Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Random vain thoughts... god bless

~*~ Well Riyadh has finally bored the living daylight out of me. Life has settled into too much of a steady routine for my taste. Everything I do and am around is so bloody sterile and chaste and oh so freaking perfect. Fuckin tea-parties and silly outings .. aaaaaaghhh.

Yes. I’m bitter. I haven’t had a smoke or… anything else… in such a goddamn long time. I don’t even like doing crap like that you know, it’s just that I feel, like every “young’un” out there, that there must be some filth in my life, something my parents would flip if they knew about.. its our calling. Whatever… keeps me young.

The party scene is dead, except for the really hard core stuff which I’m not into one bit. The compounds are pretty dead too… I didn’t realize how many expats left over the past couple of years. Riyadh’s pretty useless without them if you ask me.

I did go bowling a couple of days ago. That was fun, my high school had a bowling alley so I have excellent form... but am hopelessly terrible at it. It was just nice to be in a normal, non-curtained and partitioned environment. Music was blaring and some Filipino guy had the urge to get up and do the twist. Anyway, you Riyadh-ians should try it out.


~*~ I went out for some shopping at Faisaliah, and ran into an old annoying acquaintance. She screeched hello and I thought I’d be nice, maybe she had changed from her backstabbing ways. We walked to grab some coffee and on our way back to a table she suddenly stopped and whispered “Why are they staring at us?” indicating a couple of girls at a table nearby.

Ah… the great mystifier. Seriously, it rivals “Where’s the holy grail”.
Why oh why are they looking at you? The question echoes hundreds of time in every shopping establishment, tea-party, restaurant, coffee shop, or any satanic female gathering in these regions.

Fear not, I think I’ve figured it out! Tell no one of this secret, dear reader.

She is looking at you because… well… you are looking at her.

My acquaintance turns from me, to them, then back and exclaims “Oh I bet they like my makeup… gosh I hope they don’t give me the eye”

… silly bitch.

| 20 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Saturday, July 22, 2006

On fleeing it...

… We went anyway.
Made it to the embassy hotel safely… Sleep eluded me that night, I spent it in the frigid quiet lobby (so different than the one I just left behind) with a book and the news while the concierge eyed me furtively.

Dawn found me squeezed between a scrawny Lebanese woman and an old man in the mad rush to the buses as hordes of ill-mannered Gulferns tried to run one another over for seats. On the drive to the Lebanese border, everyone settled back to either doze off or enjoy the breathtaking Biqa’3 scenery. The war was forgotten, everyone must have talked themselves into thinking this was a freakin road-trip.

The Lebanese border, however, had the effect of jarring everyone from sleep. The line of honking screeching cars stretched for miles. Everything from Hummers to rickety Toyota pickups loaded with Louis Vuitton, no less. Our bus driver collected our passports as well as a hefty … umm, monetary gift… to prompt the officials to handle our passports. He promised to be back in minutes. His minutes, however, stretched to an hour. I jumped down and joined the rest of my overheated trip-mates on the curb (a scene my cousins saw on Al-Arabiya. If they replay it—I’m the one in white sunglasses and white Rock ‘n Roll tee). Various shops peppered the street, men lounged about roaring tiresome political soliloquies. Suddenly I felt someone almost jump on me and drag me to the bus, it was the Kuwaiti woman that sat behind me: “Kas’f! Kas’f!” she screamed. (It occurred to me that perhaps a bus with a full tank of gas might not be a prudent shelter... but god, the way she dragged me, the woman must lift weights.)

A few miles behind, Israelis were peppering Al-Biqa’3 with various missiles. The rest of the Saudi buses behind us turned around. Reality seemed to dawn on the bus’ merry bunch. The busy road cleared within half an hour. Shops closed, smart alec political yappers disappeared, cars cleared the road. But there we were, driver-less, passport-less… and no, he didn’t leave the keys. The hour stretched into two, and still no driver. Two hours to three, then four… still no driver and no passports. Shit. The Kuwaiti woman stood up and declared what was on everyone’s minds: “Hatha il suwwag bag grooshna, o juwazatna, o in7ash!” (that driver stole our money, passports and ran off). Another hour passes, and we see throngs of people on foot with rice bags full of clothes. They told a tale of ditching their cars when the road was hit earlier and continuing on foot. Those who did drive had cars with smashed rear windows.

After 5 hours, our driver finally appeared having forked over another $400 to get our passports out. (Some jackass passenger had the nerve to ask for a receipt... pray tell, what would it say? Bribe?). Literally minutes after we drove off, the Lebanese-Syrian borders at Al-Masna’3, where we were for 5 hours, was hit several times.

Despite all, clearly we were the fortunate ones. My heart goes out to the friends I left behind. Sara and Abdul, the funniest/oddest couple I know… Maya and her endless chatter and energy… S., a formerly significant other whose smile, despite the long years, still has my heart tripping over a beat or two.

As for the world, from the inhumane Israeli and U.S. governments to every Arab government devoid of a fucking backbone, all I have to say is Shame on you.

| 12 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Monday, July 17, 2006

On Lebanon, and fleeing it…

“I think I’ll go enjoy Beirut, come back in a few weeks..”—seems like months ago.

I’ve never been to Lebanon but have been meaning to for quite a while. Thus, it was I who planned the whole trip for my family—from impossible last minute flight bookings and accommodations to entertainment. I was quite smug by how easily I managed it all with a couple of day of phone calls.

The clan arrived at Hariri International Airport. We drove out of the airport through enchanting Beirut and on northwards to the seaside region we chose for its charm and more importantly, scarcity of gulferns. The owner, a long time Lebanese resident after fleeing his own war-ridden tyrant-ruled country years ago, met us outside and was the epitome of Lebanese hospitality. Already, we loved the place.

My mother was already unpacking in the room as I rummaged through mine deciding what to wear. “Wait... why don’t you unpack, it’s unlucky not to unpack as soon as you arrive” she called out. But the night was young and my partner-in-crime and I were eager to visit one of the many night spots we picked out. Because of the warm atmosphere and the personable owners and employees, many of the guests would lounge about in the lobby, chat, and get to know each other. There was our neighbor, an Iraqi woman with four daughters, blonde wisps of hair framed her strong boned face. She rarely smiled, but was gorgeous enough to pull it off. There was the German couple, out of the loop when the conversation turned Arabic, but giggly nonetheless. Of course there were three Saudi young men whose conversation stopped and eyes followed if we dared to pass by. We walked down to the lobby and mingled for some time until the driver arrived.

For the next few days, we scuttled to the beach down the road in the morning, spent the afternoons lounging on the balcony enjoying the amazing mountain and sea views, and ventured out every night to various entertainment venues-- I danced until my feet ached and laughed until my cheeks hurt. In those few days, Lebanon became my favorite vacation spot, especially the northern town we picked—unpretentious, quiet, scenic, and very charming.

We were having such a grand old time that no one ever thought to turn on a TV, much less the news. One day—the precise day escapes me— I walked into the lobby dragging my feet and towel with my hair sandy and dripping trying to make an unnoticed beeline for the elevator when the sight of the ominous gathered guests with their attention directed at the TV made me halt. It was the initial raid by Israel on the south. As I continued on my way up to my room and chucked it to yearly commotion, it didn’t occur to me that this hasn’t happened in over 10 years. Next, Hariri airport was hit and shut down, the news spread and the streets were jittery. Still, denial is powerful. We had just arrived, the ink on my plane ticket hasn’t even dried, and we were still having a great time and were convinced, with the added assurance of the gregarious chuckling owner, that it would surely all boil over. We’ll just wait for the airport to reopen, we figured.

Overnight, however, the airport and its oil reserve, as well as il-Dahiya later on, were hit. At 3 A.M, the guests gathered in the lobby again… the German couple was nervous, the Iraqi woman even more so. She suddenly got up and left to her room. The next day we woke up to hear that she took her daughters and was driven to Syria in the veil of night, she was extremely lucky.. the road she took was in ruins hours after she crossed.

Well that’s that, we figure, can’t leave through Syria. So we went down to lunch by the shore—yes, I know, crazy… but as I said, denial... also, north of Beirut seemed safe by all accounts.

As we’re having lunch in the deserted restaurant, we get a phone call from a friend that has just left through Syria asking us to go down to the Saudi embassy immediately, they’re sending out buses to Syria and the next few buses would be the last to leave. We called the embassy all day… no answer. That night, after escalating conditions, a couple of us decide to drive down to the embassy.

As I get into the car, new tenants arrive. These are different than the giddy tourists from a few days back, these are families that fled their ruined southern homes... they’re gloomy and carry no luggage.

Our car sped down the highway to Beirut, and then through the road with water on one side and the quiet city on the other. Beirut is deserted… not a soul. Solidaire(sp?), that only a few nights ago was abuzz with Khaleeji parading throngs, was desolate. It was a most depressing sight. At the embassy, we are told to bring our luggage and leave on the first bus in the morning. We get back to our hotel, pack, and go down to the lobby only to hear from the driver that an Israeli ship very close to the road we took has just been hit. It’s no longer safe to drive there.

To be continued… I have some pictures I took and I’ll see if I can load them up from out here.

| 15 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Sunday, July 09, 2006

I’m leeeaving, on a jet plane …

Off again.

I’m restless. I’m jittery. I don’t know what I want. I can’t even sit down and write a decent blog entry. My life is fine. Hamdilla. But I’m not. I don’t know what I want. But I know something is missing and I know I can’t have it. Does that make sense? I’m all out of sorts and I can’t seem to fix it. I miss having certain people in my life. I think they’ve left a void. No, I know they have. Thinking about it now makes me feel bad, which makes me think perhaps that’s what it’s all about.

Anyway, what’s all this feeling talk ay? Blagh.. I promised I wont backspace.. and it feels good/odd to share.



I think I’ve written about everything under the sun and I’m absolutely out of it… So I think I’ll go enjoy Beirut, come back in a few weeks, and see if I still want to keep this thing.

Cheers. ' :) '

| 10 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Random Thoughts..

~*~ Survival of the fittest becomes survival of the prettiest in this town-- “pretty” being completely subjective and skewed. An ape in a cleverly arranged veil draped across its nose, with eyes garishly contoured with Kohl, irises disguised in unnaturally colored lenses, and everything topped with an up-turned flared nose is… pretty!

What’s worse is that Natural Selection seems to be favoring this type… more and more of the garish apes are evolving.

Darwin is rolling in righteous anger somewhere in his unmarked grave.

I don’t mean to be cruel; the ape analogy is simply to relate to Darwin and not an actual description of their looks.


~*~ What is a marriage these days? in an eastern, not western, perspective.

There're the rare marriages of love and raging passion... which oddly, after all that they've endured pre nuptials, mostly crash and burn everything in and around them soon after.

One's left to wonder, where did all the presumed love go?

Then there're the strictly traditional ones, arranged purely by the families of both. If the chap's lucky he'll get to glimpse the chit and maybe talk to her a few times before he's trapped into a speedy 'milka'.

Those seem to last, whether the two live miserably for years, or develop an understanding of some sort and sort of... coexist. I’m thinking the sex caaan’t be good.

Obviously this is a huuuge generalization, but it suits my simplified argument so leave me be. (there are unions between the extremes and perhaps ones beyond, etcetera…)

So, where do relationships fit in this equation?

I’ve never been one for idle relationships... I think you can always tell whether a certain person is for you in the long run or not (and vice versa)... i.e marriage, and life beyond. Everything in between is sorta like trying to fit a square in a round hole… usually it’s the girl scrambling to trap the guy into marriage when it’s the laaast thing on his mind. It ends up turning desperate and I have the urge to shake the girl into reality. If it’s in the cards, it’ll come to you… sit back and relax.

Anyhow, I wonder if the rigid archaic institution of marriage in our society could perhaps be a little more flexible, and a lot more modern.


~*~ Finally, I love Holsten. They have strawberry and apple flavored Holsten here and they're oh sooo good.

| 13 CoMmEnTs| -- Posted by [[ On My Own ]]--|Permanent Link|