play games. We can still make friends… You know, I can lift my whole body up on my hands. I do acrobatic moves and I look really cool.

Tarik…

My mom says the One who created us loves us in every state we are in and watches over us closely. He sees everything we go through and He is always by our side. That makes me feel so safe—you can’t imagine how much.

Tarik, I would really love to hear back from you… I’ll be waiting for your letter…

It was late at night, just before dawn. You know those darkest hours right before morning comes—that was the time. Tarik and his family were in their small tent, surrounded by darkness. The world was asleep, but Tarik was awake. There was no light, but his eyes had learned to adjust.

He stared at the tent ceiling, the same spot he always looked at. As the darkness slowly shifted from black to grey, Tarik realized dawn was approaching. His mother was sleeping beside him. He didn’t want to wake her, but in his mind was the message he hoped would come from his faraway friend. His mother had told him he now had a friend—someone from very far away. He would write to him today. But who was this friend?

Morning came, and sounds from other tents began to fill the air. A new day had begun…

Tarik waited and waited.

“Mom, when will the message come?”

“Mom, did it come now?”

“Has it come yet, Mom?”

His mother, Selime, finally came to his side with a smile on her face and the phone in her hand.

“My son, you have a message… a message from your friend Harun.”

Tarik’s heart jumped with excitement. His eyes sparkled, and a big smile spread across his face. He lifted his head as if trying to stand up. He looked eagerly from his mother to the phone…

The message he had been waiting for had finally arrived. He read Harun’s letter over and over again…

He almost memorized it. His mother wanted to let him read it longer, but she couldn’t—their resources were limited. The phone battery could die at any moment. But Tarik had already memorized most of Harun’s words. Now it was his turn to reply. He found his paper and pencil and began to write. He couldn’t make mistakes, so he organized everything in his mind first…

Harun… my dear friend Harun…

I’m fine, how are you? I’ve never had a friend from far away before, so I don’t really know what to write.

Harun…

My mom told me about you.

She said we are alike.

She said you can’t walk either. You can’t stand up. But even so, you can still play, you can still go to school. I haven’t gotten used to things yet. I don’t know how to do it all, and don’t tell anyone but… I’m a little scared.

Harun…

My friend Harun, tell me how you got used to everything. Tell me how you play football. Tell me when your friends call you outside, how do you go to them? Tell me how you run to the door when your father comes home. Tell me how you sneak a bite when your mother cooks something delicious.

Harun…

Tell me everything—but first, listen! I want to tell you a secret.

Something was taken from me… but I feel something inside. It’s as if I have less now, but what remains has become even more precious.

Harun, I will keep writing to you. And I would love to hear more from you too.

With the hope and prayer that one day we meet…

May Allah protect you.

 

Since the beginning of humanity, Our greatest friend and enemy has remained the same: The person in the mirror...

"Experiential Design Teaching" is dedicated to help humans discover their true purpose. It guides people toward open consciousness to make better decisions and choices. It offers strategies for real solutions to real problems.

The programs that begin with “Who’s Who,” followed by “Mastery in Relationships” and “The Psychology of Success,” aim to help people become happier and more successful compared to their past selves.