Personal Space

If you take any anthropology class one of the first things they'll teach you is how much Americans enjoy personal space and how little Arabs are aware of such a concept. If you take a train in Chicago it is almost guaranteed that each person with take up at least two seats (one for them and one for their bags). In America it is general knowledge that there needs to be a safe distance between two people engaged in a conversation. If you get in someone's face you are viewed as a big, creepy weirdo. In the Arab world, said distance is unheard of. Not only will they stand and talk to you at an uncomfortable nearness, but they will unabashedly ask you why you haven't plucked your eyebrows that day and freely suggest some home made cream that would remedy your enlarged pores. Do you see my point? As an Arab-American I've grudgingly succumbed to the multiple cheek kisses but after moving to Saudi, I've recently realized how much I refuse to relinquish my cherished personal space.

Caged Birds

Today I taught Maya Angelou's poem, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," which moved a lot of my seniors. The poem is literally about two birds who lead incredibly different lives. One bird soars the sky from morning until dusk, dipping in and sipping from natural springs. The other bird sits in a cage filled with rage with tied legs and wings that are clipped. While the first bird dreams about fresh air and big, fat worms, the other bird sings and dreams about freedom. The imprisoned bird longs for the unknown, a life beyond the cage.

While my students sympathized with the caged bird, few could imagine injustice. Metaphorically speaking---they could not fully grasp that there are people in the world who do not "own the sky" as the free bird does. I don't blame them, I suppose. In their short lives my students have soared academically, they have dipped their feathers in oceans across the world and have tasted the most expensive worms this world has to offer. With that being said, they are still young birds, trapped in grand palaces, caged in privilege.

Today we got the day off from school because of a terrible sand storm that has made its way into Riyadh. Last Saturday we got the day off in honor of a kind and generous King. Next week I'm hoping for some heavy rain (fingers crossed!).

I spent my morning reading some much need Pablo Neruda while drinking coffee and nibbling on some biscuits. Sigh. Why did I want to work again? Anyway...Neruda, a Chilean poet, always wrote in green ink because he believed that it was a color of hope. Today I'm typing with shades of green because I'm filled with all sorts of hope these days.

we men,

touch the water,

struggling

and hoping,

we touch the sea,

hoping.

And the waves tell the firm coast,

"Everything will be fulfilled."

-excerpt from "Ode to Hope" by Pablo Neruda.

20-something

Someone once told me that if you want to survive the loneliness in Saudi, you need to make friends your own age. No matter how nice my in-laws are, I still yearned for the company of a 20 something-newly married-no string of kids behind him/her-Arab/Western couple. My Saudi neighbor is such a doll, but going shopping with her ultimately leads to the Baby Gap. Don't get me wrong, I love staring at baby clothes as much as the next lady, but my intrigue lasts for a maximum of ten minutes before I start eyeing Zara across the mall. When I go shopping with my 30 something sister-in-law, her kids have to throw a fit in the middle of H&M, which leaves me embarrassed and her on the verge of tears.

After I started working, I met a lot of wonderful ladies, but they were either:

a.) much older with kids in high school/ college OR

b.) pregnant or with kids under the age of 4

Recently, a newcomer joined our staff to my delight. She was just what I was searching for: 20 something, newly married (no kids), new to Riyadh, an Arab who studied in Canada with a husband with a strong penchant for modern furniture (JUST LIKE MY HUSBAND). She invited us over last night in an effort to get our husbands to become best friends, and I think it went well!

I truly believe God brings certain people in our lives at just the right time. Alhamdulilah.

Drifting

It's been awhile since I've updated my blog, and it is not because there have been a lack of things to say. I suppose the longer I'm here, the more "normal" daily occurrences become and the less pressed I am to write about them.

I've gotten used to tires screeching outside of my home, undoubtedly young men "drifting" with their cars. Rubber on cement and surplus testosterone is the sound of "tafheet" (drifting, in Arabic). The first time I saw a car drifting I literally thought the driver had lost control of his car. I could not fathom that this was done intentionally on a busy highway on a Friday evening. I suppose in some cases it is the "cool" thing to do, especially outside of an all girls high school. It is a dangerous recreational activity that is brought upon by sheer boredom, a lack of alternative options and an abundance of money. Riyadh is a closed society with a large group of affluent teenage boys that are too old to enter the mall with their mothers and too young to have a wife to shop with. If malls--the main weekend activity here--is off limits, guys take to the streets in their expensive cars handed to them by their wealthy fathers. I am talking about a particular group of young men in this Saudi society who use Hummers and dangerous tricks to impress girls who may be watching or listening. Unfortunately, I feel that very few of those people have a real understanding of human connections beyond materialistic things. I think part of their shortcomings have to do with young age, but it mostly has to do with living in a numb society that uses money to drift along in life.

Work and Weight Gain

I've recently started working as a TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) high school teacher, so my time has been divided between home and work. I feel so old these days--learning how to cook a quick meal in under 30 minutes and grading exams while watching Dexter. I feel that a show about blood spats and murder is appropriate while I read run-on sentences and misspellings.

Ever since I've started working, I've been a lot less cranky at home. I no longer pick fights with my husband over clorox and garbage cans. (It's a long story, you had to be there. I swear it seemed like a worthy cause at the time.) The problem with staying at home all day is twofold: boredom and excess weight gain. I must say, I was getting all too familiar with the cast of CSI NY. It got to the point where I would get angry if they repeated the same episode in the same day. Really? Like, you had to keep me hanging? I don't even like tv that much, except for my go to shows that I stream online (and I can assure you, CSI is not one of them). Anyway, my second point. Weight gain. Due to the unbearable heat tight, body-hugging clothes are just not an option. Breezy, free-flowing attire is lovely until one day you can't fit into your skinny jeans anymore... Initially, a month into your stay in Riyadh, you feel pleasantly plump and radiant (It's just sweat). Your newly acquired curves are endearing and the long, loose, BLACK abaya is undeniably flattering. Two months later and you're crying on your bed wondering how you managed to gain 5 kilos in so short of a time. I'll tell you why. Mayonnaise. Arabs love to slather mayonnaise on EVERYTHING. They hand out mayonnaise packets with everything you buy, even if it's just a bottle of coke. What ever happened to olive oil? Tahini sauce, ever heard of it? Another reason? Greasy, salty french fries (which Saudis dip in mayonnaise, of course). Third reason? Portion sizes. I noticed that a small meal is not even possible in fast food chains. 64 ounces of a soft drink is just not okay. Finally, Riyadh is just not built for walking. People walk slowly and leisurely...inside of malls.

Needless to say, I'm on a mayonnaise and french fry-free diet.

Eid & Something New

Happy Eid to fellow Muslims, and all blog readers alike. I kept trying to write a post about the difference between Eid celebrations in Riyadh, versus back home in the States with my family, but I was too home sick/nostalgic/emotional--whatever you want to call it--to make it past a single paragraph without exiting the screen, lingering hesitantly over the little box that would pop up each time asking me, "Are you sure you want to leave this page?" I think before I came here I was never really sure that I was ready to leave a familiar place and live in such a drastically different environment. I don't think that anyone can ever truly be sure of what lies ahead, but today I was thinking about how happy I am that I made the leap of faith and tried something new.

The holiday break is officially over and like everyone says, life here will get back to normal. I'm still trying to figure out what "normal" is, so stay tuned!