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.