Life as an Expat in Kuwait

I’ve been feeling an ache in my chest these past few days — a quiet, restless worry that comes with watching the news unfold hour by hour. I don’t want to get into the politics or the headlines. Honestly, there’s enough of that already, and I’m not sure my words could add anything new. But what I do feel is worth saying: I’m nervous.

A few nights ago, I peered out my living room window and, for a moment, the world felt both very big and very small. The sky over this part of the world has always looked vast to me — but seeing missiles arching from Iran toward Israel made that sky feel heavy in a way I can’t quite explain. It’s one thing to read about tension; it’s another to see pieces of it streak across the darkness in real time.

When the news came that the U.S. has stepped in too, a fresh layer of worry settled in my mind. Not for any side, not for politics, but for ordinary people — families, travelers, children who have play dates set up and grocery lists half-written on kitchen counters. Uncertainty feels like a weight we’re all carrying quietly, pretending we’re fine as we stir sugar into our tea.

I can’t fix any of it. So, I’m doing the small thing I know how to do: I’m writing. I’m pouring my anxious thoughts into pages and paragraphs, hoping that if I can’t calm the world, maybe I can calm a corner of my mind.

Stories help. They always have. They pull me back to something steady — a thread I can follow when the news feels too big to hold.

If you’re reading this and feeling it too — the tightness, the worry, the ache in your chest — I hope you find a small anchor tonight. Maybe it’s writing. Maybe it’s prayer. Maybe it’s a deep breath under the same heavy sky.