F.O.M.O No More

By Ethan Eliasson

It's Friday night and your friends are making plans.

“Let’s go to the mall!” 

“Can we go to Jake’s house?” 

But you know the answer to that question. You’re going to grandma and grandpa’s house. Mom’s forced you to go as long as you can remember, not once missing the occasion. The thought of losing yet another Friday with your friends troubles you. 

As you light the candles and say the prayers, you take a seat and see the last of the sun's beams go down ever so slowly. You smell the nostalgia of steaming couscous, hear the grinding of the food processor turning garbanzo beans into hummus. There they are, your cousins, your uncle, your aunt, and you think, “This is home.” As you sit, Grandma Yani serves you her signature garlic fish on a bed of crushed tomato sauce, the same fish her mother used to make. Grandpa Yossi begins to tell his stories of leaving the war torn country of Iraq at age five to escape religious persecution. The life he has built for your family in an unfamiliar country, an  unfamiliar environment, and with unfamiliar people truly humbles you.

While you get up to use the restroom, you take a quick glimpse of your phone and see countless pictures of your friends teepeeing a house after they just grabbed Mexican food in the Riviera. You grow mad. You think to yourself, “Why do I always have to come here?”

You sit back down to hear Uncle Avi telling you about his recent trip to Sri Lanka and Mumbai, and you find yourself lost in his travels. Dinner wraps up, but grandma surprises you with your favorite Moroccan dessert, malabi. The milky custard topped with crunchy pistachios and cherry syrup melts on your tastebuds and puts you at ease. 

A sudden thought crosses your mind and you think once again about what your friends are doing. You feel filled with envy. Why, Mom, do you force me to come to dinner and miss the excitement with friends? Sadness possesses you and you feel you are losing a relationship with your best friend. But you try to stow these emotions away and get on with the night.

Just as you think dinner is over, Grandma Yani out does herself once again coming out with a spread of juicy plums and tea, tea made from the spicy mint and fragrant lavender that she meticulously picked from her garden that morning. You take a big bite of the ripe plum and sip the warm beverage while the family discusses a destination for the upcoming trip this winter break. Excitement fills you as you think about how much fun awaits you at this new destination. 

Dinner is over but you don’t feel the urge to go because you feel at home. Into the playroom you go to doodle away with Audri and Nate, your favorite cousins. Next comes a fierce game of tag that has all you kids running around the house like you're in a shopping mall before Christmas. Even though you are sixteen, the games you play with your cousin are timeless. They never lose their fun.

The clock strikes midnight, and makes you realize how tired you are. The next ten minutes are spent hugging and kissing every family member goodbye. With every goodbye, you are filled with a growing sense of affection and love, something different than what you get from your friends. You feel loved and so close to your family. As you and mom drive home, feelings of belonging and fulfillment flood your heart. You get home, brush your teeth, lay in bed and check your phone quickly as your eyes start to close. Your friends posted yet again of their amusing endeavors. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

This time you don't feel sad, jealous or envious, but you feel grateful. You know that you're going to see your friends tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that. Looking back on the night, you heard about your grandpa’s story of migrating and making it to the United States, you saw your Grandma cooking meals that are a historic emblem to your family, you bonded with your little cousins and you feel fulfilled. You realize that not only are you blessed with a good group of friends, but an even more loving family that always has your back. A once-a-week commitment doesn’t seem like asking for too much anymore. The next Friday you go to Grandma’s house for dinner again. This time, instead of picking up the phone and seeing what you missed, you leave it down and look across the room realizing what you  have.