ICU

Kuwait?

I think we need to start over.

S.

So...

I started this blog back in July for a myriad of reasons, but mainly to document my life in KU. Somewhere along the line, it became a tribute to my miserable existence in Kuwait. I avoided turning it into that for a long time, but it is what it is. 

People (Kuwaitis in particular?) seem to forget that before coming to this country, I had a whole other life. Take a moment and steal a glance at my banner. 

It says "Born American. Raised Canadian". 

I had plans. I was going to go to law school, work my way up the corporate ladder, become partner in some high profile agency by the time I was 30 and then enter the Canadian political scene. I was going to buy a cottage in Peggy's Cove and raise my children in Halifax. I never thought we were going to move to Kuwait. So excuse me if I'm bitter and angry, when every plan I ever had for myself was burnt to ash infront of my very own eyes. 

I wasn't supposed to be stuck in the Biology department in KU because neither the university nor the Ministry of Higher Education can calculate a Canadian GPA. 

So before you tell me to suck it up, please remember that you don't know me. No one in Kuwait has known me longer than 2 and a half years. Not my best friends, not my loyal blog readers, not even my parents.  

So while I feel like I should apologize for my recent tone, I won't. Try having all your dreams taken away from you, then come talk to me. 

Oh wait... I forgot we're in Kuwait, the land were no one has any dreams or hopes, just multiple smartphones. 

Peace out. 

S.

Good God

Here's the deal: I've hit a dead end.

I walk and talk and chit and chat. I'll read about Communism, go to bed, I get up in the morning. I paint my face, pick out a few accessories. Figure out what pair of shoes to spend the rest of my day wincing through. I sit in class, humor professors. I ignore classmates, shoot dirty looks and avoid eye contact with anything that is not the brainchild of Steve Jobs.

In short? I'm existing. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Honestly, I have no business complaining about my life. I have a roof over my head, pretty things to amuse my inner Kuwaitiya, parents who are alive and healthy (if not always available), and access to an education, however mediocre it may be. 

I pay several hundred Kuwait Dinars a year to ensure I move around enough (gym), spent inordinate amounts of time making sure I'm not eating too much (diet). I get up in the middle of the night to adjust the temperature of my room. I wear a sleeping mask once the sun rises, because it's too bright and I can indulge and sleep in far after it has shattered the past.

My own privilege has numbed me right up. I feel nothing.

Also, the lack of any real struggle in Kuwait has helped in that respect. Not to say that there aren't people in Kuwait who struggle financially (for sure personally), but the majority live comfortable lives. They don't really understand what it means to struggle... with anything. They don't push themselves. They just sit back and let all of Kuwait's security wash over them. They just sit there and soak in all their dissatisfaction, mediocrity and lack of ambition.

Well, either that or they start selling cupcakes.

(Apologies for the disgustingly long winded tangent. I was going somewhere with this post). 

Ah, yes.

On the drive home from the gym today, I saw a huge neon sign somewhere near some highway. The word? Allah (in Arabic though). For a split second, the only image that came to mind was that of Las Vegas. 

Sin City. The Devil's Playground. Basically where good people go to do bad things.

The two represent such different ends of the spectrum of choice that is life, but here they were being sold off in the same manner. Big, bright, bold and in your face. Perched atop a building, that neon reminder of some unconfirmed deity just glares at us. It doesn't comfort. It doesn't confirm. It's just condescending.

I want to get out of KU. I want to move the hell out of Kuwait, and not return for a healthy three years. I want to grow up. I want to leave. I want a fresh start. 

I had so many of those growing up; we'd move every 12-18 months. Now? Nothing. I've been stagnant for two and a half years.

In short? I'm just angry.

S. 

PS - I'm working through a horrid bout of writer's block, so bear with.

PPS - Fahad, you rock.

Nothing

I don't know what this is, but I have lost all and any lust for life.

S.  

Fibers

It's almost two in the morning right now, and I'm sitting on the floor of my new bedroom, cross-legged with my Mac in my lap. Beside me, I have the following:

1. A mini white-board
2. A biology textbook
3. My iPhone 
4. Various boxes and suitcases

I went to bed a few hours ago, but woke up to get myself a drink of water and decided that since I'm up, I might as well do a bit of review before I doze off. Who are we kidding? 

I'm going to blog.

I don't really have much to say. What I initially mistook for some inner sense of peace, some much needed calm, turned out to be something else entirely. Rather than peace, I think I've stumbled upon defeat. As it stands, I have no idea what my future holds. No, this isn't one of those exciting "look-at-all-the-opportunities-that-may-lie-ahead" kind of chaos; it's much, much worse.

I don't know where I'm going to end up. People ask, and I'll confuse them with some cryptic answer involving the Ministry of Higher Education's fuckery, Canadian paperwork and KU but the truth is... maybe I don't want to get my transfer? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. It's no secret that I have little to no sincere desire to pursue medicine. Listening to myself justify this odd career choice to my friends, and you'd almost think I'm trying to convince myself of something. 

I dislike science. I hate math. No matter what I do or say, I'll never become half the doctor my father is. I highly doubt I will even graduate from medical school (not a "real" one anyways), if I make it in to one. I can't not at least try, because then I' shall be doing nothing more than proving the naysayers right. My parents will say, "Oh, you're not medschool material anyways." I'll be furious and want to prove everyone wrong, but I can't. I can't right a wrong with another wrong. 

I don't even know if I'm good enough to excel at what I want to do (something with English, politics and publishing). So, a crippling fear of failure and a lack of academic confidence seem to have me forever bound to this stupid track. My hands are tied.

Sleepy, depressed, and staving off anxiety attacks.

Wrecking the train,

S.

PS - I'm really sleepy.

Because I Have To

Who else can make reading philosophy sexy? (To be fair, I already think reading & philosophy are very sexy).

 Happy Birthday Lady Gaga! 

Whispers

Once upon a time, I had a life in Canada and this song was popular. I miss being naive young. 

As it stands, I am six months away from completing my third year in Kuwait. The person I was when I reached this land no longer exists. I don't know where she is, and I haven't heard from her in a while. 

I miss her. 

In her place, I've found this new S. I've been struggling with her for a while now. She's so rash, so young and overly eager. She hasn't seen a world outside of Kuwait. She's forgotten many things I no longer remember; the sound of snow crunching under her boots, riding the bus, walking to school, doing laundry... Someone else did these things, a long time ago. She's eager, and easily excited. I can't seem to keep her in check. Being so young, she's constantly starving, wanting to devour everything in sight. Every emotion, every sound, every glance... She's on fire and I don't know how to quench her thirst.

Schizophrenia aside, life has been good. I'd almost say too good, but then again I have been sweating blood for almost a year now trying to create the life I've always wanted and so I think I'll just enjoy the payoff without worrying about any future debt. 

(The way I see it? If you're not broke, you're not living) (Yeah, I don't know what that means either. Cut me some slack; I haven't written a while).

Writing this, I'm listening to the song I've added above and I'm surrounded by boxes, suitcases and general chaos. No, we're not leaving the country; we're simply moving to a larger home. Why bring this up? Well, this is the most familiar setting I've found myself since moving to this country two and a half years ago. The dull thud of brown boxes hitting marble, the fluid sound of zippers and plastic bags rustling... If I close my eyes, it's almost like I'm in my old life again. It's as though we're back in Canada (my real home), and we're preparing for the next major move. Usually, my nerves would burn with an intoxicating mix of anxiety, anticipation and excitement; just think of all the new people, new teachers, news books!  

Not this time. After the last piece of clothing has been hung and the last screw twisted, I'll still be in Kuwait. A new carpet doesn't change that. The most disturbing part? I'm not as upset about this as I'd like to be.

I don't like where we are. I need to move out of Kuwait, soon.          

Feeling blissfully spent,

S.

PS - You are the one that lies close to me, Kuwait. (Unfortunately for both of us).

PPS - How fucking excited are we to have the sun back? Spring rocks.