Iron Fists

Today is the first day of my month-long winter break. Several events have happened in the past little while, so let's take a cyber-step back and reminisce. Shall we? (Just kidding, this is my blog. Your opinions are void). The list is as follows:

• My first semester as a (read: unwilling) student at Kuwait University has come to an end - If I pass Chemistry, know there is a God (I barely touched my textbook ahead of finals. I'm sorry but I don't care about titration. Not in the least).

• Officially entered my last month as foolish 18 year old Canadian Syrian Kuwaiti - My birthday is in a month. Spend that 1000KD wisely kiddos. 

• That's it - It's sad how little of a life I have. The first half of my E! True Hollywood Story is going to suck.

Speaking of life, I can't help but feel very down in the midst of mine these days. When I was younger, I gladly took all the awkward moments, bad haircuts and social stigma of being me (It happens when you're this brilliant) the universe threw at me, with the understanding that my life would rock when I was older. As a 9 year old, I dreamed of the 19 year old me. I envisioned her as a happy young woman, with a double major in English Literature and Political Science. She'd spend rainy Wednesdays hiding out in European coffee shops, discussing philosophy and all that fun, but meaningless, existentialist bullshit for hours at a time (Yes, in my vision I'm a douche-bag). At the time, I thought it was a simple enough fantasy for myself. I just wanted to be doing something I love, and to be graced with good company and even better conversation.

But no.

I end up in Kuwait. 

Readers of this blog know how much effort I put into trying to see the  good in Kuwait. I look for redeeming humor at KU. I search street signs for poetry, glance at shadows looking for life and listen for beating hearts in rush hour traffic. All five sense are stretched, and then some, but I'm left in the dark.

My life has become a tunnel, in which I can look neither left nor right. I'm forced to stare at my future, and there's no light at the end if this tunnel. I despise my major, but I only agreed to it in hopes it gets me out of Kuwait. I'll gladly trade the fulfillment and devotion I felt to writing in order to leave this country for a decade. A sad trade off, but I'm left with very few options.

Once a girl who cried during the "Save A Child In Africa" infomercials/documentaries, I have lost the ability to empathize with people. Feelings never factor into my decisions, not even with those closest to me. A mask is what I wear during the day, and it works well enough. People see what I want them to see. They see what they want to see. Sometimes I come across as a mildly interested young woman trying to read the Arabic on posters around KU, other times my face is as blank and as emotionless as a gray wall. My classmates don't like me, and I couldn't care less for them. They are shallow, insignificant and irrelevant women who refuse to challenge themselves. They have neither academic wit not domestic prowess. The few interactions I've had with the boys at KU have been entirely underwhelming, but there's some hope there. The women... They're just hopeless. I can't help but feel as though Feminism is being wasted here. It even seems as though they enjoy being dependent and ultimately subservient. 

Honestly, I don't even know what to say anymore. Living in Kuwait is like living with 2 million copies of the exact same ignorant dumbass. The real kicker? The Salaf aren't the worst of the bunch.

Kuwait, where it's not a stereotype... It's a way of life. 

I've grown bitter. I'm tired of looking for a silver lining amongst all this golden silence. My mind has grown rusty, and this metaphor has begun to feel cheap (Damn... I've still got it).    

Choking on her pride,

S.

PS - Don't diminish the respect I have for you (my readers) by attempting to defend Kuwait. Seriously.