Chug This Truth

Barbican; the drink in question.

HALLAL

HARAM

Hypocrisy at its best. 

I can't decide whether these corporate monkeys think we're really that stupid, or whether this is what we want, because apparently beer culture is so popular, that it has taken root in the Middle East. The Islamic Middle East. The same region of the world that still practices honor killings, stoning and polygamy. Yep, that's the one.

To set the record straight, I am very much a member of the "Live & Let Live" party. If you're not doing anything harmful to yourself or anyone else, then the best of luck to you. As people, we're all born with free will and the ability to make choices. The factors that influence those choices is another topic entirely, but at the end of the day, we always have a choice. Not to say it's always an easy choice,  or if there even is a "right' choice. However, I digress...
Barbican. I remember this drink from when I was a kid, seeing the adverts on MBC (Back when it was only one channel), and staring in awe at all that testosterone-fueled fun. Now, this is what's up; anyone who knows me from any platform in life knows I like to have a good time. I like to just kick it with friends, do pointless things, if only for the heck of it. A buzz kill I am not. However, why not represent the female youth of the Middle East? Surely, we can find time in between all the laundry and labor to have a fun-filled weekend with the girls, no? Is it too much to ask, to see some equal representation of young women in the Middle East? The most frustrating part is that we are either represented in a terrible light (Headline: Father kills Muslim daughter for running away, etc.) or stuck with no representation at all. This attitude only further fuels the West's negative image of us, and why wouldn't it? It's not like anyone out there is doing anything to prove then wrong. We seem to be oppressed, neglected, and like the masochists we must be... We are enjoying it. All the while, advertising agencies continue to glorify men by serving up what can only be described as beer without the sins. Seriously?
Bottom line: This isn't an attack against men; it's a protest aimed at advertising agencies that uphold tired and drawn-out stereotypes. This is a plea from one Middle Eastern... OK, Canadian/Kind Of Arabic woman, to any woman reading it out there: We need to fight this together. Something needs to change, and it should start with us. Women.

Next week, I'm unzipping Queen Rania's pants. I'm am so over her, you have no idea.

(Here's a video montage of the drink's commercials. Frankly, I'm quite tired of this glorified image of Khaleeji bachlerdom. How about some equality to go with that brew?)

This has been the first installment of "Taking The Pants Off Patriarchy". Hope it was good for you too.


Asking you to line her eyes not poke them out,

S.

PS - Let me know what how you feel about Barbican and what it represents. You know where the comments are.

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.

Running On Fear

Once again, marketing makes fools of us all

Today, I woke up to face my first midterm of the year. Honestly? I can't remember being this nervous about anything to do with school or grades in a long time. Once upon a time, The Expatess was a star student. Someone people thought I would end up in Harvard in 10 years, and the White House in 30. (Maybe 25... I've got a way with words). I used to be that annoying kid with the perfect grammar who excelled at almost every subject (struggled with Math), was adored by the teachers and faculty and just all around very easy to hate. Those times are long gone. 

The stability I enjoyed early in my childhood years vanished sometime during middle school. I went from country to country, school to school, culture to culture.... After a while those things take a toll on you. The subjects I was naturally good at remained within my grasp, but anything requiring dedication and time (Math) fell right through the cracks of my fragile young sanity. Long story short, my star dimmed after grade seven and I found myself dragging along in both school and life, all at once barely making it and yet somehow remaining distinguished. I hated the latter, because all it ever did was remind me that I was letting myself down. Letting me know every minute of every day that I had more potential than I gave myself credit for. However, I was too caught up in my indifference to care. It's strange how the more you see of the world, the less you're likely to believe in it. 

Past chagrin aside, one of the main reasons I was pumped for KU (Well, the only reason really) was that it was undeniably the mark of a fresh start. I got my acceptance, got into the major I need to get to Ireland, I have great professors.... All the pieces, that I tore apart with my own stubborn hate, have begun to fall into place. Don't get me wrong, there's still a lot of confetti to pick up off the floor, but it's a start. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm using my potential. I'm taking life by the horns, and carving out a destiny I want for myself. Amazing, really. To realize that while success does not mean happiness, they are both things you control. I just can't get over how I'm actually spending each day bringing myself closer to the things I want in life. Sure, I'd love to be an English Lit major but I'm not exactly giving up a lot by going to medical school. 

The point of this whole lengthy and wishy-washy post is this: When it comes to rock bottom, failure, lost potential etc. there was no one who beat me at that. I was the best at being the worst. But you know what? I got my act together and so can you. One of the few great things about life is that it's not static. Change is inevitable, you have control over your own life, so change it to what you want it to be. Just get up and do it. You have no future, and the past is gone. Seize the day and make it your own. I think I'm starting to understand what if feels like to be happy. Maybe.

By the way, I didn't really come to this conclusion on my own. Someone much ballsier than I am helped me see the light. I owe him a Guinness at some point in the future.  

Counting her quids and ready to tip,

S.

PS - I totally rocked the midterm today. Thank you flashcards, diligence and zero social life. Let me know in the comments below something you've recently rocked to the heavens and back.  

Foga/Ta7ta/Over It

Know the type?

In the Middle East, we like to do things if only to irritate certain members of said community. Certain Feminist members. Certain things like glorying the idiocy of male youth. We like to depict their lifestyles as exciting sand-drenched adventures that only add to their boyish appeal. Oh, their reckles ways, with their free days spent jet-skiing with their buddies, and having a barbeque later that night as they all gather round for laughs and good ol' fashioned uber-male talk of how many girls they've "scored". Suffice to say, I'm hardly amused.

MTV Arabia, a branch of the MTV family catered towards the Middle East, constantly glorify the bachelor lifestyle of young Khaleeji men. It disgusts me how they continually portray what is straight-up douchery as "innocent fun", classified under the "Boys will be boys" heading in society's bullshit manifesto. Another major aspect of this biased portrayal ofcan be found within the carbonated beverage industry: Barbican. Oh, yes. My paranoia knows no end. 

I'll end this post here, as I've decided to develop this into a series (one of several) aimed at exposing bias that I am sick of. I'll be picking up this one-sided conversation next week, and my first victim shall be the aforementioned beverage.

To quotes my first Pop love, Gwen Stefani, "I'll be happy for you, if you can be happy for me too". If you want to support their lifestyle and choices, fine. The least society could do is even the playing field and grant me the freedom to act like an idiot when I feel like it.

Oh, and the name of this series is "Taking the Pants Off Patriarchy". No, the applause isn't necessary...

Wishing they'd live and let others try,

S. 

PS - What part of society do you feel often get off too easily?

Boys Boys Boys

Embody everything mentioned in this song, and I'll meet you at the aisle... 

No lengthy intro today; I read this, found it amusing and then decided that as a Feminist trying to create equality in Kuwait, I should compile my own version of this list. Here goes:

Real Guys: These guys are your buddies; gender does not exist around these guys because they're your friends. Laughs, jokes and advice are the bread and butter of these relationships. They'll always make you smile. I love them like family, and adore them like a schoolgirl.

The Bell Boys: Very sweet, overly kind and considerate. They'll carry your books, pick up pens you've dropped and more. All these things make it even more difficult to let them know there's no future there. Be careful not to use them to simply tend to your ego or boost your own self-esteem. People are not meant to be used like toys. I'm a bad person, and so I try to protect these people from myself, because they don't deserve to deal with my issues.

The Untouchables: These are guys you respect and admire, but there's really nothing like that there. Take in their wisdom, and learn what you can from them. They're something of a one-way road, so don't over think things. These guys confuse me, end of story.

The Smoking Guns: Last but not least, we have them. Oh yes, these guys are dangerous in every sense of the word. They'll change the way you think, the way you see the world. Speaking to them will be a rush, only matched by the intensity in which they keep up intellectually. At first glance, they're not your "type", but they'll make themselves your type. Be wary of them, or they'll wear you down. Also,  they are very, very rare so think carefully about where you want to take things with them.

Suffice to say, human relationships both fascinate and confuse me. Also, I love boys. Do you see my dilemma?

Taking aim at her (alleged) intimacy issues,

S.

PS - Comment and below and let me know what you think. Recognize anyone off the list, perhaps yourself?

**Don't take this post too seriously, we still live in Kuwait. If you did, then let me be the first to tell you, you are a douche.**

Last Laughs

Today is a sad day for comedy, Kuwait and The Expatess. It was reported that Kuwaiti comedian Ghanem Al Saleh passed away early this morning in London after losing his battle to cancer. You can read more about the details in this article here, as it would be dull and redundant for me to merely regurgitate what is already floating around the internet at this point.

I'm not writing this post in a bid to say my few words of Arabic condolences, or to try to submerge myself in what's happening in Kuwaiti culture. I'm writing this post because as a young girl growing up abroad, the only (small) window I had into Kuwait was the television. While we all know that the portrayals of Kuwaitis in the numerous soaps that circulate all the MBCs, ARTs and Orbits are not an accurate reflection of life in Kuwait or its fine folk, it was the only real link I had to my roots while  living out a childhood in North America during the Nineties. I'm not going to go into detail as to why I wasn't more "aware" of my Kuwaiti background growing up (That's for another more appropriate time), but I'm thankful Mr. Al Saleh was a part of my life. I'm thankful he made me laugh during many Ramadans. He taught me how to furiously flip a ghutra, how to express outrage in a deliciously melodramatic way only an Arab man can. He showed off the hilarity of Khaleejis in foreign vacation spots, and made us all laugh at own cultural missteps. He founded a theater troupe, was a pioneer of his time, brought joy to many hearts, educated dozens and will be missed greatly.

For all the laughs, all the nasfas and all the memories, I wish you peace and happiness where ever you may now be Ghanem.

Bidding London one last bye bye,

S. 

Standing In Lines

Random update: Currently craving this. Deal with it.

It's about 11:00 a.m. and I'm stuck in KU's library with nothing better to do than attemtp to get some work done/entertain myself with their beyond crippled internet connection. I am so bored right now that I decided I should take this pent-up frustration I have and blog. To add insult to injury, I get to blog about my disdain for KU from the university itself. At this point, it's little victories like this that help me get through each day...Well that and diet coke but that's less to do with my boredom and more to do with my caffiene addiction. *Cue eye twitch*

When I made my blog, I had originally intended to use it to spread a message of sorts, but now after almost three months since I started it I've lost track of what the message was meant to be. I am in the midst of something of an identity crisis at the moment, and it's frustrating trying to distinguish the inner root of my problem from the apparent root, which would seemingly be KU. I say this because I never wanted this blog to be a viral dedication to my life, a digital diary if you will. I wanted to stir up controvery and create social change, a legacy I would leave behind once I got all the credits I need to transfer to Ireland for medical school....I had plans. 

These days, I find myself in something of a dilemma. I am able to see a future for myself that extends beyond next month, but day-to-day I have no idea what to do with myself. Whether it's the lack of interest in my subjects, the dullness of KU or the sad reality that their library has not a single work of fiction, I don't know. All I know is that I'm somewhat lost these days.

In other news, Scope TV was under attack a few days ago, and I'm interested to see how things play out and what story the media will come up with to explain away this little "incident".

Killing time in this punk-ass library,

S.

PS - Let me know in the comments below how you've been feeling these days and let's toast to our united disillusionment.