Au Revoir & Bonne Chance

I feel so...

I can't quite place my finger on it. I don't feel hopeless; actually, I feel the opposite. I've never had this much to look forward to in my entire life and here it is, resting at my heels just waiting for me to rise and claim it as my own.

My fate? My destiny? Who knows what it is.

I think I'm scared.

I haven't felt anything real for so long now, that I've lost any recollections of what it is like, being alive I mean. The fear that counters the joy, the horror that challenges the hope, the misery that swirls around happiness, like cream in your coffee, making it bearable and worthy... etc etc.

I've never had to say a meaningful goodbye, and yet here I am in Kuwait trying to pencil all of them in what was supposed to be my blank page, my fresh start. So, I'm scared and being a coward. I wish I were more capable of love, and less willing to hate. I try to see in myself what so brightly blinds me in others, but it never amounts to anything more than a fleeting glance. For three years, all I had my gaze on was leaving. The departure, the exit, the curtain crashing onto this dusty stage. Now that it has really come to an end, I find myself shocked. Surprised by the ending I'd predicted. 

Creative differences is why we're splitting up. It's what I'm telling people anyways.

This is my last offering to you, Kuwait. For a while anyways; you all know how unpredictable I can be. 

Wiping them away,

S.


PS - I'm writing this from Abu Dhabi's airport, which is a surprisingly dull place despite alcohol being sold here. 

In-N-Out

I don't have Microsoft Office on my Mac right now. 

The geniuses at iCity formatted my Mac and didn't reinstall it with the update. I'm upset. I haven't caught a break all summer. Every single plan I made fell through, and here I was thinking getting this piece of shit laptop fixed would help me make up for lost time, but no. Nothing's changed; I'm as stranded as I was a week ago. It's almost 4 in the morning now, and I'm tired but I can't sleep. I stumbled upon Madonna's 'X-Static Process' a few days ago and so I've been listening to it on repeat for a while now. I'm not going to embed the video because no one reads this thing, and I highly doubt anyone who does actually watches the videos I feature. So, there's that.  Honestly, I haven't been this stressed since senior year. Not stressed because I was pushing myself to succeed, but stressed because I was anticipating the shit storm my academic neglect would lead to. This is literally my last shot. If I don't make this happen, I going to find myself on the wrong side of twenty with nothing to show for the past two years. 

In the midst of all my self-pity and drawn-out angst, I had a moment of clarity. A profound moment in which a I realized a truth I'd been pondering for a while now.

If I were a boy, it wouldn't be so much that I would have fewer problems than I do as a girl.

I'd simply have more escapes.

On that note, I bid you all a better night than what I'm having.

Goodnight.

Jesus Christ

"How did it end up like this?"

This is the first post from my Mac, which finally found its way back into my arms after almost two months of not working. Chalk it up to a combination of laziness, unwilling drivers and sleep, but what matters is that I finally fixed it and while my bank account took a hit, things are a bit better now.

I'll be honest, the past two weeks have been nothing short of nerve-fraying. Between the end of Ramadan (don't even get me started on that), Eid (No, seriously, no comment on this either) and finishing up all the paperwork for my transfer, I'm just about done. I've grown tired of all the familiar voices, fuzzy faces and blah blah blah. You guys know how I usually go about complaining; using tired metaphors to express my rapidly decaying angst. You guys are smart, I'm sure you can do a better job than me at this point.

Since I lost everything on my Mac, I spent the day setting it up, customizing it and rebuilding my iTunes library. Now, after a very long day and even longer week, I'm find myself in bed. I'm tucked in, it's dark and I'm pounding away at this keyboard. I haven't done this since February, or March at the latest. I guess it's just amazing and frightening how much life has change in 12 short months. This time last year I was staving of anxiety attacks about KU. Emotionally and mentally, I was somewhere else entirely. I feel as though I've grown a lot, particularly in the last 6 months. That's the strange (even scary) thing; I'm reaching a stage where I have enough stability in my life to be able to look back at the past. I'm not entirely sure how to explain it, but I've just never spent three consecutive years living in the same continent, let alone the same tiny country. It's such a novel experience for me. I've begun to feel out of place among my friends. I have no reason to, and yet I do. 

 

I wish I were leaving Kuwait for better reasons. I wish I didn't despise everything and everyone here. I'm a naive person in the sense I've always believed that no matter what you do, if the intent is good, then it's okay. So, leaving Kuwait and taking a big risk for all the wrong reasons is tainting what should be a joyous occasion for me. Does it make me a bad person? I don't know. Probably. Then I remember how many young women couldn't make it out of this cesspool and I feel even worse. Yes, I'm leaving for peace of mind but I'm also leaving to pursue a career that can help many in the future. Whether it's from the money I make, or the skills I acquire, I chose medical school because I feel as though I owe it to the universe. I'm in a social and financial position to pursue this career, and so I have. Studying English and maybe opening my own publishing house would have made me happy beyond words, but that would have been a selfish move on my part. I'm rambling, but I'm also emotionally drained, so forget eloquence. It just bothers me, the real reason I'm living. I feel like a failure because I couldn't make Kuwait "work" for me. I tried. I tried being open, and honest. I tried being kind and polite. Nothing worked. People here seem to be masochists. They enjoy being disrespected and treated like dirt.   

Did I ever mention Jesus was my favorite prophet? Well, he is. I don't buy into any organized religion, but I've always felt he was the most approachable. Anyhow, I had both something else and more to say, but I'm sleepy now and so I'll bid you all a goodnight.

S.

 

(Disregard how shitty my writing is right now.)

PS - This blog's email has been deleted, in case anyone sends anything. Step 1 of the goodbye.

Napkin Corners

As that unmentionable time slowly claws its way towards us, the inevitable process of packing and reminiscing has kicked itself into high gear. I'll go ahead and apologize in advance; I'm not feeling all that inspired these days and so my words may fall flat. Not to say that you can't anchor them with your own thoughts and feelings, but my intellectual pool is rather shallow these days. I chalk it up to having far too many rooted-in-reality worries these days. I am, after all, moving to another country entirely. This forgiving limbo between now and then feel like some sort of bizarre suspension for disbelief. I've entered a dimmed movie theater, and for the next little while, I'll play along and pretend that dreams come true, happiness is within reach and maybe I can even be who I am without having to cower behind a cyber cloak of anonymity. 

Packing this time around feels different. I'm not moving with my entire family; I'm leaving them behind. I find myself having to weigh my decisions.

Is this necessary? 

Will I still want this when I come back?

Does it fit in any aspect of my life?

Will I ever wear this shade of lipstick?

Perhaps I'm high-maintenance or too girly for my own good, but the packing process for a woman seems a tad more complex than it does for the average male. A slave to vanity, but more because I'm self-conscious than vain, there are a lot of things that are simply more accessible in Kuwait than they are abroad. The bi-monthly trips to the salon, the manicures/pedicures, the thoughtless spending... I take this things for granted. In my defense, being of Middle Eastern descent means you have to be a bit more proactive about your personal appearance, but still. Being a woman, there are certain societal expectations I still choose to live up to. 

So, as I pack, I try to imagine each item and whether it will serve a purpose in my this new life of mine. Is this the hairband that I'll wear to my first day of school? Will this foundation look good after a few hours a dimly lit movie theater with friends? Are these earrings chic or am I doing the 80s a disservice?

But it always goes back to the lipstick. 

As a fairly chipper person, I use my mouth a lot. (Save the dirty puns.) I talk, I tell, I laugh, I gasp, I whisper... The list is endless. Hell, sometimes I even smile. While I'm partial to sunglasses, (because really; how else am I going to express myself at 19?) , they do obscure my eyes. That's why I always have my mouth to express how I feel inside. That last bit probably didn't make sense, but you were warned beforehand about the quality of these words. 

Most of my self-expression in Kuwait has been done in silence, namely writing. Sure, sometimes I listen to music while I write and I'm never too far from my iPod, but the melody I cherish the most, that of my thoughts, is silence. It's pure and unfiltered. You can't cut it, and you can't scratch it. There won't be a remix to download and you won't hear an acoustic rendition of it anytime soon.

Why not? Well, because I haven't released this record. 

You're probably wondering about everything you've read up until this point. That? That's been a compilation of song covers.

You'll probably find some of my thoughts scribbled on the corner of a napkin in some obnoxious coffee shop in Europe. Don't mind the lipstick stains, though. 

It's my way marking my territory.

Zip It

I'm leaving this all behind in under 4 weeks, and now I'm trying to figure out what to take and who to leave behind. 

Packing used to be easier.

I just don't want to make a mess trying to make a clean break out of Kuwait, only to eventually come back here and deal with it all. I suppose I'll miss some of the people and things here. I know I'll miss blogging. I won't miss the stress and the resentment I feel. I hope the people I leave behind don't take it personally. I hope they forgive me. I mean, I always leave. That's the one constant. I've simply never had the option of coming back, so I'm not sure if I will.

Negativity aside, I'm slowly growing more excited.  I'm eager to go back to my normalcy.

It's happening.

Anyhow, back to packing.

That's A Wrap

"Now the time has come to leave you"

My best friend has left the country, but besides that I don't have all that much to say.

I'm rather sad. 

S.

Countdown

 

"I know it's over still I cling, I don't know where else I can go, Over and over...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head"

A very good song. Jeff covered it, as it was originally sung by The Smiths. I'm quite partial to sad songs these days. Probably my teen-angst kicking in a bit late... I miss blogging, but it seems as though I've run out f things to say. No more wisdom. No more thought. Just blank ideas.

A few more weeks left in Kuwait. Let's see how fast time flies this year. I feel as though I need to melt back into the world, re-educate myself. Hear some new ideas. Get inspired again. Focus. Strive. I guess it's time to update my software.

It'll soon be time to say goodbye, but not yet.

S.

Grey Scales

It's been a dense few days; I wouldn't even know where to begin, to be honest.

As most of the world has heard, Amy Winehouse passed away a few days ago. The autopsy results have yet to be released, so we're better off not jumping to conclusions or passing judgement because it is what it is. Obviously, I didn't know Amy personally, but her passing has left a dark void in my life. I first stumbled upon Mark Ronson via some site aimed at young teen girls, and while enjoying his fresh sound, I stumbled upon Amy. 'Rehab' had just been released and was increasing in popularity. It filled the air every time a radio was turned on, and was often revisited on my iPod nano. That summer we moved, and I spent a lot of that next year in hospitals for a rather tame bout with cancer. It wasn't life threatening, but it still was a lot. It was a lot to hear, a lot to go through and even more to think about. As usual, I didn't have many close friends, so I ended up confiding in my math teacher at the time. I never intended to tell anyone about it, but the tears just came out pouring when she sternly asked about my absences. It's so strange how, in my head, I was fine. I was chill. Okay, I had cancer but it wasn't going to kill me. I wasn't going to need chemo. I wasn't going to lose my hair. No biggie. 

I was so unbelievably wrong.

I ended up bursting into tear right before math class one Wednesday because I didn't know how to deal with what I was going through. I didn't know how to ask for help. Logically speaking, you won't ask for help when you can't even realize you need it. You'll keep going, coping with whatever mechanisms you choose, until one day it comes down crashing around you. 

Then you will hit rock bottom. There is no avoiding this. You will find yourself down there, and it nothing more than a matter of time. Sometimes people will want to help you, other times, they won't. Whether they are scared themselves, or they couldn't see the signs, or maybe you put up too many walls... You'll be alone. Only you can help yourself out of it. Luckily, it doesn't take much. All you have to do is ask.

As a young woman growing up, I identified with a lot with Amy. If you set aside the root, pain is pain. She was in pain, it was very clear from her music. She created something beautiful out of it. I wasn't so crafty. I don't even know why I'm writing this piece. I know that had if I were to read something like this when I was out of it, it wouldn't have changed anything for me. I don't know know if it will change anything for you. No one can help you if you don't let them. It's as simple as that.

Reach out. I did, and it helped.

S.          

Update Needed

While I would never deny that I am a curious creature by nature, I like to think that I've done my best to not become a gossip. Granted, I've had my weak and childish moments, but as of late I've done my best to be a mature and respectful person. I've done and said things in the (relatively recent) past that were not only unnecessary, but also stupid. However, the time I have spent reflecting on these actions and trying to get to the root of why I did them lead me to several conclusions; the motives behind these actions were spurned by childish jealousy or feelings of inadequacy. Their only saving grace, my only saving grace, was that I never partook in such toxic behavior in an attempt to hurt someone. I simply didn't know how to better express myself.  I hadn't mastered the art of constructive conversation.

There's that. 

Then you come to this new healthy and happy phase in your life. You develop healthy relationships and the 'honeymoon' phase is wonderful. We have so much in common! We can relate to each other! We have the same taste in boys and Starbucks drinks! 

WE HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON.

Then what?

Then you are hit with a wall of growing pains. You have to somehow figure out a way to keep the friendship alive, which is quite difficult if you don't have all that much history together. It's not in my nature to be all that curious about other people's live. Something about how only few care and most are just curious stunted any curiosity in regards to the lives of people around me. Sometimes it's misconstrued as not caring, which is frustrating. It's not that I don't care, it's just that if you wanted to tell me something, you would. Or at least I hope you would. I don't know.

It's minor details like this that, time and time again, slip between my fingertips. I suppose it can be chalked up to never having to deal with any long term relationship of any sort. While the frequent moves as a child were difficult, they did take out a lot of the guess work involved in relationships for me. The guess work and the hard work. Some people say that a relationship shouldn't be hardship or hard work. Well, that may have been true a few decades ago, but distance has become an increasingly present component thanks to our international lifestyles. Born in one place, raised in several, attend university "abroad", make friends in various vacation spots... There's a lot of fertile soil out there, and you'll set down some roots whether you want to or not. Sometimes you may even want to cultivate these relationships. Maybe they add something to you life, or bring you joy or I don't know.

I don't know.

It's just such a mess. Emotions are messy. Relationships are messy. You only have some much control, and the rest depends on the other party. I know most people think I over-think things, and while that's true, it's also how I function. I don't even know what I'm trying to communicate anymore.

Can you tell I'm out of my comfort zone?


Forever a hot mess,

S.        

Under Pressure

 "It's these expressions I never give that keep me searching for a heart of gold"

I suppose I've mentioned before that it has become increasingly difficult for me to blog write. It's one of the reasons that I'm giving up blogging.

(I really do hate that term; it's so menial and common.) 

It's a myriad of reasons really; people read what I write, people I know read what I write, I no longer exist in a bubble of isolated independence... The list goes on and on. However, that's neither why I'm here nor what I'm trying to talk about today.

The details.

Now that I'm at a point in my life where I am most definitely an adult, securely out of high school and what was a lackluster childhood, I find that it's quite the burden. While the privileges that come with age aren't as apparent, the burden most definitely are. You will be taken seriously for everything (even the not-so-serious bits), people will hold you accountable for what you say (expected although not always appreciated), and people will stop sheltering you. I can live with the former two, but it's the latter that has come as quite the shock to me. In some ways, it's part of the reason why I've grown to be so jaded and indifferent.

No one is going to teach you how to do things. Well, some will but those kind souls are few and far in between. The best you will come across is someone who is either where you are at right now, or someone who is where you once were. Sometimes they will let you help them out, give some guidance, a little advice gained not from wisdom but from experience. Most of the time, they won't. They won't want you to be a therapist, a counselor, a stylist, a spiritual guru or anything of the like. They won't want you to be any of those, and they won't let you.

They will just want you to be a friend. I don't know how to do that.

Liberating her senses,

S.

Sway

Reality Check: Most of the people that enter your life won't.

When I was a young child in Sweden, I remember that Sundays were relatively dull. In North America, Sundays were set aside for Christians, and so most of the shops and libraries would be closed. While things were similar in Sweden, the truth is that save for a few holidays, the Swedes just aren't all that religious. I'm going off on a tangent here, but what I mean to say is that Sunday was the day most people would do laundry and nurse their red wine hangovers. It was a quiet and calm, if not a bit depressing, day.

After I'd read all I could read, finished all my homework and played outside, I would watch these amazing television shows that would air specifically on Sundays. As a child growing up in the late Nineties and early 2000s, I was fairly sheltered. The resources I had access to was vast thanks to libraries, but it wasn't immediate and in-your-face. However, I digress; back to the topic at hand. Now, these shows were so much fun to watch. Everyone featured was energetic, attractive and full of life. They were amusing, and endearing. The commitment they showed their craft was truly inspiring. I would be entertained for hours on end, and Sunday would slip by unnoticed, leaving room for another exciting week of school and life to take it's place. 

Fast forward a few years, and in set cultural preconceptions, the bitter truth and the Internet.

What did I discover? 

Those shows that held me captive every Sunday morning and made me laugh and smile were nothing more than cheesy and insincere infomercials. The people featured in them weren't happy; they were tacky and ridiculous. The products were bizarre, the deals a rip-off and the hosts and guests paid actors.

This is what growing up does to you. It strips away the magic and wonder from everything, forcing you to see the world for what it is: a disgusting and cruel place. The harder you try, the more you realize there's no point in trying. There's simply no winning. Everyone opposes you, and those who don't often remain silent, which is just as bad (if not worse) than the former. You put all this (imaginary?) pressure on yourself trying to be a better person, trying to convince those around you to do the same and yet it's a futile effort. A lost war, if you will. The apathetic remain that way, the ignorant loud, and the masses misinformed. You quickly realize you're wasting your life trying to make the world a better place, if only in the tiniest way possible, but you can't even do that. You wake up one day and realize that you have been alive, without living. You give up, and move on.  

That, ladies and gentleman, is how you grow to be jaded.

On Y Vas!

I've been literally brimming with words and phrases, and for some reason, my thoughts refuse to boil over. I like the title I came up with for this piece, but that's about as focused as I've been able to be. It's tortuous. I've never been like this; inspired but inhibited.

It's rather strange. Well, not really, I suppose. Before I began blogging, this is how I would be all the time. Inspired and in awe, but always internally. I would feel the magic, take in all the wonder and glow with the wonder of the world around. As I grew older, I guess the wonder began to fade and I grew tired of withholding all that magic. So I did what any gypsy would do, and I enthralled anyone who gave me the chance to do so.

I've had a good run, I really have.

I've enjoyed writing for you, for myself and writing for the sake of writing. I've lavished in the (moderate) amount of admiration, pondered upon the criticism and been humbled by both. However, I'm drained. Really, I am. I've been anonymously public for so long now that I feel a bit spent. I think it's around time I went back to being publicly private again. It's going to be difficult. Despite the fact I've decided to permanently stop blogging once I leave Kuwait, I still find myself snapping pictures of ridiculous things I see, thinking 'Oh! For the blog." It is going to take some time and conscience effort to rid myself of that mindset, but with time, as they say.

Counting down the days,

S.

Cotton Mouth

"Heaven help me for the way I am..."

I've found myself going through a very strange spiritual awakening of sorts. Well, that's not necessarily the most accurate way to define it but beggars can't be choosers and my metaphors have been lacking these days. Lack of originaltiy aside, I do find that my existence has been drowning in several things; energy, creativity, thoughts, and so on and so forth.

After suffering through almost 4 months of writer's block, I suppose this influx was expected. While I am enjoying it, I'm also irritated by it. Accepting this reality leads to several realizations; the flimsy nature of my mood, the fact I may never run out of something to declare say, and my infamous ability to be "too much". Of all the various things I dislike about myself, that would have to the top choice. There's an old saying that goes, "Complete abstinence is often simpler than moderation", and my life is (at times) something of a tribute to that adage. Perhaps it's my astrological sign, my love for theatricality, suffering from middle child syndrome depsite being the oldest... Who knows why I am the way I am?

(Okay, well I do, but I'm not going to share that here. Hi, Mom.)

This piece lacks any purpose or message, but I needed a way to get rid of some of this "creativity". So yes, I'm very dramatic and over-the-top. It's part of the reason why I'm always hesitant when it comes to relationships of any sort because I have yet to figure out a way to moderate my magic. Let the record show, that I'm my own worst critic so I suppose I'm not as suffocating as I portray myself to be, or at least not anymore.

The plus side? I have a career in theater should this whole medical school thing not work out.

Breaking down the fourth wall,

S.

PS - What is your least favorite attribute about yourself?
PPS - I just realized I enjoy writing about this topic, so I may discuss it a bit more.

Le Téléphone Arabe

Excellent song. They just don't make music like this anymore. 

Sometimes, I wish we could pass along what we have in life when we no longer want it. If we grow tired of life, we can give our remaining years to someone who truly wants to be here. Someone who has children or loved ones that they want to stick around for. It's like that old saying, "Youth is wasted on the young", in the sense that I've found myself at a point where I no longer want or need anything. Life in Kuwait is what it is, and any change that would make me happy is decades away. Who's to say I'll still want it when that time rolls around? As selfish and as ungrateful as it sounds, I'm pretty much over everything. I've given and done my best, with very little satisfying return. I don't half-ass anything, and I'm no longer interested in living half a life. 

I'm going to keep through the motions for the remainder of this summer, but I've decided that I've had my fill of Kuwait. I don't think I'll be blogging after I jet off, and the same goes for all my other social-media platforms. I was never interested in them back home, but it was a lack intellectual sophistication in Kuwait that drove me to pursue things like Blogger and Twitter. Using them, I've discovered that there are many amazing people out there, and I suppose I can now take comfort in the fact that I'm "not alone". 

I started this blog to document my freshman year in KU, and to weigh in on all things Kuwait and I did just that. I don't think I caused as many waves as I wanted, but if one person read anything I wrote here and reconsidered any of the various topics I've covered, then I guess it was worth it. I tried with Kuwait, I really tried. As they say, I'm done.

Let's enjoy the remainder of our time together. Let me know if there's any particular topic or promised post you guys want to read and I'll do my best to put something together.

Letting it all go,

S.

PS - I have a second "Snap Snap" post in the works.

PPS - The title of this post is the French name for a game called Chinese Whispers. The game reminds me a lot of how Kuwaiti society functions. 

White Witch

Say what you will, this classic stands the test of time.

There are two type of people in this world. Those will will use all the ice in the freezer without a second thought to other other people in the house, and those who will use it and then promptly refill the icetray.

Which category do you fall under?

Shaking in her boots,

S.

Sin + Mmms

How do I do it? I don't know, but you can ALWAYS add a bit of Gaga if you try.

Not to sound ungrateful or stuck up, but I rarely ever receive gifts that I like. Not to say that I don't appreciate and cherish the things my friends and family pick out for me, but it's just that generally miss the mark. Sure, earrings or a necklace would make any girl happy, but only if they truly appeal to your aesthetic. Granted, I'm still figuring out my aesthetic but I've made enough progress to know what I don't like and most of the gifts I receive fall under that category.

 

One recurring theme with these tokens of appreciation has been hearts. Not in the literal sense, though. That would just be creepy. Anyways, whether it's stationary, jewellery, or thematic makeup the concept surrounding these gifts has consistently been cardiac related. At first, I thought it just meant that it should only make sense the people closest to me wouldn't realize that the last thing I'd want is heart-shaped stud earring if I wasn't being my true self around them. In an effort to try and represent myself as someone I'd find interesting, as opposed to as someone who reflected the things she found to be interesting, I had left the masses misinformed. 

 

Now that we have the lengthy and sloppy explanation of this piece out of the way, let me share how I've manipulated (understood?) this recurring theme into something I can mold for my benefit. What I'm saying is that I think life is meaningless, but it doesn't mean that I don't still try to give it some meaning from time to time.  

 

There I go being clever again.

These people I love, despite never having the chance to see the real me, time and time again, give me their hearts. Or, at least sizable pieces of them. They don't realize and I don't always know it, but its true. Disregard the material aspect of gift-giving; any time you reach out to someone else by extending a part of yourself, something that says "Hey, I thought about you" you realize what a truly beautiful and mystifying thing thing love really is.

 

(I still don't want any of it though.)  

 

 

Buffing those pearls, 

 

 

S.      

Celebrations

Happy birthday.

Sparks

Our song, Kuwait.

"Curiosity is the lust of the mind." - Thomas Hobbes 

Like the first world cliché that I am, I've been wallowing in self-pity and despair for quite some time now. I want to say it's a a recent development, but the truth is I've been drowning in this current state of emotional bullshit since about past November. I hadn't noticed it as it began to take root because I spent inordinate amounts of time ensuring I had my hands full; writing for this blog, researching things about Kuwait, consuming KU in all it's cannibalistic glory. What's funny is that I never intended for this blog to be personal in any sense of the word. My original intent was to use it as a creative platform on which I could (objectively) document my year at KU through funny posts, satirical essays and the odd compilation of photos.

Time has (once again) proven that the joke's on me.

After initially signing up for a couple of summer courses at KU, I spent a week trekking back and forth to the campus only to realize that my time there had come to an end. Where I once felt at ease and completely liberated, I found myself fighting off anxiety attacks and swallowing far too many urges to scream. If nothing else, these past few years in Kuwait have taught me to recognize when I'm not wanted. The love affair with KU, however satisfying, had come to an unapologetic end. While I attempted to look the other way and just keep going through the motions, a very integral part of realized that two semesters was all I would get and give to Kuwait University. There was no charm in this third attempt at magic.

Magic... What a captivating notion.

It manifests itself in a myriad of ways. Precious circles pulled out from behind tiny ears, queens and kings manipulated for our gain, doves freed from the most obscure emptiness are all examples of where our thoughts rush to when magic is brought up. We often fail to recognize its manifestation in the details. In our want to be overwhelmed and left gasping in awe, we give away our wonder to the most menial of things, thinking it doesn't get any better than this. Sitting here, I'm slowly accepting that it probably won't. My inexplicable sadness is rooted in the realization that things weren't always this way.

A long time ago, I once felt and saw magic in so many things. One area which, in hindsight, always leaves my mouth slightly open in wonder is how any relationship developed. As has been stressed upon frequently enough, I moved around a lot as a child. Realizing that this pattern would be my life (or at least a sizable part of it) I made it my mission to savor and learn as much as I possibly could from any and every person that entered my life. Mind you, this was before the dawn and eventual take-over of social networking sites, so when it was time for me to move on and leave behind these new people in the past, they stayed there. It wasn't so much a choice as it was due to a lack of options.

Now, I have options and I have no idea what to do. Do I continue trying to find balance and work at maintaining frienships or do I just do what I always do and pack up, leave town and start over? I don't want to, but then again I have been doing this all my life. Anything other than this would be too different. It would propel me out of my safety zone. I don't want to spend difficult moments and lonely nights abroad taking comfort in the fact I have people "back home". I don't know when Kuwait became home. I don't want it to be home. I don't want my peace of mind to depend on other people, if only in the tiniest sense.

Did I mention I'm moving to Ireland in about six weeks?

I probably didn't, did I? You'll have to forgive me, as I've spent copious amounts of time doing the one thing I vowed to never do: I've been looking back on my life these past 12 months and regretting more than I ever thought I would. Perhaps if I had remained out of reach things would be easier for me now. Perhaps if I had just remained content with wondering, as opposed to experiencing, I would still have that lusty mind of mine as a safe-haven. But, my mortality was solidified by the fact my curiosity got the best of me.

I wanted, and so I got and now I have. What do I do with all of it?


Dying to repent,

S.

PS - What's up?  

Verity

The quality of my life would improve if more people dressed like hookers from the Eighties.

In my defense, it has been a busy month.

I know, I know, I know. I promised (like I always do) several posts about all things to do with June: Summer, Pride month, transitions and an update on my life but... Well, I've been busy living that life. Not to say that since I've somehow managed to fall ass backwards into a life, that I've forgotten about you guys... Because I haven't. 

Really. 

(Side note: Does anyone still read this thing?)

Melodrama and my latent teen-angst aside, let's all take our eyes off my impeccably phrased, albeit half-assed, excuses and cast a quick glance at the title of this post.

No, folks it's not just another one of those obscure words I toss your way in an effort to come across as wiser and wittier than I actually am. It's an old word to for a very new aspect of my life. "Verity" is a synonym for "Truth". (Find a less hormonal explanation/definition here.)

As we all know, June is International Pride Month. What are we celebrating? We are celebrating ourselves. We are celebrating our family, our friends, our lovers, our soul-mates... We are rejoicing in liberty; personal, physical and emotional.

Sadly, we do so quietly in Kuwait. However, for the sake of beautiful news like gay marriage being legalized in New York only a few glorious days ago and the fight against DADT still being fought, we must not focus on the negative. We'll look to the positive and strive for more of that good stuff. Deal? Deal. (Can I just say I love it when you guys agree with me? I do. I really, really do.)

Kuwait is one of those countries where there will be a lot of shame and stigma surrounding you (and your family/loved ones) if you fail to fit into a very narrow mold. Try to spread your wings beyond a cetain set of criteria and you'll have guns aimed at you like it's hunting season and neon is the new black. Things aren't hopeless though; it just takes things longer in some parts of the world. Religion and politics aside, gay rights are human rights. Whether you agree with this or not is entirely up to you. However, ask yourself this question: What makes you so much better than someone who is gay? What gives you an entitlement to more rights, more freedom to express yourself and more liberty?

Exactly. 

You don't have to condone, celebrate or promote something you don't "believe in", but you shouldn't condone, celebrate or promote hatred towards anyone or anything either. My strict (but always loving) Scottish God Mother raised me with several old-school sayings, and the one that I still carry around with me is the following:

"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

It's that simple. 

   

Dipping her fingers into your true colors,
S. 
PS - Gay marriage has been legal in Canada since 2005... Just saying.  PPS - Congrats to Beyonce on the release of her album today. It's an excellent piece of work. PPPS - This one was for you.

Stay Tuned

I've been tripping a lot lately. 

S.

Top Hats

To Women As Far As I'm Concerned

D.H. Lawrence

The feelings I don't have I don't have.
The feeling I don't have, I won't say I have.
The feelings you say you have, you don't have.
The feelings you would like us both to have, we neither of us have.
The feelings people ought to have, they never have.
If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty sure they haven't got them.
So if you want either of us to feel anything at all
You'd better abandon all ideas of feelings altogether.

This poem is one of my favorites. I decided to share it because, quite frankly, you guys are exposed to enough music and Tumblr-esque photos. Why not allow words to ignite images or set off concerts in your mind? (You're welcome, guys.)

One of the nice things about going through this journey that is life alone is that for a very long time I did not have to answer to anyone. I never had to censor (or even modify) any of my opinions so that I could avoid offending anyone I cared about. I never worried about alienating anyone and ending up on my own because I already was very much alone. Moving, my personality, the general public's lack of intellect were all factors that contributed to this era of my life being spent solo. I didn't mind it, and for better or worse, I enjoyed that freedom. It gave me all the time I needed to craft who I am today. I read books, introduced myself to ideas, slowly began forming opinions... All these event occurred completely unchallenged. The only time a thought or notion would be rejected was if I didn't like it, or more accurately, if its presence in my life (or mind) would interfere with the "image" I wanted to eventually project to the world. 

Now... things are different.  

Now, I have friends. I have people I love, people I admire, people I hate, people whose funeral I hope to attend, people who I can't go a day without speaking to... You get the picture? Good. (See? I knew encouraging your minds to grow through poetry would pay off.)

However, I digress. 

To make a long (and unnecessarily sappy) story short, I let people into my life. I now have to figure out a way to honor my relationships with them all while staying true to who I am. 

This blog is a result of my inability to do just that with family and school friends. I'm assuming you can see the dilemma now. What's even more frustrating is that I know people read what I write here and wonder about where it all came from. Why can't I just say these things to them? Well, I never prepared myself for any of this. I assumed I was going to continue to be isolated in this hermeneutic cul-de-sac I had made for myself all those years ago. I don't think I can have other people in here and still be who I am.

I need to find a way to make sure everyone I love is okay, and then I want need to disappear. 

I need magic.

Giving you a penny,

S.

 

PS - What do you do when you realize you don't like who you are, but you decide to keep her around anyways? 

Wear It Well

Gay cupcakes. If this doesn't make sense you, Kuwait, I don't know what will.

Lady Gaga chants - "A king with no crown, king with no crown..."

Nicki Minaj spits -  "In this very moment I'm king..." 

Beyonce... well, she did this:

June is Pride Month. Here's me kicking it off a few days late, but still! Yes, I know it's based in the US but if we follow their lead in everything from fashion to food, then why not this as well?

Exactly, Kuwait.

Also, the royal theme in today's popular music has been showcased by yours truly to encourage you to challenge gender stereotypes. Although, I want you to always challenge stereotypes, be they gender-oriented or otherwise. 

Whether it's for yourself or for someone you love, just keep fighting. I know I always will. 

Embracing you all,

S.

PS - I'll obviously be doing a few posts of actual substance in regards to this matter. Watch out for them in the near future. 

PPS - I've recently discovered that I'm a terrible hugger. Despite this fact, I still embrace you all.

PPPS - Because I know I'm going to get a flood of emails about this... No, I'm not gay myself. I'm just a kick-ass hag/human rights supporter.

Dynamite

This one is for the boys in polos... Just kidding! (I hate those douche-bags.)

"Boy you got my heartbeat runnin' away
Beating like a drum and it's coming your way
Can't you hear that boom, badoom, boom, boom, badoom, boom, bass
He got that super bass"

Drummers are so badass.

Rhythm & Blues

You go through life realizing that for better or worse, you're different. You learn to embrace it because it's what seems to attract people to you. You hone the stage production that is you into a spectacular Broadway production. You get fame, attention, praise, criticism, negative reviews, a lag in ticket sales... 

You take your show to the streets. You let your performance art roam the alleyways and avenues (NOT the mall). You're an artist. Scratch that, you're the artist. Not confined to any particular form of expression, you settle down. You think you've found peace. Your world is calm and quiet. To remind yourself of who you are, you go back to marching to the beat of your own drum.

You miss a beat. You realize you're not the artist. You're the drum. 

You're just the empty drum. 

Rinsing echoes out of her mouth,

S.

Concepts & Rules

Sometimes, you just have to revamp what you already have. This cover is a personal favorite, enjoy!

(It's been a while since I've tuned out the rest of the world and sat down to write, so I'll ask that you bear with. I'm not entirely sure what we'll get out of this post, but it should be fun nonetheless.)

We should get all caught up, right? Let's see... Well, as you can tell I haven't been writing (I really dislike the term blogging) steadily since February. The reasons for this are colorful and varied, but don't worry because I've had a magnificent few months since we last were in touch. What I'm trying to say that, for the most part, I'm doing well and I hope you are all happy and healthy. If you guys are good, I'm good.

Next on the agenda: this domain.

After some pesky family members decided to hunt down my SUPER SECRET blog domain, this thing kind of lost some its luster. While I could care less if anyone from my "real life" reads what I write here, I just really enjoyed the fact I never had to think twice about saying anything here. Here, I don't represent a last name or a family or a religion or even a sect. On my blog, I'm simply me... or at least I was. However, after my initial juvenile rage subsided, I realized that a good deal of my readers know who I am, and my relatives/real life-ers lack the intellectual sophistication to fully grasp what it is I try to say here, so it's all good. 

I would move, and I have tried several times, but it seems as though I've grown rather attached to both this domain and the lovely readers who frequent it. Intellectually, and even sometimes emotionally, this has become something of a home for me. Like a childhood home, I skim through my older posts and realize just how much I've grown here. We've (you, the readers, and I) have had some highs and lows, had some laughs and some serious discussions. For those reasons, I can't seem to bring myself to give it up. Add that to the fact I now have TEN people following this blog (Do you know how hard it is to get an audience when you're NOT blogging about brownies and expos?), so it seems we'll be celebrating our one year blog birthday here and soon! 

That's all the boring and official stuff out of the way, so I think I'll take a self-indulgent trip down memory lane for you guys.

A couple of nights ago, I found myself at the graduation ceremony for my old high school. I had kindly been invited by a dear friend, and I would have been a fool to say. The girls looked beautiful, the ceremony was (surprisingly) light and it was an enjoyable night overall. I must say, I enjoyed the graduation much more from the audience's vantage point. This time last year, I was a miserable mess. If it hadn't been for the insistence of one particular friend, I wouldn't have gone to my own graduation. Looking back, I'm glad she insisted I show up. Yes, it was horrible and I hated every minute of it, but at least I went. Sure, I could have stayed home and felt bad for myself, but that would have been too easy. Someday in the future, I will be able to tell my cats about how uncomfortable I was during those two hours, and how I felt it was like some sort of reverse celebration of my acheivments. How I felt like my entire fail of a senior year culminated into that one night, with all those pretty lights dangling from the ceiling meant to show me just how little of my potential I had achieved.

I felt horrible for a very long time after that night last year, but you know what I did? I got up, wiped my tears off my face and turned my life around. Here I am exactly one year later, a completely different person with a completely different outlook on life. It's definitely safe to say that this past year has seen me grow up. I'm a different (not necessarily) better person, but that's just how life goes. 

Speaking of life, I should wrap up this post before we run out of ours. Apologies for the long-winded comeback post, but I've suffered at the hand of my writer's block for so long, and I've had so much to say, so you can only imagine how happy I am to be back. I have so many projects planned for the blog, I'm really excited to share them with you!  

Okay, I'll stop typing.

Pasting together the past,

S.

Moving

I think I'm almost over this case of writer's block.

Also, life has been very... full lately, so I do have some updates for you guys. However, things are going to change.

While I'll always cherish this domain for everything it has given me, from comments to friendships, I've lost the main reason I loved it so: I'm not as anonymous as I once was.

As you can see, my writing is still atrocious so I'll wrap it up and leave you guys with this:

I'm moving the blog to a more anonymous domain. Please feel free to leave your email in the comments section below or drop me a note at theexpatess@hotmail.com and I'll update your inbox with the new details.

I'll check back in a few weeks and hopefully get back to writing for you guys soon enough.

Calling it quits,

S.

White Towels

This song pretty much sums it all up. 

(I'm officially taking leave.)  


S.

Crowning

"What happened here..."

(No, it's not a question, so I won't punctuate it as such.)

Generally, when I write, I'll set the mood with some music, a thought or an idea. Lately, for some reason or other, nothing has been speaking to me. 

My heart is literally breaking with the burden of all these words my mind refuses to release. It's like someone ripped my live, beating heart out of my chest, placed it in my throat and filled my cardiac void with... lead or something. (I'm at a point where I can't even construct an extended metaphor.)

See, how it would work in the past is that I would just be going about my life, doing things. Nothing special. Every now and then, this voice would speak to me. (I'm not crazy, I promise.) It would tell me things, I mull them over, and ta-da! We'd have writing.  We'd have humor, wit, sarcasm, thoughtful arguments and the occasional myopic misunderstanding. We'd have a birth of creativity. Together, we would create such fun little packages of words. (What the hell? I don't even know what I just said.)

Not anymore, though. I can't even come up with any decent bullshit.

That got me thinking... What gives? Why now, when I'm finally an adult, financially independent, physically okay and emotionally stable would this choose to happen? I don't know. 

Fuck this shit.

I'm over this. Actually, I've been over this for a good month now. Nothing is changing and this situation won't fix itself. I need a (new) muse... Maybe. I don't even know.

Blah, blah, blah.  

S.

PS - How have you been?

Jack-El-Ass (Only Arabic Readers Will Get This)

**I apologize in advance, I know my writing is horrible these days, but just bear with.**

As you all know, I've been in the midst of a bout of writer's block mixed in with a touch of melancholy. I'm either upset, bored or stressed. There's no middle ground, not these days. However, this is isn't going to be another piece that sees me complain about my life when I have far too much to be grateful for... So, we shall move on. Okay? Okay.

After I wrapped up what was another pleasant-enough day at KU, I headed off to one of the buildings while I waite for my driver to show up. I don't remember why I was walking in that general direction, but I think I'm dehydrated right now, so I'm sure my reason at the time was valid. Whatever. 

I walk into the building and I see the following:

SCIENCE GOT TALENT!

No, I did not stage this.

I was rather impressed with this booth.

I honestly don't know what they were selling here.

I Instagram-ed this bad boy. Photoshop who?

Business card picked up at the fair, dropped off in grass. #InstagramFTW

As you can see, the Faculty of Science at KU had organized a little fair for this fine Tuesday. The theme was all about showing off local talent. 

What's the first thing I do? Take pictures and make fun of it on Twitter. 

Had I actually taken a moment and actually opened my eyes, I would have seen what a great job these guys did organizing this event. Here was this beautiful, well done and interesting expo and all I could think of was witty (read: stupid) one-liners.  

I have become a bigot.

I don't even know what to say. I've never pretended to be perfect, but for a while there I thought that I had some good values and sound principles. Man, was I in denial.

Anyways, I just wanted to share these pictures and show you that KU can surprise you every now and then.

Oh, and the last typewriter manufacturer closed shop today.

S.

PS - Writing this was painful. My writer's block seems like it's here to stay.

PPS - Suck it Handasa...  Science owned your asses with this expo.

Foundations

"I wouldn't call them dreams, because that's not what they are."

The above quote is the first sentence of a post that I attempted to write yesterday. 

That's been happening a lot lately. I'll been wandering the depths of my own mind, only to stumble upon an intriguing thought. I'll try to grab at it, trying to hold onto it, knowing there's something there... but I fail.

I thought about writing a piece detailing my recent inability to write, but I can't even do that.

I'm losing my only talent.

S.

Slice & Dice

"Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to." - T. S. Eliot

Change playwriting to bitching and suddenly, we're all going through déjà vu. 

Right now, I will be honest... I'm slightly embarrassed by my recent behavior on this thing. I've accepted the fact that a few weeks ago, I was in dire need of a reality check. Self-imposed pressure, faltering dreams and self-indulgent moodiness can leave even the most lucid of us disillusioned. Despite what I like to think, it turns out I'm only human.

Outraged with how Kuwait wasn't morphing into Canada, I grew to be bitter and angry. It happened over a very long period of time, so benignly and at such a slow pace that I didn't even realize I was rotting from the inside with resentment and regret. Each time I looked back on my old life, I saw nothing but missed opportunities and chances I didn't take. Rage blinded me to all the smiles I managed to put on people's faces, the laughter that drowned out teachers and all the tears that were hot enough to melt away the 10 months of winter we enjoyed back home. What I'm trying to say is that I faltered by lashing out, but you guys were there to shake some sense back into me. For that, I'll forever be grateful. 

The past was good, even better than I remember it to be, but it's the past now. I've made my peace with that fact.

As for you, Kuwait? Well, I'm not very good with apologies, so that's all you're getting out of me.

No, seriously. I'm not one for eating my words, so the last couple of posts still stand.

 

In the meantime, I want you to know that there's something I'm trying to say, but I can't figure out how to phrase it. I'm telling you all this because it's 2:50 in the morning and I can't come up with a smooth transition for the second half of this piece. 

However, I digress...

I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm trying communicate. Not to say that it doesn't exist, because it does. The inevitability of sending this thought out into the world is casting shadows all around me, telling me it's there. I'm not really going to listen to it just yet, but at some point or other light will be found and blogs will be updated.

Speaking of blogs and updates, you've surely noticed that my baby blog has undergone a change of sorts. I've changed the domain name and mission statement. I was rapidly approaching my one year anniversary as "The Expatess" when I realized that's not who I am anymore... So I killed her. 

(Look closely; that's her blood behind these words.)

It was quick and painless, but necessary. Her hatred, ignorance and bigotry weren't going anywhere so I took her the a vacant lot in my mind and did away with all that nonsense.   

A slightly extreme response, but it was long overdue. Once upon a time, I was she, and she was I. The latter gave way to me realizing that the former no longer stands as truth. I no longer live in this country as an expatriate among my own people, among Kuwaitis. I think it's safe to say I've set roots down in this desert. That said, I don't know how long this ecologically influenced performance art piece will last, but some intrinsic part of me suggests that I'll be around long enough for my lovely readers to see my leaves change color.   

Oh, and just in case you've forgotten... 

I love you.

 

S. 

PS - I was actually listening to this while I wrote this long-winded piece. Sue me.

ICU

Kuwait?

I think we need to start over.

S.

So...

I started this blog back in July for a myriad of reasons, but mainly to document my life in KU. Somewhere along the line, it became a tribute to my miserable existence in Kuwait. I avoided turning it into that for a long time, but it is what it is. 

People (Kuwaitis in particular?) seem to forget that before coming to this country, I had a whole other life. Take a moment and steal a glance at my banner. 

It says "Born American. Raised Canadian". 

I had plans. I was going to go to law school, work my way up the corporate ladder, become partner in some high profile agency by the time I was 30 and then enter the Canadian political scene. I was going to buy a cottage in Peggy's Cove and raise my children in Halifax. I never thought we were going to move to Kuwait. So excuse me if I'm bitter and angry, when every plan I ever had for myself was burnt to ash infront of my very own eyes. 

I wasn't supposed to be stuck in the Biology department in KU because neither the university nor the Ministry of Higher Education can calculate a Canadian GPA. 

So before you tell me to suck it up, please remember that you don't know me. No one in Kuwait has known me longer than 2 and a half years. Not my best friends, not my loyal blog readers, not even my parents.  

So while I feel like I should apologize for my recent tone, I won't. Try having all your dreams taken away from you, then come talk to me. 

Oh wait... I forgot we're in Kuwait, the land were no one has any dreams or hopes, just multiple smartphones. 

Peace out. 

S.

Good God

Here's the deal: I've hit a dead end.

I walk and talk and chit and chat. I'll read about Communism, go to bed, I get up in the morning. I paint my face, pick out a few accessories. Figure out what pair of shoes to spend the rest of my day wincing through. I sit in class, humor professors. I ignore classmates, shoot dirty looks and avoid eye contact with anything that is not the brainchild of Steve Jobs.

In short? I'm existing. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Honestly, I have no business complaining about my life. I have a roof over my head, pretty things to amuse my inner Kuwaitiya, parents who are alive and healthy (if not always available), and access to an education, however mediocre it may be. 

I pay several hundred Kuwait Dinars a year to ensure I move around enough (gym), spent inordinate amounts of time making sure I'm not eating too much (diet). I get up in the middle of the night to adjust the temperature of my room. I wear a sleeping mask once the sun rises, because it's too bright and I can indulge and sleep in far after it has shattered the past.

My own privilege has numbed me right up. I feel nothing.

Also, the lack of any real struggle in Kuwait has helped in that respect. Not to say that there aren't people in Kuwait who struggle financially (for sure personally), but the majority live comfortable lives. They don't really understand what it means to struggle... with anything. They don't push themselves. They just sit back and let all of Kuwait's security wash over them. They just sit there and soak in all their dissatisfaction, mediocrity and lack of ambition.

Well, either that or they start selling cupcakes.

(Apologies for the disgustingly long winded tangent. I was going somewhere with this post). 

Ah, yes.

On the drive home from the gym today, I saw a huge neon sign somewhere near some highway. The word? Allah (in Arabic though). For a split second, the only image that came to mind was that of Las Vegas. 

Sin City. The Devil's Playground. Basically where good people go to do bad things.

The two represent such different ends of the spectrum of choice that is life, but here they were being sold off in the same manner. Big, bright, bold and in your face. Perched atop a building, that neon reminder of some unconfirmed deity just glares at us. It doesn't comfort. It doesn't confirm. It's just condescending.

I want to get out of KU. I want to move the hell out of Kuwait, and not return for a healthy three years. I want to grow up. I want to leave. I want a fresh start. 

I had so many of those growing up; we'd move every 12-18 months. Now? Nothing. I've been stagnant for two and a half years.

In short? I'm just angry.

S. 

PS - I'm working through a horrid bout of writer's block, so bear with.

PPS - Fahad, you rock.

Nothing

I don't know what this is, but I have lost all and any lust for life.

S.  

Fibers

It's almost two in the morning right now, and I'm sitting on the floor of my new bedroom, cross-legged with my Mac in my lap. Beside me, I have the following:

1. A mini white-board
2. A biology textbook
3. My iPhone 
4. Various boxes and suitcases

I went to bed a few hours ago, but woke up to get myself a drink of water and decided that since I'm up, I might as well do a bit of review before I doze off. Who are we kidding? 

I'm going to blog.

I don't really have much to say. What I initially mistook for some inner sense of peace, some much needed calm, turned out to be something else entirely. Rather than peace, I think I've stumbled upon defeat. As it stands, I have no idea what my future holds. No, this isn't one of those exciting "look-at-all-the-opportunities-that-may-lie-ahead" kind of chaos; it's much, much worse.

I don't know where I'm going to end up. People ask, and I'll confuse them with some cryptic answer involving the Ministry of Higher Education's fuckery, Canadian paperwork and KU but the truth is... maybe I don't want to get my transfer? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. It's no secret that I have little to no sincere desire to pursue medicine. Listening to myself justify this odd career choice to my friends, and you'd almost think I'm trying to convince myself of something. 

I dislike science. I hate math. No matter what I do or say, I'll never become half the doctor my father is. I highly doubt I will even graduate from medical school (not a "real" one anyways), if I make it in to one. I can't not at least try, because then I' shall be doing nothing more than proving the naysayers right. My parents will say, "Oh, you're not medschool material anyways." I'll be furious and want to prove everyone wrong, but I can't. I can't right a wrong with another wrong. 

I don't even know if I'm good enough to excel at what I want to do (something with English, politics and publishing). So, a crippling fear of failure and a lack of academic confidence seem to have me forever bound to this stupid track. My hands are tied.

Sleepy, depressed, and staving off anxiety attacks.

Wrecking the train,

S.

PS - I'm really sleepy.

Because I Have To

Who else can make reading philosophy sexy? (To be fair, I already think reading & philosophy are very sexy).

 Happy Birthday Lady Gaga! 

Whispers

Once upon a time, I had a life in Canada and this song was popular. I miss being naive young. 

As it stands, I am six months away from completing my third year in Kuwait. The person I was when I reached this land no longer exists. I don't know where she is, and I haven't heard from her in a while. 

I miss her. 

In her place, I've found this new S. I've been struggling with her for a while now. She's so rash, so young and overly eager. She hasn't seen a world outside of Kuwait. She's forgotten many things I no longer remember; the sound of snow crunching under her boots, riding the bus, walking to school, doing laundry... Someone else did these things, a long time ago. She's eager, and easily excited. I can't seem to keep her in check. Being so young, she's constantly starving, wanting to devour everything in sight. Every emotion, every sound, every glance... She's on fire and I don't know how to quench her thirst.

Schizophrenia aside, life has been good. I'd almost say too good, but then again I have been sweating blood for almost a year now trying to create the life I've always wanted and so I think I'll just enjoy the payoff without worrying about any future debt. 

(The way I see it? If you're not broke, you're not living) (Yeah, I don't know what that means either. Cut me some slack; I haven't written a while).

Writing this, I'm listening to the song I've added above and I'm surrounded by boxes, suitcases and general chaos. No, we're not leaving the country; we're simply moving to a larger home. Why bring this up? Well, this is the most familiar setting I've found myself since moving to this country two and a half years ago. The dull thud of brown boxes hitting marble, the fluid sound of zippers and plastic bags rustling... If I close my eyes, it's almost like I'm in my old life again. It's as though we're back in Canada (my real home), and we're preparing for the next major move. Usually, my nerves would burn with an intoxicating mix of anxiety, anticipation and excitement; just think of all the new people, new teachers, news books!  

Not this time. After the last piece of clothing has been hung and the last screw twisted, I'll still be in Kuwait. A new carpet doesn't change that. The most disturbing part? I'm not as upset about this as I'd like to be.

I don't like where we are. I need to move out of Kuwait, soon.          

Feeling blissfully spent,

S.

PS - You are the one that lies close to me, Kuwait. (Unfortunately for both of us).

PPS - How fucking excited are we to have the sun back? Spring rocks.