That November feeling

Living in the Gulf turns the world as we know it upside down. Only yesterday I uttered a phrase I would've never imagined saying in a million years - I love November. Where I come from November means cold, wet gloom. Not seeing the sun or the blue sky for weeks on end. The worst month of the year - gone is the glorious golden coppery early autumn and the white and crisp winter is still far away. But not so here. Here November means the suffocating humid heat has finally left and the cool breeze and temperatures under 35 degrees are back - not too hot, not too cold, perfect time for long walks, sidewalk cafes, beach and picnics in the parks.

In short, I'm well, my mama's been here for a week so I got a break (my yearly holiday, lol) and the low feelings left with the heat.

Not this!

I really have been trying. Fighting it with all my strength. But lately I started losing the battle. I'm borderline depressive again. The problem this time is I don't have the luxury of doing what worked in the past to keep the beast at bay - I cannot be gentle with myself for a while, I cannot sleep in, have a long hot shower, scrub, have a face pack, massage a rich cream into my whole body and then spend the rest of the day in bed with tea and a good book. I cannot go to the club and spend an afternoon lounging on the beach sipping water and fruit juice and swimming in the pool. I cannot go shopping and spend long moments contemplating a dress or an eye shadow, sit in a bookstore and look through books in peace. Hell, I can't even concentrate fully on writing this entry. I need to find another way of coping because I'm not getting a break anytime soon.

Bukhoor me!

I love perfume. Especially heavy, heady, woody, spicy, smoky ones. Can’t stand the fresh, flowery, “light” scents especially ones made with artificial oils, they give me a headache or/and nausea. That’s probably why I love oudh and bukhoor. i haven’t had any for months and I was missing it. My happiness arrived today in the form of a guilty husband who decided to make up for travelling the first week of ramadhan (and every week prior to ramadhan)by buying a small and expensive sachet of “ramadhan special” bukhoor. Since at our apartment building we have a fairly sensitive (as in going off at odd times day and night) smoke alarm, I decided to avoid th risk and put it not on hot coals but on aluminium foil on electrical cooker. Now my living room smells gorgeous – not too smoky but still incensed not sprayed. After the weekend I’m bukhooring my clothes. I have found “my” bukhoor…

Ramadan shopping frenzy

Ramadan starts tomorrow which means the shopping and, for some, cooking frenzy started yesterday, or maybe even earlier in the week. We all make fun of it commenting how crazy everybody goes buying food as if supermarkets were closing for the entire holy month. But to be honest, if I had a huge fridge and a big freezer, I would stock up as well. Not because I’m afraid supermarkets will run out of food and other products but because shopping, especially grocery shopping while fasting is even more tedious than usual. Add to it a baby on the crossover to toddlerhood and my enthusiasm for grocery shopping evaporates. That’s why I understand the crazy shoppers. During ramadan, and especially in the first week one does not want to battle heat and traffic to find themselves surrounded by food and drinks in the supermarket ailes while hungry and thirsty. Come the second week, the body will usually adjust to the different rhythm and venturing into the vastness of a hypermarket becomes less frightening. So bring the trolleys on – it’s time to shop!

No sweat

One of the traditions in Dubai is to state every summer that “it hasn’t been this hot last year”. It is hot, it is humid and it is dusty. Last year (and the year before last) the temperatures soared over 50 degrees. So imagine how exasperated and tired I was when I decided to go out for a stroll in a desperate move to get Saboodlette to take her evening nap. Since coming back from holidays, I’ve been a single mum for most of the time as husband is travelling every week. I needed a break from the overactive baby who is determined to learn to walk and on the way there explores every speck of dust… The poor thing was ecstatic when she realised we were going out – she must’ve been so bored day after day stuck at home. So there we go fully ready to come back 10 minutes later drenched in sweat. Surprise! The air was fairly clean, the sky looked blue (well, dark blue, it was right after maghrib), the moon sharp and not hazy as usual. The temperature was well below 40 degrees and there was a cool strong breeze. It would’ve been downright pleasant if it weren’t for the humidity – definitely over 80%. But all in all, we had a pleasant walk, Saboodlette fell asleep within 10 minutes and I wondered around for almost an hour. Today, feeling brave, I decided to venture outside before sunset so off we went around 16h30. The weather was as pleasant as yesterday even with sun shining. Thank God for little mercies! Now Saboodlette has a proper evening nap and I hope she’ll sleep at night as well as yesterday (woke up only twice and went right back to sleep without tossing and turning). Husband is on a plane home, weekend is 24 hours away and I'm ready to put up with all the nagging for some respite...

Home Sweet Home

We’re back home. This year our absence was longer than usual and than foreseen. Almost a whole month. A whole month back at my parents… well, with a week’s worth respite at the seeside. Kamilia was happy – her nose was never dry or stuffy (after initial two-day runny nose), she could crawl everywhere (carpets and rugs) and stand up anytime she felt like (a lot of accesible tall, sturdy furniture). We breathed more fresh air in these 4 weeks than during a whole year here. We also walked. And took public transport and survived. Funny thing, friends told me that people don’t get up for them when pregnant or with babies like it used to be the case when we were younger (the way we were brought up, I cannot sit when an elderly or a pregnant woman stands next to me, my behind gets twitchy). This time again I found it not to be true. Maybe it’s the summer that makes people less tired and grumpy and more helpful. Unfortunately it’s not the case in Paris where you could die buried under your luggage and nobody (with rare exceptions) will care. This hasn’t changed.

So back in dhh (dusty, hot and humid) Dubai and I’m happy as can be. Tired since there is no respite from the Formula1 formerly known as Saboodlette but it’s soooo good to sleep in my own bed, have my own bathroom and not having to check every yoghurt for pork (tip – check out the unknown, local brands – their products usually contain less additives and are closer to the traditional, natural ones - tastier, too).

On the plane back I was musing over the definition of “home”. Found one – it’s the place where I can close the door behind me and I decide who to let in and when. That’s my definition, that’s what made me feel “at home” or as the French say “chez moi” in various places I lived. And that’s what makes me truly happy. I remember this feeling of closing the door behind me in my first “own” flat. Pure bliss. It felt so good that I go back to that feeling when I’m down, upset or else. And it works a treat. I’m not a sharing kind of person.
Now an update on the previous post - on my way back I met my Friend. She's still the same, I haven't changed (according to her). So so good.

Now that’s probably the most boring post I’ve EVER written but what’s done is done. The alternative was to write about ironing and related housework after a long absence.

Friendship

It’s our fifth year here. Almost four years. Which is roughly the same amount of time I spent in the previous country I lived in. And yet, while the previous place felt (and still feels, to a degree) like home, Dubai doesn’t. Sharjah got closer but still not quite. And while I know what I miss the most, the real friends, I was trying to figure out what exactly defines a friend to me and why (apart from the usual “it’s a transitional place” bla) the friends I made here don’t really feel like friends even though I had thre same amount of time to get to know people as before. So what’s different? I met so many different people with similar interests and at similar life stages. We talk, do things together and yet… And then it hit me. When talking to a real friend I can voice my opinions without apologising for them even if the said opinion is in opposition to how the other person thinks or feels about the topic. Even if it’s a sensitive subject. We might disagree totally but there won’t be awkward silence, backtracking or smoothing over. There might be a heated discussion or just exchange of views but no apologising for thinking this or other way. This is what I miss. And this is what makes me even resentful. I’m tired of being careful about what I talk about and to whom. I’m irritated by running into a wall of awkwardness when I say something the other person disagrees with. I’m fed up with having to tread carefully, having to use expressions like “I read/heard that”, “this is what some people say” etc. What people??? And why these “people’s” opinions are important enough to quote while my opinion must be dressed up and backed up with what some elusive “expert” has to say?
I need a friend. A friend who I can disagree with. A friend who’s ok with difference in opinion and won’t have their feeling hurt by it nor would be too scared to say what they think. My feeling can take it. Please, apply.

And all of this because I miss her. Our birthdays fall on the same day. She’s pregnant now and due on the day of Saboodlette’s EDD.
I miss you, H.