STORIES, STORIES

I knew that I'd have to face the issue of fixing up my diet at some point. I just didn't think it would be this soon. My original plan was to get on it after I'd successfully put in place a proper workout routine that won't require my trying to make excuses for not working out. That was my first mistake, of course. I will always and forever try to get out of exercise. There's a billion other things I would really rather do than work out. With this binge-encouraging month of Ramadan upon us, I've had to grab whatever I could to keep myself under control, which really isn't much. I am grossly unfamiliar with the term "self-control". Saying stuff like "I'm such a pig" when it comes to over-eating is a major understatement. I'm always constantly eating crap. Not in small portions, either. People who fast, especially in Jeddah, are no strangers to that psychological affliction of I MUST SHOVEL FOOD INTO MY MOUTH CONTINUOUSLY UNT...

You, hopeless romantic. He exudes Bruce Wayne. He's broken, a little bit. He's not alone, he's lonely. He needs to shave, but you don't want him to. He runs his hand down his face, but his wrists beg attention. His once long hair, why? Why is he looking so good? What is this silence? But he's not thinking of you, not thinking of love, not thinking of girls - not at this very moment, at least. He has no problems, don't ask him. In fact, he's not thinking of anything. No, he's not an artist, no, he's not into music, no, he's not into anything you're into - not yet, at least, no, he doesn't have a sad past, no, he's not sad, no, he doesn't need fixing, no, he's not a "bad boy", no, he doesn't have a low voice, and no, he doesn't make two-word statements that cloak him in so much mystery. He's really just sitting there wanting to be the best. Shut up and look away. -- I wrote this yesterday as a...

The street in front of our apartment is always busy. It's one of the bigger streets in our neighborhood - easy access to cabs, the mini-markets and a couple restaurants, a cafe, a pizzeria, and until recently, a guitar shop. So there's always people there. Some days ago, three of those people - regulars, men who work in the area - had a nice laugh. At my expense. I'd just come out of the building, ready to meet a client, sunglasses in place. I'd felt like a million dollars right then - getting hired by people to write, something I love to do, a bustling social life, nursing several crushes and daydreaming the entire week - I was invincible! Who DIDN'T love me? Everyone loves me! I'm confident, I'm loving my life, I'm healthy, I'm funny. Like, wow. I walk down the steps with these thoughts swirling in my head, the great possibilities ahead of me, the fun I would be having with my friends. I was a little bit intoxicated, maybe even delusional,...

I did an impromptu piece a while back for a live audience about things that I don't understand. This has always been one of my insecurities - how I'm so often way too dumb to understand a lot of things that are SO SIMPLE. I constantly overcompensate; I'm always careful not to "sound stupid", always Google things. I might have enumerated all the things I don't understand in jest, but it was really tough for me to actually admit to this. To a large group of people. Most of whom I was trying to impress. To announce that I am, in fact, a huge dumbass. But you know that awesome and rare moment when you're among a bunch of people and you get that feeling that "hey, these are MY PEOPLE"? That. Here's the audio to that (I'm also sharing it on the podcast ), recorded by Squeek . I love how the audience talked to me. It reminded me of all the things I loved about studying Theatre in uni. I might have been lucky (or cheating) because I had so...

Remember the 90s when it was cool to hang out at Saudia City? Wearing my Skechers sneaks and one of my brothers' Adidas shirts, hanging out at a rooftop or two with a bunch of friends who were, come to think of it, not REALLY my friends at the time. I wanted desperately to hang out with my older brothers and THEIR cool friends, them with their cool lingo and crumpled Marlboro soft-packs and worldly stories. Years later, post-adolescence, I come here to visit old friends and family, do an hour-long run, or like today, just wander the streets with the boys (and Mariam!) with new friends and family. I'm such a grandmaw. 

I've discovered a side effect of working out almost everyday: Pushing myself all the time.  I've carved this mantra on to my brain so that whenever there's a new, tough move that I think I can't do, I just automatically push myself a little more. What, can't lift heavier? PUSH YOURSELF. What, can't double jump-rope for 30 seconds? PUSH YOURSELF, YA WIMP. Most days it works. Every workout is a challenge that I work hard to beat. This became a side effect only when I started yoga. I've never done yoga before because, I dunno, I'm just not into that whole zen spirituality thing. My idea of zen has always been to sit down and read, very minimal physical exertion. Or play Letris on my phone. A few weeks back, I started seeing yoga as another form of exercise that I can try to test my limits on. It worked the first few times. There's so much in yoga that puts to test my core strength, my chest and arms, my breathing technique, all those things I...

One of the things that turns my friends into shifty-eyed, fidgety but stern-toned, little anal schoolteachers is this question I often pose: "Can I borrow this book?" which is usually met by a swift and trailing "I dunno..." I don't fault them. I read books like I HAVE to destroy them. Dog-ears, annotations, highlighted words or sentences or full passages in permanent markers or crayons or graphite pencils (once, an eyeliner!) or just about anything BUT a proper highlighter, full-on audacious edits on paragraphs, drawings, curled covers. One might play shrink and say I feel the need to mark my territory on a book when I go through it, but really, it's just simple and straightforward roughhousing. Who knows why I do it, but whatever it is, it must be the same reason I also give away books so freely, no matter how much I loved reading them. Sometimes even ESPECIALLY because I loved them. It's that stupid quirk in my personality that I'm secr...

There's an expression to live by. Think about it. How many of the best AND the worst moments of your life are because all bets were suddenly off?

It's strange to be writing here again. I almost can't account for the past month - it flew by with very minimal change. One year and 4 months into my fitness challenge and everything is just as difficult as the first day I started, if not more  difficult. The laziness hasn't gone away, and neither have the excuses, but what I've learned to do is to LIVE with them, maybe tiptoe around them every now and then and avoid their vise-like grip. Most importantly, I've learned that there is no secret. Just consistency. Powering through. Also, you become a meathead. Last weekend, I spent a few hours talking to a couple of friends about nothing but workout stuffs. So there's that. Here's something that helps me: motivational marketing-heavy sports ads. BRB, protecting this house. P.S. I'm working on making That Jeddah Podcast biggerstrongerbetterfaster, and it would really help me if you guys would answer this 2-minute survey .