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