To All the Ones Ive Ever Lost

My Hisham

Hisham, maintained a uniform of an LA monogrammed hat covering his curly hair, each coil so tight you couldn't wrap your pinky finger around it, oversized designer t-shirts that were just big enough to be clear they were intentionally large for style, and constant smile that could drop into a straight face the moment he was displeased. He never struggled to find words; he spoke with an uncanny confidence. So much so, that you would savor every click his tongue made as he articulated each vowel.

He was from Egypt, a country I only read about in history books, practicing a religion I only heard about in media headlines. Once, I watched him stand still as Luisa and I playfully hit him. Hisham wasn't on the defensive, he would never hit back, "never to a girl".

Hisham came into our lives with a bang, in a time when we all needed that sparkle. We were on a boat on the west coast of Scotland. While setting up our beds at the bottom of the ship, I looked at his face, filled with embarrassment because he didn't understand what to do.

Sometimes we would talk about the people we met, what we thought about them, and what we heard about them as a pastime. Being gossips, never letting our own words escape the group. Petty drama. Nobody could liven a conversation better than Hisham. He chose his words, each syllable slick and with just enough humor to make you hold your stomach so you don't become sick.

He liked tea. It wasn't because of the outstanding flavors our 50% off Tesco purchase produced. When we would be sitting on the boat, avoiding the storm outside, he would make us cups of tea that seemed to be never-ending. Making sure each cup was the same, he would bring it to the table and wait for us to take the first sip before sitting down.

One night, Ziyad, Abdulaziz, and Hisham were praying together in their dorm, unintentionally staying in the room after lights out. The house parent opened the door, immediately yelling at them to go to their own rooms while the group was still praying. Hisham continued to pray through the angry tone, continuing until his verse had been completed. Aziz and Ziyad stopped. Like deers in a headlight. Hisham stood up. Talking. Using his hands to sculpt his message. They were never questioned again.

People often chose to network with those who lived in the same country, practiced the same religion, and spoke the same language as them. Our group consisted of a Christian American, a non-religious German/Argentinian, a Buddhist Thai, a Catholic Austrian, two Muslim Saudi Arabians, and a Muslim Egyptian. We covered almost every continent. We didn't share an identity or a home but we found one in each other. One thing I could never understand was why he would remind me to pray, we didn't share a religion. Maybe he was reminding me that there was something bigger than myself.

Still, I call Hisham, it makes 7,000 miles of distance feel a bit closer. I am worried Elizabeth, Hisham said, and then broke into tears saying that the future of his county wouldn't have something as simple as meat the poor could afford. MEAT! Elizabeth, imagine that. I am here with my own phone, speaking to a friend I met in a different country when there are people who can't afford such a simple thing living just blocks from my home!

He had a way of making you think. A way of making each person viewed as a sister and brother.

One day, I knew it would be the last time I was with him in person for a long, long time. I cried as I held him in my arms. He posted that night. I spent time studying every image, but his post only went on so long and after a montage of memories captured in frames, it ended with Winnie the Pooh holding all of his friends as they walked into the sunset with the words 'How lucky I am to have [someone] that makes saying goodbye so hard' (A. A. Milne).