Our Worries in Stories

The man entered the diwaniya with a somber face, his eyes darting about in their sockets. He greeted everyone and let out a sigh so deep it seemed as though the oud might fly out of the incense burner. He said, “Guys, debts have piled up, the car has broken down, my son failed his exams, and my boss and Abu Al-Shabab’s supervisor are sitting on us half the time. In short, my problems have reached the sky.”

Silence fell over the diwaniya, and the men exchanged sympathetic glances, except for the “Mutamawils” (the digital-savvy youth), who was engrossed in his phone, scrolling through it. He suddenly looked up and said confidently:

“O Abu Al-Rijal, if your problems multiply, post them as a Story! In twenty-four hours, they’ll disappear.”

The elder turned to him, incredulous: “Son, men confide in their troubles, and you tell him to post a Story? Has social media become a psychological clinic?”

The digital-savvy youth replied coolly: “Grandpa, we live in the era of digital transformation of misfortunes. Why should we carry burdens in our hearts when we can put them on the screen?”

He then turned to the man and said: “Take pictures of your bills and your broken-down car, add sad music, and write ‘Praise be to God in all circumstances’ with a broken heart emoji. Hearts will pour in, and maybe someone will comment: ‘Hang in there, hero!’ The next day, the Story disappears, and you start your day with a fresh feed. As for the debts and the car, those have a Lord who will resolve them.”

The expert laughed and said: “Bravo, Hajj. So the burden disappears from the screen, even if it remains on the owner’s heart?”

The digital-savvy youth replied: “Exactly, our expert. The key is to maintain the outward appearance of the tragedy!”

He turned to Abu Al-Shabab and added: “And you, Abu Al-Shabab, instead of letting your blood pressure rise from your supervisor, take a distant photo of his office and write: ‘Some people need a factory reset,’ and add the hashtag: Toxic work environment. After twenty-four hours, the Story disappears, the job remains as it is, and the manager stays in his position.”

The elder shook his head and said: “So we confide in our phones, then go back to bearing our misfortunes alone?”

The digital-savvy youth replied: “Yes, Grandpa, but don’t forget the right filter, so the sadness appears in high quality.”

The expert chuckled and said: “By God, it’s a good idea, Hajj. Since you complain about your colon every day, what do you think if we take a picture of your cup of green tea and write: ‘Hajj’s Last Refuge’?”

The elder laughed so hard he nearly spat out his coffee, then wiped his mouth and said: “I’m afraid, my son, that when the Story ends, our dignity ends with it.”

The digital-savvy youth adjusted his posture and said, as if he had discovered the secret of the universe: “Guys, the tragedy of this age is not just that misfortunes happen; the tragedy is if they don’t get views! A person is upset if no one sees his sadness, and frustrated if no one puts a broken heart for him, as if a misfortune without an audience doesn’t count.”

He added: “And I have one final suggestion: Everyone should photograph their problems before sleeping, post them as a Story to the song ‘Shik Shak Shok,’ wake up in the morning to find the pictures have disappeared, and continue the day with the same debts and worries.”

The elder smiled a sad smile and said: “My son, in the past, we confided in our friends and found someone to listen and stand by us. Now, we want people to see our sadness, even if no one truly feels for us.”

Silence prevailed, then the call to the noon prayer rose, voiced by Sheikh Zaghloul. The men rose, preparing to leave, and each one opened his phone camera to check its quality.

The elder saw them and shook his head, saying: “God protect us... Let our burdens not become Stories that end after twenty-four hours, while our minds remain trapped in them forever.”

A Kuwaiti writer