It was an ordinary winter weekend in 2006. I was lying on my bed reading a novel when my mother screamed out to me. She was on the balcony, confronting a flying cockroach the size of a date.
She screamed to me to go help her kill or catch or whatever it is you do with a cockroach. But this was a flying cockroach.
While my mother distracted the cockroach for me to arrive, I updated my CV, applied for 12 jobs in Saudi Arabia, received an offer, packed a small bag, and was heading to the airport.
I bid her farewell at the door and never looked back.
You think I’m joking, but I started my career in the GCC to escape a flying cockroach.
Also, the only thing that could be worse than a flying cockroach is a flying cockroach that can talk. If it could also talk, that’s it. I’d kill myself.