STORIES, STORIES

The Craft by Nessreen "There's only one way to become a writer," they all said. "Write." Alright, I said. Close all tabs, open writing topic generator.  "More Than Friends," the website blinked once. "1,000 words." Right. I wrote.  More Than Friends It was a funeral. She was uncomfortable. She knew no one, probably no one knew her. But that's alright. People are generally accommodating at funerals, even to – especially  to – strangers that show up. These strangers who come to pay respects. After all, what's the worst that could happen when someone has just died? Nothing can upstage death, not even another one, you could suppose. So everyone is assumed to have been friends with the deceased. For the sake of the funeral. But they weren't friends. They met years ago at her first job. She worked for a rich woman – tidying up her space, scrubbing her bathroom walls, lining up her perfume bottles...

A Sugary Addiction by Carcass H Ah games. They come in many shapes, sizes and types. From traditional games like hop scotch and tag to modern, electronic games like MMORPGs and consoles, there is something about games that keeps you preoccupied, and assists you in losing track of time. Among the most popular electronic game currently is Candy Crush, which can be played on multiple platforms and operating systems (though I only ever use Android, as I’m not very familiar with Facebook). Diabetes inducing I was first introduced to this game by a colleague, whom I saw playing the game. After watching him play a few times, I got interested and decided to download it myself. While I was starting out, another colleague (you know who you are) showed me she was nearly two hundred levels ahead of me, at a level similar to the introducer. This started my quest to go the distance and see how far I could reach, and if I could pull ahead (to rub it in their face). Before even r...

He Who is Neither Nor by Nessreen One time at lunch, a friend, who I presumed to have received some sort of bad news just then, sighed and said, “God is good." I was all “What do you mean God is good ?” because I’m always ready for a nice old argument about religion, and he was all “Just that. God is  good.”  He didn’t explain further, but we all know why we say God is good  to punctuate tragedies big or small – to remind ourselves that God only gives us things that we can handle, that He puts us in difficult situations so that we may be stronger and wiser and that our faith in Him may be harder to shake. We say it as a salve to our wounded souls when beset with misfortunes.  But what if (and the chances are very, very high, given the nature of God’s all-knowing existence versus our tiny, tiny excuse-for-a-speck ones), what if we were looking at it all wrong?  Saying God is good  is just the same as saying God is bad . After all, thi...

Inking Out Loud by Chukwudi Barrah I am not a serial plant killer. I am not a serial plant killer. I am not a serial plant killer. This is clearly a real thing and not just me being overly paranoid that I can't take care of a plant, or plants rather. See, I've purchased six indoor potted plants, and the only two that are currently surviving are possibly because they fortunately came with care instructions on the pot. That I need a how-to for plants just makes me sad. Growing up, I tended to a full garden of flowers—okay, my dad did all or most of the tending-to, but I also contributed with making sure there was no weed anywhere around them. Somehow, in the last three years or more, I have managed to kill (or neglect-to-death) four innocent plants, that I voluntarily and purposefully took home. Until a few nights ago, I did not even realise I needed consoling. Browsing one of my favourite after-hours Internet watering holes, I discovered a chart of indo...

The Uber Sprint in Malaysia by Nessreen (of this Blog) I can’t help it. Here in Malaysia, when I hear someone – especially a female – complain about their driving conditions, or the public transport system, or the “crazy” traffic jams, I want to slowly and in ascending tones say Shush. Shush your WHINING AND BE SATISFIED.  Coming from Jeddah, Saudi Arabia where there is no public transport to speak of, and where (hey, have you heard?) no women are allowed to drive, I will take ANYTHING.  And I have. I’ve waited patiently for buses and trains, longer than “necessary”, and then I’ve tolerated bad smells, shit service and rude drivers and service providers.  Because shitty is better than nothing. But now, here, in the palm of my hand, inside a (sometimes buggy) app, sits Uber (“Yoo-ber”?), a gift from the gods.  Take this, the gods said, and enjoy the luxury of having your own personal driver whose car doesn’t smell like stale cigarettes or ...