Arabian Heights

While thinking of the best way to recount certain incidents that I happen to hear of , I decided that I might as well create a story (so to speak) that revolves around those events. Here's the first installation. 

***

Reem wasn't too sure what to expect. Her ideas on life were constantly challenged by minute details that eventually surmounted to overbearing mountainous obstacles. This time would probably be no different. She was about to walk into a building that somehow differed from everything she had ever known. 

"Are you ready?" Her mother asked. 

"I suppose." No.

"Let's go." 

As the pair approached the building's glass doors, Reem couldn't help but wonder whether her experiences within the white-washed walls before her would change her as a person. 

Well... there's only one way to find out, she thought. 

With a deep breath, just like in the typical high school movies where the protagonist starts a new life at a new school, she opened the glass doors and stepped into the vast room behind them. A blast of cold wind from the air conditioner hit her square in the face, bringing to Reem's mind images of actresses making big entrances with random winds blowing their hair as they pouted seductively. 

Ha. Oh the irony. 

"Good morning. Can I help you?" A woman with a thick accent spoke from behind a wooden reception desk.  She strained her face as her hastily-coloured lips parted laboriously into what Reem figured was meant to be a welcoming smile. 

"Yes... it's her first day." Reem's mother replied hesitantly.

"Ah, ok, ok. Her name and grade?" 

"Reem Hassan. Grade 11."

"Ok," the receptionist licked her fingers and flipped through the pages of her register, "Ah! I see. You must go to Ms Carroll's room. That's straight down the corridor and left." 

Suddenly surprised that the time for her to face her new life was just a corridor away, Reem looked at her mother, hoping that her mother would suddenly decide that the move was too much and that they should all just pack up and go back to California. Alas, wild hope hardly ever lives up to reality. 

"Go ahead habibti, I'll pick you up later today." With a warm hug and a peck on the cheek, Reem's mother walked out through the glass doors and back into the bleached morning sun. 

Reem, with a quick smile at the receptionist, who identified herself as Mrs Anoud, commenced her walk to Ms Carroll's classroom. 

Right... So, my first day at Prudence High for Girls. Here goes nothing. 

Newspaper Blackout

This. Is. Fantastic.

A write named Austin Kleon has compiled a collection of poems... but not just any poems. Newspaper Blackout poems! I won't explain. You need to see to understand:

They're fantastic! I love them! We always look for a next "great idea" to make it big, or the next "get-rich-quick" scheme... but honestly, if we all just delve a little deeper into our imaginations, we'd all be exactly where we want to be. Dump the get-rich-quick schemes out the window and just... be. Check out Austin Kleon's site: www.austinkleon.com

The Gravity of the Situation

I have been studying for final exams for the past few weeks. Frankly, it's driving me crazy... especially Physics. I even wrote a multilingual song: Torque (Pronounced "tor-kay", not "tork" like a lame Physics term). 


Oh torque! Oh torque! Por que? Por que? MI AMOR! TORQUE! Pour quoi es-tu si difficile? Dis-moi, mon amour! 7abibi ya fulcrum! Kallimnee 7abibi! Montre moi tes reponses!Show me your moments! Show me your forces! Oh TORQUE, be the turning point in my life! BE MY PIVOT! Danse avec moi dans le monde de la Physique!


Needless to say, I was in desperate need of sleep. 


I entertained myself with these:

I Come With A Tale to Recount!

It's a well-known fact that females often indulge in "gossip". Now, we might prefer to refer to this activity as "the art of recounting". It softens the harshness of the phrase and tends to make us feel less guilty for all the yapping we engage in.

Why do we do it? Why do we engage in the "art of recounting"? I have often promised myself (after particularly juicy sessions of artsy recounting) that I will refrain from ever engaging in these practices again. Somehow, my promises end up futile attempts that vanish as soon as the next bit of "dirt" comes along from another source. I suppose that the female tendency to share and discuss matters leads to this sort of behaviour. Even when we possess certain knowledge that we are perfectly aware is confidential, we will always tell just "one more person", just to relieve our excitement and have someone to discuss the gory details with. Those incessant voices in our heads constantly scream out, desperately seeking an outlet for the explosive information bottled up in them, ready to blow our brains to smithereens; the over-exposure to mind-blowing levels of juicy dirt makes our eyes twitch with the uncontrollable need to blurt out the itsy-bitsy yummy details to the first unfortunate souls who happen to enter the proximity within a 5 yard radius blast zone of the ticking bombs that are our minds; the slowly dampening and clammy palms of our hands begin to shake as the desperation consumes us, nerve by nerve.

Finally, the female conscience is engulfed by an overpowering itch that pushes out the secret, burdening the subject of our yapping with the renewed urge to run and tell someone else or run and scream in rabid terror.

Must. Tell. SOMEONE!

*Enters a spasmodic fit of diabolical rage*

Right Aligned.

I friend of mine just pointed out that my blog's text was right aligned. I kept thinking something was wrong with the alignment, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it... Right now I realise that there are so many instances in life where things are pretty much staring us in the face, yet somehow we never seem to acknowledge them!

Oftentimes, we are distracted by other minor anomalies that digress from the answers that we are looking for. If we're still to use my blog and its right-alignment as an example, we could say that the presence of stubborn Arabic text that refuses to go or even translate to English is probably the minor anomaly in this case. I kept focusing on the fact that the darned links wouldn't translate (despite the fact that my settings are all English) and I kept wondering why the heck my blog looked so... uneven? After this rather observant friend of mine pointed out that my text was right aligned, I began thinking of all the times in real life (as opposed to cyber space) that we struggle to look for answers that stare us straight in the face!

What other obvious answers are these minor anomalies barricading? Or rather, what other small and insignificant matters are we focusing on, consequentially hindering our own futile efforts to find the real answers that we need? 

Oh World... Ignorance again?

Alright, this is really worrying. I was just on You Tube and I saw a video titled "Three Little Pigs" and was seriously disturbed.

It's basically a video that uses the popular game "Angry Birds" to depict the Middle East revolutions. I won't go into it too much... I think you should watch it yourself and form your own opinions. I have mine, and, to put it briefly, I think people are deluded.

Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0i9acHS_zQ&feature=channel_video_title


Since I'm no expert on politics and have no interest in entering any irrational arguments, I'll refrain from commenting on the video's material itself. All I'd like to say is that we (those of us who have never experienced a revolution and aren't a part of any of the revolutions in the Middle East) have no right to ever assume that we can understand what those people are going through. The hardships that all of them are facing at this point are unimaginable and I truly wish with all my heart that no more people lose their lives. One of the revolting countries (not mentioned in the video) is my own and I sincerely hope that the people can reach an understanding immediately because people are losing much more than just lives. To be alive and to live with the grief of one who has been killed is no easy feat and I express my condolences to all those who have found themselves in such situations.

Now, back to the topic that I originally intended to address: Arabophobia. I just coined the term as I'm sure countless others have done before me. After watching the "Three Little Pigs" video, I went through some of the comments to see what people thought and to see if any of their opinions matched mine. I found myself looking instead at a list of useless , ignorant comments not about the politics of the matter or the graveness of the situation, but rather about people's asinine assumptions of what they thought Arabs were like.
For example: "arabs will be like people soon!"


Judging from this gem of a comment, I'm going to conclude that this person basically just categorized Arabs as... what?... animals? I'm also going to go ahead and assume that this person has arrived upon this verdict via the help of their lovely friend, Media. Oh, and I suppose that he/she also believes that these barbaric Arabs live in tents, ride camels to work, carry guns in the market place and hide khanjars (daggers) under their pillows just in case somebody tries to steal their coffee. Not to mention the bombs they'd happen to have tucked into their belts. Wait, no that can't be right... where the hell would they get belts from? They're bloody nomads.

What this person probably doesn't know is that their friend, Media, is a rather two-faced little chica. She practically has him wrapped around her little finger. She probably even told him a whole bunch of stuff about the "uncivilized" people who live in those "strange lands". All jokes aside, I can't imagine why somebody would attack the people of a place they have never taken the time to get to know. Unfortunately, we live in a world where most people form not only political but even racial opinions based on the lady in red: Media. Personally, I'd hate to ever be the person who judges people based on what some attention-seeker tells me.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to say that everybody in the world is attacking Arabs. I'm trying to say that all the ignorant people in the world are attacking anybody who seems to differ from them in any way. Many Arabs have formed their opinions about "those Westerners" as well. What they fail to realise is that they're attacking people they've never met or interacted with. One might say "Oh I knew some Americans and Europeans! I used to work with them! How can you say that I don't know them?" Oh, I'm sorry, did you say you met every single American and European to walk this earth? Well, that gives you every right to attack them.

So, when you HAVE met all the Arabs in the world and have arrived upon the conclusion that they are all barbaric and ape-like beings, you can then justly use the phrase "Arabs will be like people soon!" Until then, how about you solve some of your own problems first and then decide to solve others' problems for them? Comprendez?

One comment that appealed to me happened to be in response to the one posted above: "yeah, like people, with freedom from money, free for drugs, gangs, whores, free from moral etc"


I'm just saying... we attack others for being "wrong" about things when we ourselves are living in places with serious issues that have to be dealt with. The world is plunging into ignorance, and little Media here knows it. "What's the harm in a few tweaks in my stories here and there? They don't know any better anyways" she says.  

Sweet Tooth Stress Relief

I just saw a little handout from Switch Cafe which made me laugh! It’s a little circular shaped card with a bite mark cut out on one side. It said:

“Stressed? 
It’s ‘Desserts’ spelled backwards.”

Nifty! I must say that it’s pretty awesome advertising for a cafe. I’ll be sure to check that cafe out sometime when I need a real stress-reliever. I think I need one now… but the remedy for that is to get off Tumblr and go study instead of freak out about the upcoming exams. 

I found the quote online too. I feel like eating cake now! Lots of CAKE! 

Souq Savvy!

(Arabic vocab for the day: Souq- bazaar, market place).

Okay, I feel ashamed. I LIVE in Dubai and I had no idea how insanely awesome the souqs were out here. I’m not talking about the traditional spice souqs, gold souqs or fish souqs. I’m talking about huge merchandise souqs where you find the latest Juicy Couture for dirt prices! I found this tiny little shop in a tiny little corner of relatively tiny little souq. I got attracted by the colourful tie-dye summer-wear (I’m a sucker for those things) and went inside to check it out. I think my heart sang opera as I took in all the brilliantly-coloured cotton-wear that could easily sell for ridiculously skyrocketing prices in high-end fashion stores. I felt like I had just landed a plane ticket to heaven. 

Needless to say, I’ll be going back there as soon as I’m done with these pain-in-the-butt exams that I’ve got at the moment. I will shop till I drop… and my purse strings will still have a considerable amount of jingly booty to hold on to at the end of the day. It’s a win-win situation! Forget the rip-off malls. It’s souqs for me from now on! 

Do you know what the strange thing is? This isn’t even the best market that I’ve seen! I’ve seen WAY cheaper market places in Mauritius, Cambodia and Turkey. Cambodia was like living in a permanent Clearance Sale. I bought the most exquisite beach dress from an obscure little shop for $9.00! That was after bargaining for ages… The price had started off at $18.00. I was quite pushy that day… 

Here are some pictures from a brilliant Turkish bazaar that I went to a couple of years ago: 

The Spice Market.

Beautiful Mediterranean art.

Paranormal or Paranoia? I Need a Dose of Optimism.

I think I had a vision. I vision of what I will be like ten years down the road. Let me start at the beginning: the triggers. 

I was on the metro yesterday when I saw something really interesting. I had just gotten in when I spotted a young lady- say, mid twenties- in her work clothes (smart grey dress, light pink shrug and high black heels) looking out the metro window, onto the streets of Dubai. She had a hint of a smile lingering on the corners of her mouth. I didn’t think much of it… after all, I sometimes forget that I’m in a public place and smile to myself like an idiot over tiny things. I even laugh sometimes- it’s gotten me quite a few odd stares. Anyways, this lady continued to look out onto the streets with the sun shining in her crystal-blue eyes. I noticed that she was still smiling. Sometimes, the smile stretched and floundered on her sunlit face, laughing along with her sunlit eyes, glowing like her sunlit hair. 

I kept wondering why… I thought that she was probably just having a fantastic day. Then, just as I dismissed her exuberance as pretty much banal happiness (or possibly a medical condition. What? It occurred to me, okay!), she shifted her crystal gaze to her left hand. She stayed like that for a while, just looking down at her hand. I noticed almost immediately a large silver and diamond ring on her finger. She scrutinized it for a while, sometimes with a hint of a smile and sometimes with the smile less on her lips and more in her eyes. I thought I saw a trace of weariness somewhere in there… but I couldn’t be sure. 

Well, I could only draw upon one obvious conclusion: She had just gotten engaged. I felt like taking a chance and congratulating her… but I’m too much of a chicken. She got me thinking about what those eyes would be saying ten years from now. Right now, they’re perfectly blissful; but, what will happen down the line, if she gets married? Will they express the same satisfaction, bliss, content and love? Or will the crystals no longer gleam in the sun, but rather brood in regret and fatigue? 

Seeing her on the metro and later overhearing a heated fight between a couple pushed me over the edge when I got back home last night. Tears spilled onto my cheeks as soon as I entered my room and the first thing I said was “I don’t want to get married.” The tears lasted for about two minutes… they were tears of rage anyways. The thing is, I’m too much of a naive little sentimentalist to ever stick to my word of never getting married. I know the fact that I’ve never had a boyfriend might contribute to my future as a spinster, but I think of it as quite the contrary. It’s not like I’ve never had a boyfriend because of my intense feminism (although, that applies to an extent); I’ve never had a boyfriend because… well, I just haven’t found the right one. Sappy, cliche, moronic, naive, but damn well true. So, technically, that doesn’t really secure my future as a feminist spinster. A sad, hopeful and deluded loser, however, is more fitting. 

Basically, ten years- or so- from now, my twenty-something year-old self will be too stupid to follow my wise 16-year-old wisdom and will, against all odds and recommendations, get married. So, conclusively, ten years down the line, my brain will have shrunk to minute proportions, my passion will have subsided, my freedom will have sneakily slunk off into a hole and my wits will have had it after having seen a hallucination of my 16-year-old self pointing, laughing and chanting “I told you so!” as I right-hooked the dip-shit in my  bed with china from our wedding-gifts stash and foamed at the mouth with rabid fury. 

Here’s to a bright future.

Added later: In retrospect, I think I insulted a lot of married women during this particular rant. Just to be clear, I absolutely DO NOT think that married women have no passion or no drive. On the contrary, they are quite the fighters! I think my fears stem from the fact that I find it hard to picture myself in a happy relationship. Am I scornful of marriage? Definitely not. Am I cynical? Absolutely.  

All Arabs are Muslims and All Muslims are Arab, right?

I find it so infuriating that certain oh-so-socially-smart people choose to trash an entire race or religion based on “facts” that the media presents them with. In today’s world, what kind of a half-wit dip-shit believes everything that the media tells them? Guess they’re not so smart after all…

I am referring, of course, to people who choose to condemn Muslims (and Arabs automatically, since ALL Muslims are Arabs, right? Pffftt… who doesn’t know that?) because of the actions of a minority. There’s one thing I’d like to set straight for all those who seem to be slightly verbally challenged. Read carefully… I will ev-en type in syl-lables if it makes a dif-fer-rence. 

News flash:There is a sig-ni-fi-cant dif-fer-rence between a Mus-lim, an Ar-ab and Is-lam. Ca-piche?

Or, I couuuld tyyype liiike thiiis aaand streeetch aaalll myyy worrrds. 

Therrre iiisss ay signiiifiiicant diffferrrence betweeen ay Muuusliiim, aaan Aaaraaab aaand Islaaam. Caaapiiiche?

Have you understood the opening statement? If not, I strongly suggest you go back and read it, analyse it, say it, yell it, rabidly devour it, re-read it and re-analyse it until you UNDERSTAND it. Once you’re done, go ahead and read the rest of what I have to say. 

Okay, done? Okay, let me move on and explain said opening sentence. I won’t get into too much detail, because otherwise, we’ll be here forever, and we all know how much your Facebook pages miss you. I’ll start off with Islam: 

Islam is a religion that originated in Arabia. Many people believe that Islam is a particularly violent religion and is the furthest thing from peace that you will ever find. Wrong. If any of the oh-so-socially-aware critics out there bother to read not only the Quran, but also the history of Islam itself, they will find that Islam promotes peace. The only time it is necessary to physically fight is when a) The people of Islam are attacked first, in which case self defense is permitted b) To end persecution. Even during times of war, the killing of women, children and the elderly is not permitted. I could go on and on about why Islam is a peaceful religion…

Second, Muslims:

Muslims are people who belong to the religion of Islam. Let’s pause here for a minute. What did you understand from that sentence? Think about it for a minute. 

Are any of these close to what you understood from the above sentence?

a) Muslims practice Islam.

b) Muslims believe in Islam.

c) All Muslims are a part of Islam. 

d) Muslims belong to Islam; therefore, they pray, fast and read the Quran, just like all other Muslims. 

If one of these is what you thought (or close), you’re wrong.

Notice how I said “Muslims are people who belong to the religion of Islam”? “Muslim” is basically the noun that describes anybody who is part of Islam, but does that necessarily mean that they believe in the teachings of Islam and practice them? 

Think about it for a while. Middle Eastern Chick will continue with her explanation in the next post.

Adolescents Anonymous: Dubai

This looks pretty cool!

Body Shop Campaign

Women are always expected to be flawless Goddesses, and you know what, we ARE Goddesses. Flawless is a notion that we go out of our way to focus on, when actually, it’s elusive. It is something that none of us will ever be, because that way, we’d all be like Barbie: plastic, identical, breakable and we’d topple over. I think we should change our perspectives and see the “flawless” notion as the enemy, because that’s one thing we should strive NOT to be. Who wants to be an air-head who looks like every other air-head around them? We are beautiful in and out and nobody can tell us otherwise. We are Goddesses in our own skins. 


The controversy behind this campaign is something that I cannot even begin to comprehend? So, it's okay for Playboy magazine to publish photoshopped nude pictures of "perfect" women and it's okay for every little girl to have a disproportionate and sexually manipulated Barbie, but it's not okay to show the world what the perception of a real woman should be? 

New Year in the Arabian Dunes

Salam Alaikum! (That’s a greeting in Arabic).

It’s official… one of the best ways to celebrate New Year’s is in the desert. Last night/this morning was my second New Year in the desert. the first one consisted of a typical desert safari. Ever been on one?

Well, it’s basically a party in the chilly desert at night, in a Bedouin camp. There’s an enclosure surrounded by tents under which there are loads of cushions and really short tables to sit around; there’s a huge dance floor in the centre and many long tables along the sides for the food! Of course, camels are seated in the corner, happily resting and taking a poop while waiting to take the next person to sit on the large cushion strapped on their backs for a short walk on the cold sand. The empty spaces in the enclosure are dotted with a few traditional cooks, making local delicacies like the delicious  and warm syrup covered dumplings that melt in your mouth. 

The party really starts when the belly-dancer arrives. She enchants all those around her with her fluid movements, long hair blowing in the wind and hips swaying to the beautiful rhythms of Arabian music. The dance floor opens up to all, and the rest of the night passes by in the blink of an eye as the music consumes us and we lose ourselves in the sea of pulsating beats among the strangers. The only thing that links us the music that intoxicates out minds. 

This year, however, New Year’s was celebrated in the desert over the flames of a crackling bonfire and the glowing charcoal of a fiery barbecue pit, surrounded by family and friends. Loud music was played from the cars, blankets were spread over the cold sand, jokes were cracked, memories were recalled and reunions were made. We saw the brilliant fireworks show from the tallest building in the world, Burj Khalifa, and more fireworks from all the cities around us. The biting cold wind was locked out as a bubble of warmth from the flames and comradeship surrounded us. Apple flavoured smoke from the bubbling sheesha (hookah) swirled in intricate tendrils, as if painted in the wind from the brush and palette of a nostalgic Bedouin. The night passed in laughter and dance and we left behind, lingering in the night wind, a memory filled with happiness. 

I wish you all a very Happy New Year… May 2011 be filled with new experiences, love and all the bliss in the world! 

Kul Sana W’antum Tayyibeen. (May every year bring you happiness).

Top 3 Worst New Year Resolution

The thought that any of us ever look back at these resolutions and REALLY bother to stick to them is laughable. It’s as hypocritical as people who say they love/hate Harry Potter and haven’t actually read the books. 

1) I will not spend more than a couple of hours a day on Tumblr or Facebook.

…AHAHAHAHAHA!! Yeah. Sure. 

2) I will complete ALL my assignments three days before they’re actually due! 

Oh, don’t even go there. I tried it. It lasted for about… one day? What did I do with all that wasted time, you ask? INTERNET! 

Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet. 

3) I will not chase after the opposite gender. I will concentrate on more productive things and let them chase me. 

Guaranteed outcomes:

a)You’re still at the New Year party and exactly two minutes after making your truly sincere resolution, you spot a cute guy/girl and make a bee-line for him/her while at the same time constructing a non-existent resolution rule to calm your guilt-wrenched guts. E.g: “Everybody knows that New Years resolutions have a one day grace period where you can just enjoy the last of whatever it is you won’t be doing for the next one year… right?”

b)You end up sticking to your resolution. This has its dangers… you will most probably become more promiscuous than ever due to the chronic lack of interaction with the opposite sex. So, basically, you go from nun to hoe. 

He said, she said. Maybe we'll leave it at the former.

It’s a generally understood concept that the GUY always makes the move first and asks the girl out. Now that times are changing, we’re getting a lot of the GIRLS making the moves first… and why not, I say? 

Of course, a lot of people don’t see eye to eye on the matter. For example, I once asked a guy out (not for a date) and I think it went pretty well. I don’t regret doing it at all! It wasn’t that hard either… I was freaking out before hand, but somehow, when I actually approached him, I kind of calmed down and managed to pull it off without having a break down, flipping out or releasing bursts of manic laughter in between words and scaring him away with my tennis-ball eyes that felt like they were about to pop out and smack him in the face. It went pretty well. 

Now, a lot of girls where I live won’t be able to understand my next step… but I did it anyways. I told my mother. I told her that I asked the guy out. It was shortly after the actual asking out part when I was in the car with my mom and I just… told her. I can just imagine what you’d think my fellow Middle Eastern girls would say: 

• “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! She KNOWS that you DATE?!” 

(Let me explain the above quote. Most of the girls I know… well, actually, ALL of the girls I know date and have boyfriends without their parents knowing. Well, this is for obvious reasons: It’s against our culture and, of course, all parents get protective. I don’t date either… I just happened to go out with someone this one time and my mother seemed to be cool with it. The question of having a boyfriend still has the same answer for me: “No.” My smarter friends don’t bother asking. They just go with it ;)

• “Did she threaten to marry you off?” 
• “Did you get disowned or just thrown out? I got lucky by getting only the latter.”

(Note: the above quotes are just exaggerations. Parents are not murderous or ruthless.)

However, not all mothers are like that! If they are, then they’re like that for a reason. Anyways, I won’t get into that. Basically, my mother is more like a friend. I tell her pretty much everything. Although, the response I got when I told her I asked a guy out was not “Yeah! Atta girl!” or “There’s my brave modern girl!” or even “What?! You went out with a guy?! You’re grounded!” No, it was: 

“What?! You asked him out?! You’re supposed to be a cultured girl! He should ask you out!” 

She wasn’t even mad about the fact that I went out with a guy (although it wasn't even a date)! She was just mad about the fact that I happened to make the first move. You gotta love my mom. I love being Asian. It’s exciting! 

Gasp!

Judging from my previous wall post, you would have probably guessed that I pretty much despise the way some of the guys dress out here. Well, turns out I might just have to take back my words and give credit to the imaginary male clothing convention… I went to Al Qasba today and I didn’t see a SINGLE pair of neon skinny jeans! Nearly all the boys were dressed in simple jeans or shorts with a normal t-shirt that didn’t hug their bodies in a manner that actually showed their chest hair through the fabric! It’s a miracle! 

There were some guys who wore their jeans a little low for my liking… but, judging by the progress they have made so far, they’ll get there. Of course, it could be that I’m being all too optimistic and the real reason for today’s observations was the fact that it’s a weekday and most people will be out and about TOMORROW instead. Or, it could also be the obvious fact that most of the neon pimps now hang out in Dubai Festival City (the mall). I can guarantee a neon sighting at DFC at any time of the week or day. Yeah… maybe the pimps just decided to switch venues.

Anyhow, I’m liking the sudden change in male fashion. It’s fairly smart and polished. Oh no, maybe Al Qasba was so tame today because it’s a popular date destination! No wonder! No girl wants to go out with a boy in her Barbie’s clothes! Ugh. I need to do some more research. I’ll visit DFC soon and report back on the male’s fashion scene. 

Now that I think about it, I think the girls are now more into the whole clashing-colours with outrageous skinnies tucked into clown shoes paired with a weird hoodie… O.o

This is bad. 

That Hangout.

Every place has a hangout. Not just any old hangout, but literally a place where you can go at ANY time of the day and find a bunch of teens/young adults partying away or just… hanging out. Out here, there are many such places, but there’s only one (in my opinion) where you can go and find drama at every nook and cranny! It’s called Al Qasba (translated: The Canal). 

I hear many stories about it… Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been there, but I never got sucked into the exciting world of the teenage Arab underdogs. Partially because I never went there with friends (if you’re alone, it’s wiser to stay away. Having friends from the inner-circles is always helpful) and also partially because… well… I’ve always gone there with either my mom or my grandmother. That’s like blasting a siren in the faces of the young toilers: “STAY AWAY!” So basically, it’s safe to say that I’m not part of any exciting underdog pack at Qasba. That’s where a LOT of the drama happens. However, that doesn’t mean I’m any further away from the drama itself. I get a lot of updates from different sources… juicy updates that I myself, being an Arab girl, find shocking. 

Turns out the world of the Middle Eastern teenagers is no different to that of teenagers everywhere else in the world. Of course, a lot of people immediately assume that Teenager+Middle East=Underprivileged Sob Stories. To all those people, I’d like to just let you know that we live just like everybody else. No, we do not ride camels on a daily basis. No, we do not live in tents. No, the girls do not stay locked up indoors out of the public eye. In fact, a lot of the girls out here are just normal girls… and some might just be more promiscuous than those back in the West. ;)

That brings me back to Qasba. Well, I’m going there tonight (once again, with my family… so don’t get too excited) and I’ll be sure to watch out for some action. It’s fairly easy to spot the packs in question… They seem to have an unwritten rule about their dress-code- especially the boys. It’s almost as if they all- all the male teens of the UAE- decided to gather at a convention and actually decide the uniform attire of a typical Arab B-Boy. I can just imagine the debates…

B-Boy 1:We need something that makes a statement… 

B-Boy 2: Something that will make people notice us… especially the chicks. 

B-Boy 1: Brothers! We must put our efforts together and think!

B-Boy 3: OOH! How about faux-hawks! 

B-Boy 1: Hmm… Maybe… 

B-Boy 2: NO NO! How about NEON PANTS!

B-Boy 1: Even better… NEON SKINNIES! With tight shirts! *Squeals*

B-Boy 4: But I want permanent sun-glasses!

B-Boy 5: I think our signature style should involve an unlimited display of our boxer booties. 

B-Boy 1: Alright alright! All your suggestions are valid… SO, we’ll use it all! 

B-Boys: YEAH! We’re pimpin’ dawg!

I just wish they could have hired some style-gurus at the convention… Their choice is NOT making the cut. I’m not being harsh… honestly. I’m just stating a GIRL’S opinion; after all, this was intended to appeal to the opposite gender. The thing is, some girls might like the look of a hot guy with an exaggerated swagger, sunglasses (at night), skin tight skinny jeans of the most ostentatious colour (e.g: neon green) halfway down their asses, only held up by a belt, and displaying supposedly classy boxers with playboy ears printed on them, skin tight tee that clashes horribly (e.g: neon pink), clown shoes (as I like to call them… but I think they’re usually Vans) in the most bizarre shades, palm trees on their heads (this is what I call it when a guy wants to have long hair AND a faux-hawk… NOT pretty) and, of course, random pieces of jewellery. Hey, if some girls find that becoming, you go ahead girl… Whatever floats your boats. 

I, however, see it like this:

A guy 

a)with an exaggerated swagger… like a freaking amoeba about to topple over

b)walking in darkness wearing sunglasses… Uh… No comment. He might just be blind.

c)donning a pair of skinnies so tight that I sometimes wonder where they stash the junk- if you know what I mean. They’re bright enough to blind the poor soul that looks at them directly and lowered down to pretty much below their asses, displaying boxer-clad booties that I REALLY do not want to look at. Look, if I wanted to see your underwear, I’d pants you. Do not force me to bear witness to your partial mooning! 

d)wearing clown-shoes with palm-trees added to further upset his balance.

e)with badly mis-matched jewellery- like a random skull earring or something.

=Poor Confuzzled Soul. 

I don’t do a double take because I find it oh-so-hot… no, I do a double take because I’m shit-scared that they’ll probably topple over any second- due to all the conflicting forces acting upon them- and crash into me like a neon snowball! Eventually, the initial fear gets replaced with an unimaginably strong urge to just pull the belt that holds it all together. I’m just evil like that. >=D

Basically, boys of the Middle East, please hold another convention to discuss damage control (all the poor girls who have lost hope in today’s youth. Oh, and the people who went blind) and, of course, come up with an outfit that does not make us want to pants you in public. Oh, and lose the sunglasses. 

Wow. Rant… 

Doktoor Mein?

That’s Doctor Who in half Arabic… I say half because “Doktoor” is just Doctor in an Arabic Accent. “Mein” actually translates to “who” in Arabic. 

It’s official. The Doctor is the man of my dreams. And he’s not even a MAN! He’s an alien. Great, so the man of my dreams is actually an alien. To be honest, the Eleventh Doctor is actually the man of my dreams, but my best friend and I fight over him like two neglected mistresses. 

The scariest part is that I don’t even find it remotely sad that the man of my dreams happens to be an alien time-lord. Who lives in a box. No, these things just make it more awesome! The man of my dreams is an alien time-lord who lives in a box! WICKED! 

It’s not just any box either… it happens to be a space-ship that’s bigger on the inside than on the outside, disguised as a Police Box. IT CAN TRAVEL THROUGH TIME AND SPACE! Who needs anything more than that?! Screw mortgages, salaries and all earthly problems when you’re living in the stars (literally) with your beloved. Edward shmedward… boyfriends should get a complex from this beast of a man in a bow-tie and tweed… not Mr Sparkles the Rabid Fairy.

Me? Creepy? Pfft!

It’s a widely known fact that we, Arabs (or just Asians in general), are, to put it bluntly, extremely nosy. Now, don’t you try denying it! If you’re Asian (even remotely so) then you WILL have at least a single gene that defines unrelenting nosiness in your character.

Some people experience a yearning for gossip. This can range from a tiny curiosity to full blown obsession; the latter tends to be the funnier, juicier and/or just plain ol’ disastrous.  Others experience a more subtle, yet somehow more dangerous outcome that consists of the urge to burrow for information in the most harmless ways possible and file it away carefully… slowly building the stash until it reaches a point where the information suddenly morphs into the carbon copy of the Hiroshima bomb.

This can, in turn, lead to two outcomes; the person will either a)Be blessed with a quick-thinking, sometimes conniving, mind that will put the nuclear bomb to good use (usually for their own gain), or b)Be a dip-shit with no clue regarding the value and explosiveness of said information. This tends to lead to meltdowns, schizophrenia, Mad Hatter-like behaviour, crankiness and/or anger-tantrums like a squirrel on crack due to the bottled-up nukes.

Most people lie somewhere in limbo between these two extremes. I believe I’m somewhere there, probably leaning more towards option 2a. I have a tendency to, well, follow people… No, not stalk; although I may frequently use that term, but I’m usually just exaggerating. To an extent. Kind of. Stop judging me. You do it too! Anyways, as I was saying, I find that in most situations, I usually gravitate towards one person (or more) and I tend to follow them around, not in a Chuckie-the-effed-up-neglected-child kind of way, but more like a curious observer or in certain cases, attention seeker.

For example, I recently attended a huge anniversary party where I happened to meet a rather interesting young fellow. He was probably in his twenties, quite smartly dressed, clean shaved, nothing particularly striking about him. He introduced himself, as did I, and that was that. For some reason (maybe it was because there were no other particularly interesting people at the party) I always kept an eye out for him. I think I actually managed to visually stalk the guy. Once again, I bet you guys do it too!

Mind you, I wasn’t the only one engaged in light visual stalking. He kept looking at me too. I caught the slight glances: >=D
a)On the dance floor.
b) At the dinner tables.
c) Near the drinks bar.
d) Out on the terrace.
e) At the buffet tables (TWICE).
If you’re a girl and you’re reading this, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about because you’ll have gone through it yourself, regardless of whether you’re Asian or not. We females just love the attention, don’t we girls?
Well, I guess these brief little observations (for lack of a better word that doesn’t make me sound like Alicia Silverstone’s character in that movie where she nearly kills her crush’s girlfriend and lands up in a loony-bin) keep things exciting, don’t they? ;)

Arabian Floodgates

You know those famous floodgates that always help to keep the saltwater at bay? Well, my floodgates have a mechanism that makes them open completely when there is intense pressure applied to the grey/white matter mass above them and to the four chambers below them. They fly open as soon as the white/grey matter is squished so far that it feels like a piano has fallen on it and when the four chambers are swollen to the point where it feels like they’ll explode and rain chunks of cardiac muscle.

Right now, my floodgates are wide open and the intense pressures are NOT lifting.

Allow me to introduce pressure number one: Exams. They are the epitome of mental torture
.
Pressure number two: Responsibilities of various types that seem to always kick in at the busiest times!

Pressure number three: Matters of the heart. No, I am not referring to boys. I’ll have you know that there are other kinds of “Matters of the heart”.

Pressure number four: My own thoughts. Do you know how much pressure the stuff contained in the grey/white matter actually exerts on one’s floodgates? It’s freaking crazy!

Doesn’t sound like much… but it’s enough to allow the floodgates to open.
Arabic word for the day (I’ll make it positive… hopefully, it’ll help the floodgates close again =)
Nujoom: Stars.