I am completely baffled by the alignments in our daily experiences. Over the weekend I was sort of given an ultimatum by my partner, apparently I am to work on my ass that’s been “losing shape” recently, or expect other arrangements to be made. Needless to say I was  appalled by the comment (even though it was half a joke) and defended myself by saying “you met me and fell in love with me when I was this size.”

My yoyo dieting aside, I’ve been thinking and reading about bodies, and body image a lot lately. Not very strange for a bisexual feminist, but as I stated before, some alliances just cannot be dismissed as mere chance. I came across this collection of sex education comics. It might say “sex ed”, but it is a little more complex than that. Some of the comics talk about relationships, gender constructions, alternative sexualities, experiences, prejudices, stereotypes, and so on. What I found most relevant is a couple of pages that talk about relationships and a need for intimacy. At one particular moment, the creator of the comic realizes that the partner she is completely in love with is only “casually interested in me”. It made me wonder about my own partner.

What’s in an ass? (Juliet commits suicide at this appropriation of “What’s in a name?”)

When we fall in love, we fall in love with the whole person, I am not denying the importance of physical attributes here. But once we establish that love – or rather, that fall, are we still allowed to second think our choices?

Does it make you love me less that in fact you can see ugliness in me?

Perhaps the extent of love plays a larger role than I am capable of admitting at this point of the relationship, since I am still wholly, completely, and blindly in love with you.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted.. But.. Here I am again!

Knowing You, Knowing Me

December 26, 2012

Perhaps one of the things I fell in love with is the truth.

I have never been so true to myself, and though you sometimes bite your teeth down in jealousy, you still accept who this woman is, and what she needs.

I still get those pushes towards the marriage route, and sometimes the idea of a home does sound appealing. But am willing to give up this truthfulness.Who will accept the truth of one’s sexuality without insult, without repress, or moderation?

And how do I make him believe that I am not bisexual for his pleasure and that no threesomes are involved in this bodily choice?

You are a good man, but I have a better man, and he knows the truth.

cold wind, hot soup

September 19, 2010

It’s the fall already.

It seems only yesterday the summer started and I was looking forward to all the picnics and lazy afternoons.

Whatever happened to those lazy afternoons?

Summer flashed by me, mocking me having so much work and so little time for it’s warm invite. The sun slithered teasingly in my room every sunrise, teasing me with it’s rays, and laughed at me while departing at sunset, making misfortunate shapes on my wall. Another warm summer day gone, and no leaving this wretched room.

And now it’s the fall. Cold and crisp. And I miss home. The sun and the dust and the hotness of it all. I want to go home and I want to sweat in the sun, like I always worry I shouldn’t. This thing, the desire to stay clean and smelling like Comfort and Chanel, has to be squashed and spitted on. Live, I say, live! And sweat.

Then shower of course.

It is the luxury of being single. The stupid luxuries. I don’t have to wax my legs, or keep my feet as soft as a baby’s ass. I am very much a living gorilla right now, and I so enjoy it. Not long ago when it was still sunny, I was having a jog in the park, and I sat on the grass afterwards. The sun was playing beautiful colour tricks and I was in awe.. I looked at my arms, and how the sun was reflected on the hair on them, pure magic. I don’t understand why I have to strip them bare when they look so beautiful hairy. Silly tradition, silly culture, silly feminine rules.

Soup.

Sure does warm your heart, and insides. I am getting over a cold. And it is so funny.. I thought it could be hey fever, and not a cold. And then I realized I wasn’t craving cigarettes. My mother always said she hates smoking when she catches a cold. And then I had it, sheer truth, I have a cold, and I am definitely becoming more and more like my mother everyday.

It is almost as though I am in a preparation period. I have changed so much in the years I lived in London. And yet somehow I always plan my life in Kuwait, as though I need to validate these changes by embedding them in my “normal” life. If I go back home, and I am the same undergraduate I used to be years ago, then nothing has really changed.

I can’t ever truly live the way I want in Kuwait though, and this has nothing to do with limitations of the culture (although that is also a problem). I can’t because of the heat, and lack of green. I will miss the pleasant weather (won’t miss the rain). I will miss having a park to sit in close by no matter where I go. And I will miss preparing my own meals and having so much alone time to think and work.

I will not, however, miss being without my family. They are what I miss the most. In fact if they were here, I probably would miss Kuwait much less than I do.

Such vanity, these blogs.

I can write this in a diary, but there is something about seeing it on a screen. I suppose I shall delete all those personal entries at one point. But not today. Today I treat myself to a cup of hot leek and potato soup, and some vanity.

Desperately Hawt

July 7, 2010

I love you! There! I said it!

She’s soooo lesbian.

Utter Horror

May 17, 2010

I miss home.
It’s been years for me here and I really oh-so-do miss home.
However…

I realize that going back home means being once again the only child of two very loving (and controlling) miracle-making parents. I say miracle-making because they may be the last couple I know who are still going strong after over 20 years of marriage.. Which means, of course, that they are kind enough to be there to control my every move when I go back home.

I have not gone too wild, I must confess, in my long stay in the city of broken rooftops and ugly poodles. I have not done drugs and I have not tasted a non-virgin drink (although had the pleasure of tasting a non-virgin woman, I must admit). However, even if my wild days were not too wild, I will miss the freedom and being my own boss. Something silly like keeping my dishes in the sink overnight. Yes,  mother, it is your utter horror here, my life. No one to watch me not separating my whites and colors while doing laundry, and no one to remind me that having breakfast comes before a smoke.

I miss home.

But I will miss having my very own home even more.

So I’m guessing a few more years is not a bad thing after all😀

…is it’s fucking cold.

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