STORIES, STORIES

Two Things So I find myself in a place where I am so utterly on my own that I have to forage for food. Two things: a) I don't cook. This wasn't so much a problem back when I wasn't living by myself and either my parents or my siblings made my food. Actually, it's not really a problem right now, either. I have a non-functioning kitchen that a friend says reminds her of those vacation houses that we go stay at temporarily on beach weekends ( istira7a s, really) - it's super empty and the gas stove doesn't really work because there isn't a... gas... thing, whatever that's called. I don't have pots or pans, nothing. This empty kitchen is the reason I will never get a husband. My mom agrees. b) I'm not big on taking food pictures, and in fact, I started the hashtag #aftermeal as a passive aggressive stand against those who do (the hashtag is not dead, but it has evolved into something completely different. Don't check it.), where I ...

I can't get over the fact that now I have all this freedom, but I am broke. It's the price of "starting over", and all that post-collegiate Hannah Horvath from Girls rhetoric (except I'm 30 years old now). So yes, I am penniless, but I like to spend some time in the weekend having fun that doesn't involve spending money I don't have, and well, I only have one choice - THE OUTDOORS. You guys, I hate the outdoors. It's no secret. There's only one thing I do when my friends in Jeddah managed to drag me outside the house for some stupid fresh air and stupid outdoor activity - I COMPLAIN. I complain from the moment we step out of the house till the moment I pass out in bed back home. It's exhausting. But I digress. Here's what my weekend looked like. We went to this place and had a picnic. YOU GUYS. I can't believe I just said that sentence. Can you look at this place? It's so fake it hurts my eyes. Below are my friends,...

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...

Are you ready for my fake rich girl problems? Far as I can tell, even though I'm almost 4 weeks into my new, grown-up life, I'm still adjusting. I have decades of paranormal life in Jeddah I need to shake off, so it's naturally gonna take me a little more time than your average psychopath.  The good news is that I am in wonderment of EVERY GODDAMN THING. For instance, my coworkers' outfits.  Chuk's writer style   On the weekend, I was shown the ways of the public transport. YOUGUYZZZ OMG. It's the most ridiculous thing explaining to people why a grown-ass woman doesn't know how to use public transport. "How do you get around in Saudi?" they ask. "I... have a driver," I say. BOOM. Fake rich girl. "Like, I have a personal chauffeur, coz like, my dad's an oil prince. You know, stuff." It's like a personal car, except not really. After I took the shuttle bus to the train station, I purchased a ...

Things just took place faster than I'd expected. For some weird, holographic-universe reason, I'm suddenly moved to Malaysia from where I will now be reporting. Cool? Cool.  Here are things I did in the weekend. But first, a little background. I live about 15 minutes away from Kuala Lumpur (which is properly vague, because everywhere is 15 minutes away from KL! I think so, anyway, for now). Damansara Perdana is one of many small towns in Petaling Jaya, Selangor. I call them towns because they have that distinct everyone-knows-everyone feel about them, which makes it mostly cosy and safe. I've been told to be weary of pickpockets and muggers when I walk the streets, but compared to Manila where I could never, ever take out my phone or wear any kind of jewelry, Perdana is a piece of cake. I don't wave my bag around like a doofus asking to be mugged, but I can chill and not be super paranoid when I'm out and about.  There are many Damansaras, like the one...

"So what is it that you do all day?" I've been asked since I moved into my own place. Me, who thrives in the midst of crowds that know only to adore me, so suddenly solitary. It frustrates me how everyone is frustrated that I chose to do this and then whine about it. YOU GUYS. I JUST LIKE COMPLAINING. Seriously, it's a thing. There are support groups for extreme complaining as a sport. The novelty of living by yourself is not only fantastic, it's something that, once you get past the I'm-so-cold-and-lonely-hold-me part, you will want for the rest of your life. It's when you live alone that the age-old saying "YOLO, motherfuckers" comes to life with new, very relevant meaning. So what do I do? I do errands. Errands and chores are the most unfortunate by-product of modern life. I'm unemployed, but I'm constantly working. Laundry, frantic floor scrubbing, cleaning, doing the dishes, organizing and re-organizing, getting called ...

Makati is THE Jeddawi spot for real. Srsly, look at this place. It's not the real Manila, let's be honest here. I've met the real one before, it's not as affluent, not as pretty, not as pedestrian-friendly, not as easy to talk to, THE PEOPLE NOT AS MOTHERFRAKKIN HOT. I've been here 2 weeks, somewhat adjusted, somewhat still living out of my suitcases. The Real World (which is really any place outside of Jeddah) is twisting my arm into culture shock. Here: SHOPPING Things here are about 10% to 40% cheaper than Jeddah. I still haven't gotten out of the habit of converting everything into riyals. I'm annoyed that so many of the brands I buy aren't available here, but the trade-off is that so many of the brands I want ARE HERE. Don't get me started on books. I will need a second job to support my book shopping because THEY ARE ALL JUST LYING AROUND NAKED WAITING FOR ME TO THROW MONEY AT THEM. Whores. CONVERSAZIONE The city streets are mea...