"I remember touching my face in the mirror, seeing the weight I'd lost, just 64 kilos, and that was after a very well-publicised McDonald's and a taste of Saudi's finest cuisine, but my eyes didn't blink the same way and it showed. My mother caught me out in the garden one autumn afternoon, a mix of drizzle and sunlight, the ground wet, my bare feet sinking into the grass."
"Suddenly, the smallest things were extraordinary. Ten slices of toast; my son laughed and said, "You know that's your tenth slice?" and I just replied, "You never know when you'll eat next." Friends came round, dropping gifts. My old mate Gary turned up with Russian vodka, and my army pals did what they do best, ripped into me with jokes. It was like tearing off a plaster, raw but necessary. I craved that."
I return home after captivity and find physical cages removed while mental bars remain behind my eyes. I notice weight loss and altered blinking when looking in the mirror. Outdoors sensations overwhelm me after months underground and isolation without sun. The smallest comforts become extraordinary, such as ten slices of toast and laughing with my son about food scarcity. Friends bring gifts, vodka, and camaraderie; army mates use jokes to strip away pain, and I crave ordinary beers with them instead of medical care. My wife's airport embrace arrives weeks later, yet I remain glued to news, anxious about the war's progress.
Read at London Business News | Londonlovesbusiness.com
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