Hus◻ Husam Abboud
Letters

To my younger brother. إلى أخي الأصغر

Short letters to a younger version of me — the one still in Damascus, still waiting to feel ready. If you’re under twenty-five, they’re for you too. Newest first.

Little brother — you are waiting to feel ready. I have to tell you: the feeling never arrives on time. I stepped onto the mat at the CBJJE scared, and the gold came anyway. Twenty years later I still hover over the send button, rereading a message no one asked me to polish.

So learn it earlier than I did. Ready is made by starting, not before it. The draft, the ask, the first move — they ripen in the open, not in the drawer. Press send. God helps the honest ones.

— Husam

Little brother — the first move costs the same whether you make it now or in ten years. The price does not drop. I have waited across rooms, across inboxes, across whole cities. The introduction I did not ask for, the woman I did not walk up to, the idea I kept in the drawer — none of them aged well.

Walk over. Say the true sentence you already have. The worst answer is a no, and a no weighs less than the wondering.

— Husam

Little brother — everything worth having took me about two years, and every time I believed it would take two weeks. The gold at the CBJJE came in year two. The bar, the wings, the flute now squeaking in a rented kitchen — same arithmetic.

So choose fewer things and stay. The plateau is not a wall; it is the price sheet. When you want to quit at month three, you are not failing. You are mid-payment. Keep paying.

— Husam