In Memory Of..

In Memory of My Late Grandfather..

You are my father. My guardian. My friend. I have so many memories of you. You carry me, you embrace me, you kiss me. I want to talk with you, grandfather. You are my home away from home. You are the one I lived with during the weekends, which soon turned into the weekdays as well. I have my breakfast with you. And you feed me. And I smile.

Our memories are beautiful. You joke with me. You give me money, secretly, so that my parents don’t accuse you of spoiling me. And I giggle, grandfather, when my mother asks me what’s in my hand. And you tell her, it’s just a piece of candy. And you know that she knows that isn’t true. But you say it anyway. And I smile.

You hear me compliment the fruits in your house. And when I return home, I find crates of them just waiting for me. You call me everyday when I travel. And we don’t talk about much because there’s nothing left to say. You ask about the weather. And you love it when I complain. Because it makes you say “there’s no place better than Kuwait”. And I smile.

Some nights, when I dream of you. You don’t see me. But I can see you from afar, and I admire your posture. Your back has healed. And your limp has disappeared completely! I am so proud, grandfather. Your dark bronzed skin is glowing and glistening. But your smile has not changed at all. I see you, grandfather. And I smile.

May you bask effortlessly in God’s warm, golden glow. May you tread gracefully on His Heaven’s soft, smooth earth. May you float dreamily in His silky, silver sky.

And May we meet again, sometime in the future. Where I shall see you. And we shall smile.

London, London, London

Forgive me for saying this, dear London. But what the hell is going on? I mean, seriously, what??

Ok.. Let me start from the beginning. A week ago, my plane touched down on London's busy Heathrow airport runway. I took a taxi (love those funny-looking black cabs) and went to the apartment where my family awaits me.

First of all, I don't want to sound racist, but during the whole ride from the airport to our building, I barely saw any English people. I saw every other nationality on Earth, and yet I rarely saw any of Britain's blonde inhabitants.. London has changed. And I dont mean that in a good way.

I loved coming here to experience a new lifestyle during the holidays. Taking a walk on the busy streets, shopping, enjoying the sights/weather/museums. But now what do I see?

Expensive looking cars bearing the license plates "Qatar/Dubai/KSA" parked in all areas of Knightsbridge. Arabs in sports cars cruising down Oxford Street with the car's top down. Dude, its raining! Eyes following you everywhere like you were an alien. Men with their "posse", not to mention some women with a trailing of servants carrying their bags. And not to mention the blaring of Khaleeji/Arabic music in some of London's famous department stores. How embarassing!

I mean, why the hell are those people travelling, if all they want to do is exactly the same thing they're doing in their country! They're not touring the city, they're trashing it!

I have a lot more to say about you, dear London. But it will just have to wait..

Never Grow Up

I became a grown up before I even grew up.

A few years back, I turned 18. So many things happened during that period in time. Can’t remember most. The most memorable, however, can never be forgotten.

How can I forget the first time I got my driver’s license and picking up my friends (in anything that has wheels)? Who can forget graduation?! Or the first day of university? (it was nerve-wracking. everyone looked so old!)...

So many exciting things.. So many new experiences! I never felt that way before - Such a high!

I know what you’re thinking. You probably think that those events were not so “exciting” (maybe even boring?).. but, you see, the thing is, I’ve always been a careful girl. Mature. Responsible. Takes care of her siblings. The one that rarely does anything wrong (yeah, right). The polite one. The A-student… need I go on?

Fast forward a few years, and a few mild highs, and here I am, still responsible, and trying to figure out what to write about. A friend of mine read something I wrote, and recommended that I start my own blog. I want to write about my adventures.. My electrifying life! I want to write about all the crazy things I did as a teenager, but I can’t remember doing anything crazy! Oh my God. I’m boring!

Anyway.. I’ve always loved writing, it’s so therapeutic.. And sometimes when I have a lot on my mind, the idea of having someone listen (in this case, read) about my life, is so refreshing.. So.. So new! Could this be my new high? Can I release my crazy (and sometimes immature) inner-being? I may not be so boring after all, right?

And on this note, I'd like to quote some lines from the lyrics of Mr. Robbie Williams,

"I hope I'm old before I die,
I hope I live to relive the days gone by.."

I really hope so.. I really, really do..

Because this young girl is all grown up.

And I don’t want to grow up.. I really, really don’t.

Who Am I?

I want to introduce myself. I want to tell you who I am. I want to tell you what I am. I want to talk about my past, my present, my future. But I cannot contain all the particles of my life into one short paragraph. Not even a page. Maybe a book. Maybe not. Maybe a movie. Definitely not.

But then I remembered something. I remembered something I read before. A paragraph or a sentence that someone used to describe himself.. and I can't find a better way to describe myself other than to quote his words:

"..Who what am I?
My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come.."

Saleem Sinai, Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie.

I couldn't have said it better myself.