Dawn of Fun

Somewhere along the Mediterranean Sea, near the beach, a little boy was playing with a few close childhood friends. I grew up surrounded by a large, close-knit family—loving parents, several siblings, and wonderful relatives living right next door with their own children. Our neighborhood felt like one connected home, and I could walk into any house on the street as if it were my own.

It was a peaceful life centered around pure play. A couple of years later, life expanded. Beyond our street lay several more, and our circle of friends grew to over twenty kids in that small community. Between the beach, a large football field, and a grand local place of worship with a garden, we played day and night. Days were reserved for football and the sea, evenings for custom hide-and-seek games we invented, and late nights—yes, late nights for six-year-olds—for chit-chat. Naturally, our favorite post-midnight topics were ghost stories. Life was filled with nothing but fun.

Back home, I formed unique bonds with each of my siblings: one helped me with school, another was my go-to for support or pocket money, and then there was my oldest sister. Ten years older than me, she was watching a great deal of world cinema. She was my goddess of films.

The Spark

One day, when I was in the fourth grade, my sister—my ultimate movie icon at the time—told me to come home early that evening because a special movie was on. I agreed and ran off to play. I got so caught up in the fun that I completely forgot about the film, but I eventually sprinted back home because I desperately needed to use the bathroom.

The moment I stepped toward the toilet, my eyes caught the television screen. It was pitch black, accompanied by mysterious music. My sister was sitting on the floor, mesmerized. I still needed to pee, but the screen stayed black for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, the slender crescent of a dark moon began to sink toward the thin curvature of the Earth, and the sun slowly crested behind it. with a music unlike anything I had ever heard.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I stood frozen. The scene shifted to creatures that looked like apes, playing, fighting, and eventually clustering around a mysterious black monolith. I was just as curious as they were. Soon, the story shifted to spaceships, astronauts, a sentient robot, and a journey toward Jupiter.

I didn't understand any of it. Neither did my sister. Every time I asked a question, she just smiled and said Habibi, I Don’t Know. It turned out to be a great early lesson:

you don't always need immediate answers, but you should never stop asking questions. Sometimes, a good question is the answer itself.

The movie ended. I had held in my urge to pee for hours and gained no clear answers, but a spark was ignited that would shape the rest of my life. I never stopped playing, but a whole new world opened up for me. Classical music, stargazing, and science joined my list of passions. Most importantly, I realized there was a world far larger than my house, the neighborhood, the sea, the garden, and the football field.

That spark inspired a childhood dream: to become a scientist and build a camera coded to connect to the brain, restoring sight to damaged eyes. Years passed, and I eventually went to university to learn how to code—not for the human brain yet, but for computers!

Years later, while having dinner with my sister and her children, I asked her if she remembered when we watched that movie together—the apes, the journey to Jupiter.

She smiled and said Habibi, I Don’t Know.

But her teenage son chimed in: "Uncle, I remember when you told us that story about Jupiter being made of gas instead of solid land!"

I was amazed that a story I shared when he was just six years old had stayed with him for a decade. Stories truly never die.

The Path

After graduation, the fun didn't stop—it simply evolved. I relocated abroad to chase my dreams, continuing the fun into the next chapter of my life's odyssey.