10One weekend night I was on my way home in my work uniform after a tiring day. I stank of food for which I no longer had any appetite. My stomach turned whenever I saw an advert for the meals I prepared robotically every day. I would go back to the kitchen in my flat dying of hunger and enjoy some food that I had made with my own hands, as if the stuff I prepared all day long wasn’t really food.
In the lobby of my building that night I pressed the lift button and leaned back against the wall, waiting for it to arrive. My eyes were glued to the panel that showed which floor the lift was on. It started at 8, then 7, 5, 3, 2 and finally G. The lift stopped. Other things stopped too – my brain, my heartbeat and time itself.
It wasn’t just the lift door that opened. It was a door to Kuwait t
