As that unmentionable time slowly claws its way towards us, the inevitable process of packing and reminiscing has kicked itself into high gear. I'll go ahead and apologize in advance; I'm not feeling all that inspired these days and so my words may fall flat. Not to say that you can't anchor them with your own thoughts and feelings, but my intellectual pool is rather shallow these days. I chalk it up to having far too many rooted-in-reality worries these days. I am, after all, moving to another country entirely. This forgiving limbo between now and then feel like some sort of bizarre suspension for disbelief. I've entered a dimmed movie theater, and for the next little while, I'll play along and pretend that dreams come true, happiness is within reach and maybe I can even be who I am without having to cower behind a cyber cloak of anonymity.
Packing this time around feels different. I'm not moving with my entire family; I'm leaving them behind. I find myself having to weigh my decisions.
Is this necessary?
Will I still want this when I come back?
Does it fit in any aspect of my life?
Will I ever wear this shade of lipstick?
Perhaps I'm high-maintenance or too girly for my own good, but the packing process for a woman seems a tad more complex than it does for the average male. A slave to vanity, but more because I'm self-conscious than vain, there are a lot of things that are simply more accessible in Kuwait than they are abroad. The bi-monthly trips to the salon, the manicures/pedicures, the thoughtless spending... I take this things for granted. In my defense, being of Middle Eastern descent means you have to be a bit more proactive about your personal appearance, but still. Being a woman, there are certain societal expectations I still choose to live up to.
So, as I pack, I try to imagine each item and whether it will serve a purpose in my this new life of mine. Is this the hairband that I'll wear to my first day of school? Will this foundation look good after a few hours a dimly lit movie theater with friends? Are these earrings chic or am I doing the 80s a disservice?
But it always goes back to the lipstick.
As a fairly chipper person, I use my mouth a lot. (Save the dirty puns.) I talk, I tell, I laugh, I gasp, I whisper... The list is endless. Hell, sometimes I even smile. While I'm partial to sunglasses, (because really; how else am I going to express myself at 19?) , they do obscure my eyes. That's why I always have my mouth to express how I feel inside. That last bit probably didn't make sense, but you were warned beforehand about the quality of these words.
Most of my self-expression in Kuwait has been done in silence, namely writing. Sure, sometimes I listen to music while I write and I'm never too far from my iPod, but the melody I cherish the most, that of my thoughts, is silence. It's pure and unfiltered. You can't cut it, and you can't scratch it. There won't be a remix to download and you won't hear an acoustic rendition of it anytime soon.
Why not? Well, because I haven't released this record.
You're probably wondering about everything you've read up until this point. That? That's been a compilation of song covers.
You'll probably find some of my thoughts scribbled on the corner of a napkin in some obnoxious coffee shop in Europe. Don't mind the lipstick stains, though.
It's my way marking my territory.
