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.