STORIES, STORIES

Dragon Lady Sundays I spend at the restaurant poolside. Sometimes I swim. Most days I sit there with my books and wait for my laundry to finish - I use the communal laundry machines with the built-in Eww Factor because I don't have my own washer/dryer yet. First world middle-class problems, knamean? The restaurant owner lady is a certified Grumpy Cat. I try my best to be friendly. I walk in and I'm all "Good morning, how are you today?" and she replies by looking at me over her reading glasses and waiting in silence.  "I'd like a coffee, please," I says. "Coffee?" she half-yells. "Yes." And she walks away wordlessly.  What did I ever do to her to deserve this? Oh, you know, maybe I ruined her life, maybe I stole her husband, maybe I threaten her with my frizzy hair, maybe my friends and I are too loud when we break out in song so randomly and so loudly at high noon and it gives her a raging headache, I du...

I was cleaning out my iPad when I saw this note I wrote myself on the plane when I moved to Malaysia. I lol-ed at its... hopefulness. It's good. 5:15 pm, 9 July 2013, Tuesday    My already mild fear of heights (and turbulence) is quickly muffled by my amazement at technology, the fact that I am tens of thousands of miles up, right above clouds. I'm a little light-headed even as I type; we're landing, and soon, taxiing! Taxiing! I love that word! We're descending, I'm listening to Astrud Gliberto, and I'm trying to look at the fantastic side of traveling all by my lonesome, chasing a dream, despite my fears of the unknown, despite my dislike for traveling. Wasn't this what I've always wanted, wondered about? Independence? YES.    I have no idea what awaits me. I'll find out in 15 minutes when we land, and then I'll find out again in 2 or 3 hours when I get to my new home, and then I'll continue finding out everyday, every hour for th...

Just give me a few more weeks, you guys, and I'll be one of those 30-year-olds who stay in on weekends watching a show. Can't wait. In the meanwhile, I will continue posting wondrous photos of the normal world.  Yesterday, I walked 20 minutes to the nearest mall, and I realized how stressful it was. Like, I was proper stressed out, about whether or not I was going the right way, about whether I looked like an idiot, about whether I was wearing the right clothes for walking, if someone saw me would they know I'm a dumbass when it comes to WALKING?! I thought of all my Jeddawi boys who would drive me around and wait a half hour in the car while I did my shopping, HOW DID I EVER TAKE THAT FOR GRANTED?! But enough of that crazy talk, because although I miss the luxury of the Saudi Golden Cage, this weird freedom to walk the streets, this freedom to put myself in danger and then this freedom to defend myself, it's a pretty good deal. #FirstWorld Eid this ye...

I want the devil in the details: coherence, clarity, a voice, a story, the right word at the right time. It's those small things that make up the whole, and it's those same small things that are the hardest to get. Minimalism isn't just about eliminating clutter, is it. It's about a perception tilt-shift, and fuck if those minimalist pieces aren't the most expensive and difficult to acquire. I don't merely want to be a writer. I want to be the mover of people and things and mountains. I want to get under the skin and direct the flow of blood cells, hidden in plain sight. I want words to have meaning long after they've lost their function.  I watched The Devil Wears Prada, an unimpressive film (with the magnificent Meryl Streep) until just recently when it became relevant to my interests. I work in the "industry" now, and I understand the ecosystem, but I question myself a little bit every day. How does staying in the Industry contribute t...