He, who was allowed to work for mother's company in a senior position, while I was encouraged to 'look for my own job'. Their pathetic reason was that I 'needed experience first'.

But how much experience did Shehzad do? None.

His experience was being a golden boy raised with a silver spoon.

At the least the father who'd done me so much discredit could have at least showed up. Just for a brief moment. I'm not greedy. To back me up, put his arm round my shoulder and tell the world I was his favourite child. He could disappear completely afterwards. It would have compensated, just a little.

But like all the pesky things she'd gotten her use out of and didn't need anymore, mum got rid of him. Before I was born.

He never even met me.

All I know is, he paid his child support (so he knew I existed), and with the hefty divorce settlement, my technical-minded mother invested in an up-and-coming tech business in her native country. Rest is history.

We grew up there, a hot, dry land with with a cold, unforgiving mother. Ever since I could remember, I stuck out like sore thumb. Strange, foreign speck in a sea of tawny brown.

It's strange being the mirror image of one's father, when his name is only used as a curse in your home.

But Shehzad was always better off. He looks like he belongs, acts like he belongs.

He does belong.

Firefly, I call him. Guess I'm a gnat then.

On reaching adulthood, we moved back to the Continent. To study, to live, and to work in our birthplace. I guess I should have felt like taking a breath of fresh air; I finally belonged, hey?

True enough, I belonged in appearance. But perhaps my expectations of my long-awaited homeland were too great; I belonged in little other ways with these colder, more distant people.

Back home, everyone commented on everyone else's business, even the snooty higher-class city folk to some extent. The people were warmer, if hot-headed; their dialogue was quick and rapid-fire, if unnecessarily fiery at times. Their banter and nosy, questions were spicy, and their actions spicier, like their food.

People had a lot more free time, and it was not thought strange to be lazing away in the long, scorching hot period of the day when it was too hot to work.

And they saw it as holy duty to know their neighbours' business.

I realised much later, that the land I'd demonised my whole life, I now missed. Terribly.

Here, there was a perpetual, almost chilly silence, a 'me-and-my-own' atmosphere; everyone kept their head down and meticulously minded their own business.

Not many words, not many questions. Unless they were old and alone, in which case they were in surplus of both, as if they'd been stacking them up their whole, cold life, waiting till their hair turned white to release them.

That was when I realised; appearances are not all they seem, and don't bestow what they seem to promise.

Education is for upperclassmen, and my mother, though from a humble origin, believed most firmly that she was Queen of all she could see.

I remember seething in the corner at her hypocrisy.

What about me? Isn't how you've treated me cruel?

Or is cruelty only done by others?'

So nevertheless to say, I belonged in this new land, but I didn't belong. I spoke the language clearly, courtesy of my expensive education. But their unspoken, social language, I had never been taught to speak.

There were other less-than-pleasurable things here, too. Unlike the sun that rested close above our heads back home, here it was like someone set the thermostat to minus numbers permanently. The cold really bit into you. Also, unlike the bazaars and malls back home that closed in the sweet early hours of the morning, here most stores closed at 6:00pm. People seemed to be expected to just sit in their homes most of the time, especially in the afternoon. It was a lifestyle that my oft-adventuring, multi-exploring South Asian self wasn't used to. There, to be a man, you ruled the roads, seeing the world around you, solo. Only the rather unenvied would be found at home in the daytime.

Here, I saw a land where I might finally earn my mother's pride. I invested in a successful company, and was soon elevated to its board of directors. Whatever my faults, I retained an exterior of a charismatic persona and a winning method will all people; I made my successes and promotions look easy, and made many enemies along the way. Knowing it is lonely at the top didn't deter me.

The day I got the keys to my own apartment (my own home! In London, no less), I called her. Multiple times, like a loving son knowing his mum might just not be near the phone right now.

She didn't pick up. Nor did she call me back. But my brother later told me that she'd been well and having a good day, and why did I ask? Was there something I wanted to say?

Yes. That I've never felt more ashamed. Ashamed of you, mother mine.