Belonging to a family of six, we always did a lot of road-trips. In my mind, being in a car was always the safest spot in the world- my entire family neatly arranged within my range of view, mentally swearing that we ‘live or die’ together. On our day-long, moonlit trips to Makkah, we would cheer at every speed-bump that our car would toggle over and our curious eyes would eagerly read every Arabic sign-post to gauge how close we got to our destination. Staring at the endless mirages that unbelievably gave the false impression of “a water-body ahead”; empty roads that would gleam with cat eyes as it met our tiny Suzuki’s far-reaching headlights; and repeatedly listening to the same five to six songs as we prompted Mom to flip the cassette over and over; yawning, fighting, gazing into the oh-so starry nights, lulling to sleep, one by one. The stars and the moon would shine with such fierce, contained brilliance that it almost felt like day. It had to be day somewhere-I was always convinced about that.