A vast space separates my life in Australia from my life before February 2018, a time when I could not have imagined having so many freedoms — it's the reason I'm so hell bent on exercising them.
I get excited about things most of my Australian friends take for granted, like fair and honest elections, free speech and even jury duty.
I'm allowed to question and challenge those who wield authority — and not risk torture, jail or worse, as can happen in other parts of the world.
My excitement stems from my past life.
Learning silence
My family home is a 20-minute drive from the Pyramids of Giza in Egypt, the most populous Middle Eastern country and also one of poorest in the world.
But from age five, I grew up in oil-rich Qatar, which maintained a top-five world-wide GDP per capita for most of my life.
To me, neither country ever felt like home.
Like many Arabian Gulf countries, Qatar offers no path to naturalisation, which meant I could never become a citizen or even hold permanent residency.
My parents constantly reminded me never to criticise the government, His Highness the Emir, the royal family or any Qatari in general.
The risk of deportation and my father losing his job was real. It happened to several friends over the years.
No criminal charge was required. A comment was enough and the punishment was swift.
More often than not, a reason would not be given for the one-week notice to leave your job, vacate your home and be on a plane back to where you came from.
So, I learned to watch my tongue.
Meanwhile, in Egypt, human rights organisations estimate there may be as many as 60,000 political prisoners languishing in prison.
When consolidating power in 2013, President Abdelfattah Elsisi commenced an ongoing crack down on journalists, opposition groups, politicians, and academics who posed any threat, real or perceived, to his authority.
Cases of enforced disappearance, arbitrary detention, torture and even deaths in custody have been well-documented.
But despite being perilous in my corner of the world, journalism and politics were my destiny.
Finding my purpose
My mother said I didn't speak until age four. She was worried I might have had a speech impediment.
"Then one day, you came back from school and started telling me stories about your day," she said. "You haven't stopped since."
I took after my grandfather — also in height, looks and name — a charismatic social butterfly and a beacon of positive masculinity, but more than anything, a prolific storyteller.
Nabil senior would say: "Everyone has their purpose in life. It's at your centre and you have to find it."
I was blessed to find my purpose early — whether my own experiences or others, I wanted to tell stories.
This led to study at Georgetown's School of Foreign Service in Qatar, and after graduation I started working in a local radio station as a scriptwriter.
Within months, they gave me a live show, and six years later I had become one of the best-known radio presenters in Doha.
But I was limited by what I could say.
Eager to test those limits, I started a live political talk show called "Straight Talk", where I'd invite experts to discuss geopolitical issues.
It was shut down suddenly after airing an episode that discussed Qatar's role in the Syrian civil war.
I received the phone call from my boss before the show's out music had finished playing.
"Don't bother preparing for next week's episode," he said.
When I demanded an explanation, he replied: "It's above your pay grade and you should be grateful you still have a job at all."
Land of opportunity
When I landed in Sydney five years ago, everyday Australian life was enough to blow my mind, but it was experiencing a true democracy that still has me in awe.
This year, I became an Australian citizen, presented with a Citizenship Certificate at River Side Theatre a few minutes' walk from where I live in Parramatta.
It's a piece of paper that says you're from here. This is your home. We'll protect you.
It begged comparison with my time in Qatar, where after 23 years of living there, I quit my job, my sponsorship ended and I was expected to leave within 30 days.
The country where I had my first kiss, my first pet and childhood memories wouldn't accept me unless I had an annual contract and a Qatari sponsor.
By contrast, I voted in my first election a mere 20 days after becoming an Australian citizen — an experience that said 'your voice matters, you get a say'.
Not only that, I covered the NSW elections on national television!
Within a few years of entering Australia, I had restarted my career in journalism at SBS Arabic24 radio.
An opportunity opened at SBS Arabic TV, then, a few months later, I was hired as the ABC's Western Sydney reporter.
In my first week, I attended a media conference with then-foreign affairs minister Marise Payne, and asked her about the Solomon Islands signing a security pact with China.
It was an empowering experience that continues every time I get to question state and federal politicians — questions I wouldn't dare to ask 'back home'.
Finally home
I had to travel tens of thousands of kilometres from my place of birth to feel like I belong, an essential human need many take for granted.
Growing up without certain freedoms and civil liberties is the reason I cherish them so much.
Now that I've found my home, I feel like I can take sure-footed full strides towards pursuing my goals.
Every time I report on a story, I'm realising a long-coveted dream.
The dichotomy between where I once was and where I am now is never lost on me and has a direct impact on how I approach my work.
I'm always excited for it and grateful for the privilege and trust people put in me to tell their stories.