Arman Parsa

Pressing my hands on the rock face, I made my way, step by step, along the mountains ridge. I spread my arms and look out over the lakes, the valleys and meandering rivers, and I realise I am free.

Thoughts on the state of Saudi Arabia, coloured by a kind man's words and a starbucks cup.

I stop and sip at my karak tea, thick with cardamom, and look out through the foliage of houses; tall and short, instances of rubble, creamy white stone impregnated with the smell of frankincense that whispers in the air from the night before.