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).
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.
PS - I'm working through a horrid bout of writer's block, so bear with.
PPS - Fahad, you rock.