I Shall Be Remembered

Almost all of us spend our whole lives trying to be different. Some succeed & their names are remembered through the centuries while others just give up and blend in with the rest of the crowd.

I, too, am one of those people who have succeeded. For when I die, I shall be remembered as the girl who didn’t care how fat she was as long as she had food in her belly and a cookie (or two) somewhere close-by.

Yes, I stand out from the crowd. Some would say it’s because I’m loud. Others would tell you it’s because I tend to spout profanity as soon as my temper hits a certain notch. But honestly it’s because my love of food is much greater than my love of skinny jeans or thigh-high boots. I mean, who needs boots when you can have a banana-nut muffin and a chocolate caramel milkshake.

For all the people who tend to remind me that everyone is unique in their own way, this goes as an in-your-face gesture. Everyone is NOT unique; some people are much less articulate about themselves, hence absolutely ordinary and not at all likely to be remembered even 5 minutes after they’ve left the room.

I, on the other hand, am THE bomb – in size and personality, both. (Wow, a complete wonder!!)

The Heat & A Reader's Dismay

 Summers; hot, humid, dry summers, they are no time to be reading books curled up on your window cushion with a mug of coffee. Summers are for water fights and pool volley. And they are for sipping lemonade while sitting on your porch. (my imagination will kill me someday)

(Back to reality) Much to my dismay, I neither have a pool nor a volley ball. I don’t even have a porch; I live in an apartment building in Saudi Arabia where, if I did intend to sit outside my house to do anything, let alone sip lemonade, I would have to wear a black hijab which would just make matters worse.

I don’t like summers. For me, they are just icky, sticky and they make me ultra-cranky. I’m a winter person. I like to sit on my terrace, covered in head to toe in triple layers of clothing and read romance novels or thrillers or even auto-biographies. But I can’t do it in this blasted weather because as soon I pick up a paperback, I have the vague feeling that even the pages of the book are sweating in my hands. It’s just too depressing. (Oh, the sadness)

And, NO, I do not like E-books. I have had to resort to that mode of reading since there aren’t any old-bookstores in Saudi where I can just walk in and buy everything and still have enough money left to last me the month. But I do not like this mode of reading. What pleasure is reading when you can’t feel the pages in your fingers and can’t register the smell of a good old paper-back? True readers love books, people. And they do not resort to a means of reading which is only reading in its literal sense, not the kind of reading that you may take pleasure in on a cold winter night. Sigh

I want winters back. I want a snug blanket, a good novel & a thermos of delicious coffee next to me. I want to indulge in these sins without melting away.

But for now, I guess I’ll go take a shower – the third shower today, mind you. I’m afraid I’ll melt away soon. Do miss me if I do. (Does a dramatic fainting-heroine gesture)

July Fireflies

Summers were meant for catching fireflies in Mason jars. And the fact that every time I watch a firefly flutter past me, I’m reminded of you and all the childhood that you signify. You are the cherry to my pie. And you’re the only best friend that I might have ever made. You are the one I’d love to chase those fireflies with tonight because later when the light would shine across your face, I would realize how familiar those contours around your eyes are, how deeply etched your face is in my memories.

And as I place the empty jar on your grave tonight, old friend, the emptiness inside me wells up with a million memories of those contours, of that face.

And in that empty Mason jar, I’ve packed all my memories of you. Keep them safe, old friend. Keep them close. As I shall keep you.