STORIES, STORIES

Stories That (Probably) Need Telling by Nessreen I’m not gonna lie. I was reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s The Thing Around Your Neck , a collection of short stories about the experiences and thoughts of Nigerian women from different backgrounds, when I decided to finally, actually in-real-life-and-not-just-imagining-it , write the book I had been putting off for years now. There’s nothing more inspiring than reading a brilliant storyteller, but now I know that inspiration is one thing, and actually putting in the work is another (why do I know this only now ?). Obvi it wasn’t going to be easy, and I knew that off the bat. I have mediocre writing skills (I generally speak better than I write, I promise you), horrible writing habits, a glaring lack of writing accomplishments, and an inflated sense of grandeur, which all meant that tackling this mountain that is writing a book is exactly the kind of thing I would go for. And so here we are. In 2013, I left Saudi Arab...

One time in my parent’s home in Jeddah, while digitizing our old family photos, I stopped to really look at my parents and their faces. Both he and my mother had the good looks of the young and privileged, the strong features that would aid in their graceful aging in the years to come – prominent cheekbones, jawlines, distinct eyebrows, unobtrusive noses, eyelashes for miles, svelte frames. What beautiful people they were from a relatively objective point of view.  I envied them this, and once afterwards had a conversation with my father – one of many that we have – that led to a discussion of physical appearances. Being an artist in every sense of the word (he paints, he sketches, he produces art installations and professional photography, he writes, and he mixes all media), it was inevitable that I would be curious (as an adult) about his take on human attractiveness. After all, he is in the business of finding beauty. This was an online conversation a few months ago, a...

I've had the good fortune (on top of my generally good fortune) of being invited this past weekend by a Malaysian family to spend a (half) day of Ramadan the way the local Muslim Malays do. It was the first time I've had a good look inside their ecosystem, and therefore it fascinated me. An 'open house,' they call it, when they invite people into their homes to break fast. My host family knew my background, courtesy of the mom's very short but apparently very impactful friendship with my mother in Jeddah when she was there for an 3mrah  visit a few months ago. An aside before I continue: I've always contemplated the difference between my mother's generation and mine when it comes to forging friendships. For me now in my 30s, getting new friends is a great bonus that comes with striking out on my own career-wise. I no longer look for friends to be my posse and support group – I already have that from my 20s, and they're all in different countries now...

My cousin's kids are here. They're outside my bedroom door, yelling for me to let them in. I'm trying my best not to make any sounds, so they think I've died, or that I'm not here. "I can smell your cigarettes!" That's Aisha, she's 7. "You look like Brave." That's Jiji, she's 6. Or 5. I dunno, they're all the same age to me. Brat-year-olds. "No, she doesn't." "Yes, she does. They both don't brush their hair." Meanwhile, I'm quietly building a white MTG deck, listening to their conversation through the door. They're probably seated on the floor, waiting patiently, because I'll have to open the door sometime. 

Our dads are the original hipsters . My dad's totally one of the Beastie Boys. In this picture with my hipster brother Waleed. Why my dad's a hipster: * He owns an acoustic guitar, and it's not a brand name. * He plays obscure, hippie music. * He wears huge glasses and indie shirts. * He reads non-mainstream books (even for his time/generation). * He makes paintings like this: Me and my brother Waleed in the picture. (I was also dressed in hippie baby clothes.)

According to my mom, here's why I've been down with a fever and a chest cold for the past few days: - I walk on the kitchen floor (tiles) without slippers. - I watch too much (criminal) TV. - I smoke. - I shower post-exercise. - I shower when there's no daylight. - I use my iPod too often. - I go out too much and don't stay home often enough. - Really anything else I do that she disapproves of. - I don't cover my hair in public. - I stopped eating meat. I must disagree with her, though, because there is only one reason I've been suffering chills and nursing a bad cough: I took notice of my jackets again. See, I periodically buy (and possibly hoard) jackets and hoodies JUST IN CASE it gets cold. They always end up in the cupboard, way in the back, unused. But without fail, every time I notice them and wonder when I'd ever use them in this psycho Jeddah weather, I get sick with a fever, at which point I DO use them. So, to prevent sickness,...

My mom's trying something new. When's the last time you did?

Here is more evidence of my getting older and older. Apart from Ayman being in his early 20s now, I have also become a part of that group of older people who do not understand nor find any purpose in skateboarding (or skating boards, according to my father). Sara Grace got Ayman this apparently awesome skateboard, complete with tools and thingamabobs that make up the awesomeness of said skateboard. -- Instead of a birthday cake, this.

My cousin Faisal has 5 kids. They went for Hajj this year, and as a kind gesture, and because the kids know my parents as their own grandparents, my mom and dad offered to have them over at our house for 7 days while they're away. SEVEN DAYS.  Today's only the 2nd day. MOTHERS, HOW THE HELL DO YOU DO IT? It's like god decided to play a nice joke on me. I'm not exactly fond of kids. It's already 12:10 pm, and I haven't had breakfast yet. I have 5 minutes to myself as the kids have settled, and I can either have my breakfast or have a cigarette. Guess which one I picked. FML. Hard.

It is, apparently, a well-guarded secret. Also, don't tell my dad I took a picture of him and posted it online.

My uncle in my room, on my laptop, checking out movies from the 30s on IMDB.

Art is something we take for granted in our house, my siblings and I. Mostly because we grew up surrounded by any and all form of art. We're a huge family of 10 siblings, and it's just my luck that I'm the only one who didn't get the artsy fartsy gene. All my brothers and my sister paint and sketch. I've always been an outsider of their stupid little exclusive club of painters.  But forget them. This is about my dad, who has found the time now, after many years, to break out the watercolor and work on some stuff in preparation for an exhibit next month. He works with acrylic and oil, but I love all his watercolor stuff, those are my favorite ones. They are less precise, and I like that. It shows the hippie side of him, and it symbolizes what it was like growing up with an artist for a father: no real rules, very open, very independent, very haywire. It's probably why I've become the insane person I am today. (Thanks, dad. :| ) It's his birthday next we...

I've been incapacitated for the last couple of days, as you may have noticed, because you care about me so much you that you come and check my page for new updates every hour (yes, I may or may not be talking to myself).  Let's just say that if you ever have severe lower back pain (also known as MOTHERFUCKER IT HURTS), and the doctor recommends you do some specific exercises to ease yourself back into the world of normal movement, and you are confused as to what exactly the exercises are, here, I'll tell you how it's done: You basically just make like you're having sex with the air in front of you. For about 5-10 minutes. Every hour.  In no time at all, you will be back to normal. So yeah. I've just been stuck at home for the past few days. Trying to recuperate. Therefore, I only have a picture of my dad. Here. I'd post a picture of my mom, too, except she would murder me. Not that my dad wouldn't either. But hey.

I was listening to Jonathan Coulton in an interview over at The Nerdist the other day, and he was saying something about how we should look at our current jobs and think of them as THE job of our dreams. Until we get to the Actual.  I don't really hate the work I do at my job. I only hate my job because I need it. Everything else is fun and games, especially since I work with my closest friends. Cigarette breaks at work are like extensions of our hangout sessions. Hopefully soon I get to do what I've always wanted to do. Which is... Erm... Nothing. I found this note on one of the desks in the teacher's room. I was gonna put a post-it note above it that says "Please do not post notes here. Thank you." but my co-worker Tasneem threatened that if I did, she would put a post-it note on top of mine that would read "Please do not put snarky comments here. Thank you." And that would have been funnier. So no. We have 10-year-old telephones with 2-day-late ...

This week, my brothers and I did more staying-at-home than we have in a long time. This past weekend, there were rumors of early curfews on account of the ill-fated Day of Rage, and then today, the Civil Defense warned of rain and sandstorms that will supposedly continue until tomorrow. As a result, my paranoid parents (seriously, what parent isn't? If your parents aren't the worst-case-scenario-is-the-ONLY-scenario kind, I beg you, tell me of them) were very happy, and my mom's living room was the busiest it's been in a while. We had our 8-year-old cousin Hani spend a few nights, too, and now, he is a master at smack talk. 10 POINTS FOR HANI. Also, a lot of stuffing-our-faces transpired. It's funny to me now, because I haven't gotten on the scale yet, so expect a lot of whining from me tomorrow when I do check my weight. (Advanced Fuck You, Sweet Tooth!) Ayman brought home cupcakes. I don't know where he found this place, but he had "Amo" writt...

The baby of the family, my sister's son, turned 13 today. THIRTEEN. That makes me... 100 years old. When was he even TEN? How do these kids grow up so fast? He's still a baby to me, and I still call him Baby, partly to embarrass him, and partly because HE'S STILL A BABY TO ME. <3 Other times, my brothers and I call him George Micheal , after Michael Cera 's Arrested Development character. Of course I forgot his birthday again. That's what I do for fun, my hobby, forgetting birthdays. I got a phone call from my sister this morning, and she was all, "CALL GEORGE MICHEAL, IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY TODAY" in that why-are-you-such-a-jerk tone. I was all, "OH SHIT" as I always am.  Our conversation as follows: Me : Happy birthday, babyyyyyyyyyyy. Him : Thank you. Me : What you want for your birthday, babyyyyyyyy? Him : Nothing. Me : How about you come to Jeddah for the summer vacation? Him : YES. Me : Okay, babyyyyyyy, here talk to Ayman. (I p...

I co-own an Emily electric guitar with my good friend Dee . We take turns every weekend. Maybe one day, I'll be mature enough to fully own one. For now, I'm enjoying the joint custody. I've only ever owned and played acoustic guitars, so I'm still learning how to play it. It's a whole new, different ball game. Here are my cousins trying the Emily out. Emily the Strange. No, that's not a karaoke microphone in the back. Ahem. And this is my dad playing The Doors.

Brothers have two main purposes.  Number 1: They are ordered to come over and play the insanely difficult part of Little Big Planet that you and Sharifa can't ever finish, even after trying 10 times, to get to the next level. (Also applies to any other video game, previously Uncharted, Army of Two and Red Dead Redemption.) And Number 2: I'm still thinking of another one. Hmm. Ah. The life of a gamer. (That's me.)

This is part 1. I'm not an outdoorsy-type. I don't like bugs; just the word "bugs" makes me think that any movement I feel near me is a bug crawling up my shirt. Not cool. I also don't like work hassle - unpacking, setting up camp, preparing food, and then cleaning up and packing, etc. But most of all, I don't like how there are so many things that you are forced to do when there are no bathrooms in the vicinity. Brrr.  I gotta say, though, our last trip was fun. Me and some friends and family went out to the desert to watch people go crazy on the dunes with their 4-wheel-drives. There were a lot of people, mostly men, watching with us. I've lived here all my life, and I've never seen this in person till now. It's interesting. I wonder how I'd do if I were to drive one of these on the dunes. (Probably not very well.) Apparently, we had to let some air out of the tires to be able to drive through them. Didn't know that. Loo...