cold wind, hot soup

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.

Utter Horror

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 😀

The thing about canada…

…is it’s fucking cold.

Looking forward to…

White hotel sheets and poached eggs in the morning. Long walks and shopping sprees in the noons. Chocolate treats and photographs in the afternoons. The twinkle in your eyes under the city lights in the evenings. And your softness at night.

Who says reality is never better than dreams?

One more time I want to have that boat for us. (elsha5toora).To sing for you and me. Mawjoo3 bejroo7 elhawa shu byenfa3o? Mawjoo3 ma be2ool 3alli byoja3o wet3n 3abalo layali elwaldani, ya 6ayr…. One more time I want to have you, all mine, before he takes you away.

I remembered something today… The first time you said you loved me… It was a text message.. I was sitting on his sofa, in his house.. It was his birthday… 2003..

And now he takes you away.

Looking forward to seeing you a bride…
Looking forward to seeing you happy, glowing, even if for someone else.. I want to be there for you, make sure you’re okay, make sure you don’t worry too much and remind you not to frown on…
Looking forward to holding your babies… A baby that lived inside of you… A miracle that I am already in love with! Your children, will they look like you? Will he let you name one after me the way you said you wanted, always, when we said we’d babysit each other’s children?

I am looking forward to all of this. Isn’t it enough that you’ll be in it?
I will not be sad but I will be in pain. I deserve you. And I’m not sure how I lost you in the first place. Way too soon.

Memories are not enough.

I tweet

therefore I am (not so much).

Tweets by cruxine

Yes, I finally gave in.

The on-going headache

So today my supervisor at uni finally liked the idea for my project. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pleasant smile on that face… It really did make my day except for this headache I have that doesn’t seem to want to go away.

Apart from that, I have to hand in a 2500 words project proposal by friday, which I haven’t started writing yet. Good thing the ideas/words are all crammed in my head, I just hope 4 days is enough time to put them on paper. And on Saturday I’ll be flying – enshallah – for a short holiday coz God knows I need one. I am home sick and need a change of scenery, with disregard to the fact that I’m flying even further away from home – enshallah if volcanos decide it’s time to be civil.

There’s this bug in my room that I can’t seem to get rid of. It keeps flying in front of me, flaunting its speed and taunting my bad aim. I thought fruit flies only lived for a day. Ok, I just remembered that I have an over-ripened banana on my shelf while typing this.. This must be why the fly won’t leave. Idiot!

If every time I get a headache I think I’m dying, does that mean I’m watching too much grey’s anatomy/house md? Or does it simply mean I have too much free time and occupy it by fussing?

My life lacks a penis

She was upset.

I said: “I wish I was marrying you.”

She said: “I would marry you for free.”

She was very upset. But she’s just made me happy for days to come.

So now all I need to do is be re-born with a penis.

Because it’s sunny outside.

I got back from Kuwait to London recently, since my short vacation is over.

In Kuwait, I realized that my lips can still function passionately on another human being, as awkward as it may be, even if their name is not is synch with my heart beat.

Of course, since she has decided to take a stroll down Straight Ville – I don’t blame her since that’s where people get babies from – I am left to explore other possible connections. Only to realize in the end that I am not cut for this crap, and that I would rather walk down with her on Straight Avenue while she goes on about her daily life, simply because I want to be with her whether the way I want or not.

So yeah, I finally gave in to the ridiculous “best friend” label. Happily doing best-friendish things. And do not blame me, alter-ego, coz you would do the same. How else would I see her? So, I settle, while having my own late teen-like adventures on the side.

On a different note…
You never lose your true friend.

And…
Even though I completely blank on it sometimes; I am not alone in the world.

And…
I am only happy because it’s sunny outside. And because of infinite possibilities ahead.

I’m not pregnant

I went to my lady-doctor today. I’ve been having funny periods for a while and ignoring them… But the last straw was bleeding on a completely wrong day of the month – out of the blue. I was utterly horrified to be honest, directly my thoughts sprung towards my hymen, and to be honest I felt pathetic… The thought that losing my hymen at the gym is a disaster is ridiculous… And it takes me years back, when my mother was teaching me how to shower myself, and talking to me about always being careful with down there.

I have to admit I am not as careful as I should be, after all I am an arabic young woman who should know the value of her hymen is worth more than gold (please note my bitter sarcasm here). Yes, I used to ride bicycles, and then horses, and I know exactly what I look like down there, I am very curious, and maybe my mom’s mistake was her referring to my vagina as the holy land that originates all taboos. Well, it isn’t, is it? It belongs to me, not to the prospect of a man invading it.

My doc insisted I take a pregnancy test to rule out being pregnant. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and was not convinced when I told her I have never been with a man. Perhaps I wasn’t convincing enough. And when I said I’ve only been with girls she said something about the possibility of getting that child through one of my lady friend’s who’s been with a guy. As though you could simply “catch” pregnancy. But she went on to explain. And yuck.

The ex found it hilarious… In fact her very own words were “Yeah, I wouldn’t swallow it, I would keep it in my mouth to impregnate you with it!” Which lead us to a hideous conversation about snowballing. Tsk tsk.

Good news: I’m not pregnant. + Bad news: I need to take blood tests. *faints*

I love you, but fuck you.

“Chathaba”

Isn’t that a disgusting word? Isn’t it horrible being called a liar?

I never said it out loud in that way.. “Chathaba”..

Or… Simply, enti chathaba.

Or… Enti 7achyich killa chithb.

Enti chithbich ga3id elawi3 chabdi.

Ma tchathib tgool 3indi syara kash5a, coz 3ndaha, ma ye7taj.

Ma tgi9 3leek wetgool ana 7elwa, l2anha fi3lan 7elwa. Mako da3i lelchithb.

Bas etgool “a7ibich” ….. Tgool “a7ibich wayd” …….

Tgool ma saweet, wala 7abeet, wala bist a77ad thani.

Tgool abeech entai, entai o bas.

Tgool mabi atzawaj, abi athil m3ach, mayseer?

Ba3den tgool 7ag a77ad thani.

Nafs elshai.

O yemkin akthar.

Yemken l2anni 3atajt?

9ert qadeema…?

Yemkin 6 sneen entihat 9ala7iti.

9ert “boring”… 9ert mako shay yedeed.

Zeen.

Mashi.

People break up.

But lesh elchithib?

Lesh “a7ibich”

Lesh ma 6ala3t, o ehi 6al3a.

Lesh ma bist, o ehi baysa.

Lesh 3indi rash, o ehi 3indaha hickey.

Lesh chathaba?

Elso2al elaswa2 ohwa, lesh chathaba o a7ibich?