Alive, Kicking & Missing a Whole Lot

I miss going to the movies wearing the navy embroidered “bisht” my older brother sent me by mail. I wore it with either my usual sweats or jeans and it always kept me warm in the frosty theater. With my best friend strolling by my side, I would majestically sashay toward the counter and request a ticket for the ten o’clock movie before buying my mandatory medium popcorn without butter and diet coke, both of which would be half finished during the previews.

I miss listening to the hoards of drunken masses at the greasy and rather detestable Greek restaurant underneath my apartment, a joint that I assume profits from people’s hazy taste buds due to downing gallons of belly filling and conscience draining booze. I find it amusing to overhear inebriated individuals speak loudly about rather personal topics including their honest opinion about the Bush administration to calling out one of the group’s members on their rather promiscuous character. Oh the drama of it all.

I miss sitting in front of aged and mumbling war veterans dressed in donated tatters in the public bus. I would carefully observe their scruffy attire before thinking about their life story and ultimately fabricating most of it before someone pulls the thin rope hanging above our heads to leave the packed scene at the next stop.

I miss people’s naïve and intrigued reaction when I mention that I am from Kuwait. I am sure that many people, whether the ones who have studied abroad or have simply traveled the world, have encountered the sundry ungrounded theories about Kuwait that are a cross between scenes from Disney’s Aladdin and Lawrence of Arabia. I have had some rather enjoyable and personally entertaining conservations about my so-called life here in Kuwait, nodding and smiling at the vulnerable bunch of natives who actually believed that I rode a camel to school, dodged a bullet and gratefully collected petrol from the gushing oil well in my backyard. I did not resort to my storytelling mode often, but a tiny selection of people makes it impossible not to make me utilize my imagination and splendidly perform an impromptu narration of living in Kuwait.

I miss sticking my tongue out and eating the soft falling snow on my way to class while stomping around in my big, brown fury boots. They are in my closet right now, collecting dust and I wonder when I will put them on again.

I miss walking down the streets of beautiful Chicago especially – and ironically – during the wintertime. For some reason, the desensitizing cold wind that could make my face break in half if I stayed out half an hour longer is surprisingly refreshing. Even though the weather during December, January and February prevents me from having a normal talk on my cell phone without having to deal with chattering teeth or stiffening fingers, I still miss the winters there.

I miss the convenience of musical events. Instead of boarding a plane like I would do here, I easily walked down the street and listened to my favorite artists play live. I could feel the thud of the bass beating in my chest, the rawness of the guitar’s chords lifting me to the most awe-inspiring high one could imagine and truly feel in their soul…I miss that.

I miss damn good burgers. And please do not jump in and say, “You know, the best burger in the US is In-N-Out.” That little old hyped up dump does not stand a chance against the burgers I have devoured and cheerily consumed. I actually fell into the whole In-N-Out craze. I stood in line for 45 minutes only to discover that I could have done a better job making a burger at home by pounding two pieces of salami into a bun bought from the shoddy 24/7 gas station around the corner run by the mysteriously moody Indian fellow. The burgers I have had – two places which I will keep a secret, for now that is – are not to be eaten out of one’s home. I purposely – and guiltily - order my Butterfinger vanilla shake and double cheeseburger with pickles, mayonnaise, barbeque sauce, lettuce and ketchup to go. I take the juicy thing home, plunk my behind on the floor and dig in before unbuttoning my pants and laying flat on the ground for about twenty minutes or so. Yes, it is that good.

I miss my best friend and the random but deep conversations we had. They mean the world to me since there are very few people in the world who I open up to and who truly know me for me and nothing else.

These are the immediate things that come to mind. I know that they are others buried in my fading memory but hopefully I will ease into the now as gleefully as I did before.

This post is dedicated to error.

MP3's...
Chemical Brothers - Do It Again
RJD2 - Rain
Thievery Corporation - Dirty Little Secret
Kruder & Dorfmeister - Black Baby
Koop - Whenever There is You
Tricky - Ponderosa

at 12:56 AM