The X To My Why

(Edit: This was written as a letter sent between two lovers who can never be together. Why? The girl didn't think their astrological signs were a good match. It was my new age take on star-crossed lovers. We were reading Romeo & Juliet at the time. English, grade 9... Good times).  

While I'm more of a hard-hitting journalist (read: deluded blogger with 4 followers), I do actually enjoy writing fiction every now and then. Sadly, life has side swept me and I haven't had a whole lot of free time. What with KU, preparing my blog posts and life in general, I'm lucky I have time so sleep. However, I found one of my creative writing pieces from a few years ago. Enjoy. 

(It's kind of lame). (You've been warned).

Dear Someone,

It’s on days like this one that I hate you. I really, truly hate you. I was stuck in a miserable loop of heartache and shame when we met, so much so that I never even considered you for a second. I was not remotely impressed, nor did I even give you a second thought. That’s where I messed up; I didn’t see you as the threat you were, and so I didn’t feel it necessary to put up defenses. You were nothing to me, you didn’t mean anything. 

Now, you’re not everything, but you’re pretty damn close. 

It’s frightening how much you affect my mood. I feel like a small child, clinging onto you, wanting you to be everything to me. That last part is where I begin to freak out. I’m not used to needing people, certainly not to this extent. Glorious as it was, I can’t help but sometimes wish we had never we met. I’m too young to feel this old and heart-broken, and I’m tired of constantly yearning for you. All these emotions make me feel weak; I should be above yearning, above wants and needs, above love.

As far as I can tell, I love you. I don’t think that will ever change. I don’t look forward to the day we’re both older, and we’re married, but not to each other. It’s stupid how far ahead I’m thinking. I told you, you’re aging me at a rapid pace.

It probably won’t ever happen, us I mean. It wouldn’t work out, but I don’t think I’ll ever find another like you. I constantly compare people to you. None of them quite hit the spot. You’re my constant imaginary companion, and we do everything together. Crazy? I believe so.

I miss you so much. I love you even more. 

While I’ll never stop loving you, today is just one of those days when I don’t like you.

Today, I hate you.

(Regretfully) Yours,

S. 

PS - Any thoughts or comments?

Just For Kicks

Because I love my blog, and miss having something cohesive to write, I've decided I shall try to get out of this current funk I'm in by dusting off some obscure blog tag and doing it just for kicks. An added bonus? You might just learn a thing or two about The Expatess in the process. 

Enjoy. 

 

Lasts:
 

Last birthday? February 19th, 2010.  I turned 18.
Last meal? Some Syrian dish my Mom made with a salad. (No, NOT tabbouleh).

Last spending splurge? A Julien McDonald dress 3 weeks ago. (I love it).

Last time you cried? Last week.
Last career? Haven't carved one out yet. I'm a student.
Last website visited? cbc.ca
Last person you spoke to? My mother.
Last song you listened to? Bloodstream - Stateless

Last book you read? 1984.
Last TV show watched? 30 Rock.
Last person you texted? One of my best friends, Fatima.
Last word you said? Okay.

I tag: Anyone and everyone. Respond on your blog and link me, or just respond in the comments below. I love hearing from anyone who reads this thing.

3rd Time's The Charm?

I love you Colin, I swear I love you.

After a stressful fortnight of midterms, anxiety, nightmares and all around depression, Eid break has finally rolled around and graced us all with some much needed rest. Might I add not a moment too soon, because I literally walked out of my last midterm with blurry eyes and a heavy tongue. Blame the toxic fumes of KU textbooks. Or the lack of sleep. Or the constant abuse of caffeine. Who knows?

After spending a lovely Thursday afternoon with my parents (lunch & Avenues), catching up with friends (Skype & Wataniya) and then reading 1984 again (I can't get enough of this book! LOVE) I realized something: I like life. I don't love it, not yet anyways, but I've warmed up to it. Especially since the weather cooled down. Before I move on, let me just say that Kuwait's weather has been nothing short of scenic lately. The Expatess definitely approves. A lot.
Moving on, in between the slumber, lounging around and trips to a secret bookstore, I find myself with very little time to indulge in my favorite past time: Twitter. 
Uncharacteristically, I went almost 4 whole days without a single Tweet, or cheat (where you login, but don't Tweet). This is what I did during those four days:

1. Took my two brothers and the driver on a 95 minute adventure, driving up and down a street, looking for a small independent bookstore I heard about through a friend.
2. Found the bookstore (which is beyond words) and bought 1984 and The Scarlet Letter. They didn't have One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. A tragedy of the grandest proportions? It is. 
3. Watched The Diary of Bridget Jones in bed (and under the covers!) and sighed over Colin Firth. 
4. Did my nails. Currently sporting "Mannequin Hands" (Inglots color #842).
5. Spent a combined 5 hours agonizingly building an Asalah Nasri playlist on my iTunes. It's confusing; I blame the Arabic language and lack of willingness to illegally share music in the Middle East. (Don't look at me like that; I'd download a car if I could).
6. Sat on my bedroom floor, in my pajamas, and just thought about things. 
7. Basically spent an entire day in bed. In my defense, it was Friday,
8. Won a debate with my Dad about the negative (my stance) impact the Islamic Revolution had on Kuwait. This deserves an "Ayabah" (It's a local Kuwaiti exclamation of victory). 
9. Spent some quality time, alone. Not possible when you have Twitter; I hate being "connected" all the time. I enjoy my solitude. I've missed my own company as of late... I should do something about that. Soon.
10. Ate badly for a bit, felt a bit guilty and then got over it.
11. As a result of 10, picked up the gym habit again. The things we do for health...
12. Tried going back to FaceBook. Never again. 
13. Had a brief "I want to go back to hating everyone and everything FULL TIME" moment, but worked through it. Can I get an "Amen"? A "Praise Jesus"? No? Fine.
14. Put on a face mask and brushed my hair 100 strokes (each side) with my fancy expensive brush.
15. Figured out how to make a home-made Frappe. It tasted pretty good, and was guilt-free. Okay, political-guilt-free.
16. Cleaned out my closet, got rid of a ton of junk, gave away about 70% of my clothes and redecorated.... a bit. Okay, I got a light bulb for my lamp.
17. Laid in bed for a good hour listening to "Lovefool" by The Cardigans.
18. Discovered that the battery in my MacBook Air won't charge. A trip to iCity is in my future. Shoot me.
19. Thought about Tweeting. 

All I can conclude from my mini-vacation-within-a-vacation is this: Tweeting proves we exist; not Tweeting proves we are living.


Happy in her bubble for one,

 

S.

PS - Have you given up anything lately? Give me the What/When/Why/Who and the Where.... but only if it's appropriate. Yes, #lolwut indeed.

Scent Of A Woman

My *favorite* scent for men & women.

I've been on something of a creative-writing kick lately, and so I thought I'd share a piece I drafted in my mind last week during a particularly dull Chemistry class. I haven't done any writing with the intent of serving it up to the masses as ficition for a while, so here goes:

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights above sang the tales of a weekend I would have preferred to forget. Drums pounded in my head, and a symphony of nerves strung away at my heart. I looked like a mess, felt like a mess, even breathed like a mess. Trying my hardest to slowly draw in a a breath of the air around me, without taking in any of the sorrow or worry. Those things made me sick. Their bitter taste would lie in my throat for days, trickling down just a little each day, leaving me constantly on the verge of throwing up.

Today's hangover felt different. It felt necessary; my senses needed to be dulled if I was going to make it through today. Through what was about to happen.

It was the way the dull fluorescent light made it gleam. My heart stopped beating ages ago, but I felt fear slowly walk down my spine. I shifted in my seat, hoping that insignificant movement would fix things, maybe even change what I had just saw, but it didn't. She slowly pulled it out of her handbag. She was armed. This was her defense, how she was going to reel them in. What she didn't realize was that it was going to scare them off; once it hit them, they would run for the hills. BOOM. The first time felt unnatural faulty; she had forgotten what she'd practiced. BOOM. The second time, her hand took to it a little more, the trigger warming to her touch. BOOM.BOOM.BOOM. Her courage was rising, things began to feel familiar, even natural. BOOM. People took notice. BOOM. Her presence was finally felt. BOOM.

Eight spritzes of "Obsession" by Calvin Klein was a bit much, but she hadn't had time to change. She was still in clothes she wore Friday. We were hungover on a Monday morning. 

S. 

PS - Excuse the grammar, punctuation, flipping back and forth between the tenses and pronoun use... It's a mess, but I had an urge to write some fiction. Enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments below.