Rebecca's Blog
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I am stuck today.
I used to take pride in the thought that I may just be the last true romantic. Kinda like the last of the Mohicans...but then again, he died. So I will stop that analogy right now.
So the adventure has brought me to Washington D.C.
And here is how I feel right now:
What the hell was I thinking?
I probably wasn't, no surprises there.
Feeling would be the proper word I guess. And now I am stuck.
I know I ought to grow up, slow down, stay put, set up goals... Right?
But I just can't wait for the next adventure.
Perhaps if I give it time it will begin here.
But how much time?
Since August '06 I have lived in 3 different countries and crossed the atlantic 9 times. And each and every time it has been because I was in love. Not always with a man... although that would account for the bulk... but with an idea, a feeling.
And when I reach my destination it is never just right.
I think I get the most satisfaction out of the travel itself. The innocence of a new destination with the potential of adventure, friends and love.
Unknown.
Unfelt.
But here I feel trapped.
Stuck.
Part of me wishing that there was something to hold me down, make me stay. Show me the paradise of the present through THEIR eyes.
But then again, perhaps I am not looking for that.
Maybe this is what I am supposed to be doing.
But if that's the case, why am I not satisfied?
I feel restless.
Need a change.
Uh-oh....
Watch out.
My mom will be seriously upset if I leave again.
But then again... it's a big world out there. And I think it is time to take another look around.
I once had a lover who summed up life with those two words. Although I do not have any balls, at least not in the technical sense, I would have to agree. Being a person who is constantly tossed between desire, longing, pain and loss, I believe these words encompass, although in a very crude way, what life is all about.
Either that, or those words make a damn good title for a blues song. And don't anyone go steal that title now, because although I do not posses a single iota of musical talent, I have friends who do, and they are working on that song right now.
Since I am a dreamer and a hopeless romantic with an inappropriate sense of humor, I hope this song will be played at my wedding one day. And the guests will all nod in understanding.
Heartache and ballsweat.
I wonder if
Yeah so things were great, apart form one small detail. Many companies here in the middle east have this nasty and ILLEGAL practice of retaining employees passports.
It makes sense really. They lure them here under false pretenses and force them to sign 3 year contracts, and then, to top it off, keep their passports, so once the poor kids realize they have been had in a big way, they can't escape.
I had heard of this practice, which was why, at my interview in March, I specifically asked if they would hold my passport.
They assured me that although they did hold Indian and Filipino passports, they would never hold a U.S. passport.
Fine I said and signed up for 2 years.
Anyone see where this is heading?
So... I get here start working and give them my passport in order for them to get my visa processed.
After a while, I asked for it back and got a big fat NO.
They said it was the law, that they HAD to keep my passport, due to the vast amounts of cash I had access to )and seriously, I had access to a lot more money when I worked in a bar in Florida).
I then asked politely if I could please see a transcript of this law. I was refused this too and told to find that out for myself.
Clever girl that I am, I then went and called the Ministry of Labor, The US Embassy in Abu Dhabi and the US State Department. They all said the same thing. That it is illegal for an employer to keep passports and that I should never, and the State Department were especially clear on this, EVER, give my passport to anyone.
Keep in mind that the US is at war in this region, India and the Philippines are not.
So I immediately requisitioned my passport to get my drivers license and subsequently did not return it. Tit for tat.
If they can pull one on me, I can do one back.
Then it got ugly.
They said if I didn't hand it back in, I would lose my job. I answered back by sending them an email in which I quoted the State Department.
I was called in to a meeting at ten am the next day.
At 10.01 I was fired.
Two days later I went over to look at our new villa by the beach and one of the rooms caught on fire.
Oh, and 2 days before I got fired, I was lighting the gas oven when a great big ball of fire shot out and hit me right in the face and one my hand (Don't worry people, I only lost some part of my eyebrows and my dignity).
So that's 3 times fire in one crazy ass week.
Like the Indians always say... What to do?
So it's been kinda crazy here in the ole' UA of E. It all started out gloriously. Opening the Borders franchise here in Dubai. I have met some wonderful people and I'm not going to pull some fake modesty stunt and pretend I didn't make a difference here. The staff here are unfortunately indentured laborers from India, signed onto a 3 year contract with the Al Maya Group, who promised them Eldorado. What they get is far from golden. They earn 300 USD a month, live in company accommodation with 8 grown men to a room and 1 bathroom. They are issued 2 Borders shirts each which they have to wash in the sink since the company is too cheap to give them a washing machine.
Their room and board is deducted from their salary.
I made 10000 AED a month, which compared to their 1300 is mind blowing. And they STILL send money back to India each month to take care of their families.
A couple of the staff asked me once what I send to my mother. I said... errrr...... postcards. Which isn't even true because I am too damn lazy to even do that much.
What they make in a month, I easily blow at the bar in one night. It makes me ashamed to think of it, so now I am back to drinking in my house. It is cheaper... and more kosher.
The culture here is so different. The store operates in a way so foreign to me, being used to stores in the US and in Europe. The bureaucracy is insane, the censorship even worse.
We are not allowed to sell the bible, or anything pertaining to jews and the State of Israel. Thus, The travel guide Lonely Planet Middle east is banned here, because Israel is in it.
Richard North Patterson's latest novel Exile is banned because it takes place, in part, in Jerusalem.
Forget about Anne Frank's diary and history of WWII. It's like it never happened. Biographies on Hitler are in abundance though.
But in spite of these obstacles, I have had fun... so much fun. So much fun. And I have worked with some of the most amazing people I have ever met. They taught me so much in so little time. About India and their customs. Not to mention that they fed me every day. For good luck, like a pet sort of. I don't know.
All I know is that these guys and girls work so hard for nothing and they are so eager to learn new things without so much of a thank you. And this is where I started making some changes.
I made sure they all felt appreciated. It was so simple, it broke my heart when I understood how starved they were for attention. I think it was when they all stared at me in disbelief the first time I thanked them at the end of a hard days' work. They just couldn't believe that someone just thanked them for doing their job, and I stared back, wondering how the hell anyone could NOT have thanked them before. After that is was smooth sailing. I had my dedicated crew and we were off to adventure.
The launch of Harry Potter 7 went well and was a ton of fun, the CEO of Borders, George Jones, visited the store and thanked me for turning the store around. For making it look and feel like a Borders.
Awesome right?
So how does this work? Do I appologise for not having been in touch? Are we friends, lovers, strangers? Do I just mumble an inaudible "excuse me" and continue as if nothing happened? Or do I try to explain, chosing honesty and vulnerability over secrets and barriers.
How does one appologise to to strangers?
Perhaps it is not even necessary. Perhaps I should assume that this community is like old friends (except that we have never met) and that no excuses are needed. There is not a feeling of having been missed, but surely one of relief that I am back.
I went from planning and almost moving back to the US to be with the man I love, to face rejection and deceit and a swift change of plans and location to eventually land a job in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates.
So here I am now, working for Borders in the Mall Of the Emirates (that's the one with the ski slope) and I love my job, which is good I guess, since the work week is six days in these parts.
And speaking of parts, it is hot as elephant nuts here. And humid. It's making my hair curly.
Wow... don't know where to begin telling of all the madness that is going on here, I just wanted to give everyone proof of life. Let you know I am ok.
Lonely, but ok.
You know the kind of loneliness you only feel when you are surrounded by people.
Detached.
Like these words I am writing now.
Making no sense.
So I'm going to get down right personal tonight.
After all, if you can't share your most intimate secrets with millions of strangers on the web, then who I ask. Who?
Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my father's death.
He was not young, 67, but certainly not old.
He was the happiest man I ever knew, and probably also the most passionate. For those of you who happen to know me in person, I wonder if this might possibly remind you of someone?
Anyway, I lost him, in Russia, thanks to under-funded and under-staffed hospitals.
I was living in Pittsburgh at the time and I by the time I found out he was sick, it was too late for me to go and see him.
I never got to say goodbye.
Some idiot once asked me if I didn't think that he would have been ok had he been in the US or Sweden when he got sick.
Probably.
But he wasn't.
He was in Russia, teaching English, free of charge, at a university. You see, they are so poor over there, that they can not afford to pay their staff, and my dad, having been a teacher most of his life, really thought that sucked. So off he went, and I know he was a great success. I know because a roll of film that was returned to us along with my father's corpse, shows pictures of him surrounded by smiling students. My dad, a glass of vodka in his hand (when in Rome...)and his eyes staring intently into the camera, a bit tired looking but happy all the same. Happy to be in a new place, with so much culture and history, and happy to be making a difference. In those pictures of him and his students, he always looked so proud.
I know that look so well because it is one that I was lucky to have basked in for 30 years.
He was always so proud of me that when I think back, it makes my heart break. Sitting here, now, without a job or even a place to really call home, the pride he always felt for me is both tormenting and comforting.
He is the reason I have never been afraid to try new things. His trust in my ability is what has brought me around the world and back, into a marriage and out of a divorce through college and 12 years of paintball.
He is the man who has always told me to follow my heart no matter where it might take me.
So thanks to him, I have lived and loved in the strangest places.
I have followed my heart, and had it broken, from Sweden to Chang Mai and never once have I thought of slowing down and not sharing my life and my love with the people I meet along the way.
Perhaps now, at the age of 32, I should know better, but then again, perhaps not.
The last time I saw my father, was pretty much like any other night. We argued about something stupid and trivial, we drank a good wine and we danced the foxtrot.
2 weeks later he was gone.
The doctors I have spoken to tell me he felt no pain and that he was in a coma when he slipped away.
I still wonder if he was afraid.
I still wish I could have said goodbye.
This truly is what Sun Tsu must have meant when he wrote his epos, mistakenly kown as The Art of War. Same thing really, when you think about it. Both actions require a fair amount of planning whish, in turn, could lead to disastrous or victorious results.
In my life, the later I start, the better it usually gets.
I usually begin when I am half an hour late to the airport already. I run through my apartment yelling and jumping around, picking up things that are strewn around the place as I go. And it usually turns out quite well.
The thing is, that the stuff that is laying around is of course, all my favorite things to wear.
TA fucking DA!!!!!
But in this case, right here right now, with one day to go until I leave for Dubai, I am making all the newbie mistakes I used to do when I was about 16 and my world travels began.
My first mistake being the fact that I have already started packing. I can tell already from the massive pile of clothes that is towering ever higher in my bedroom that this is going to be BAD.
I knew I should have gone out drinking instead.
Left the house, taken a road trip... anything but this.
For the record, I blame my boyfriend.
I am meeting him in Dubai on Wednesday night, and since he lives in dear old Pittsburgh, PA and I live in Sweden... I don't really get to see him that often which is why I am getting my panties all in a twist (literally) about this silly little trip to the United Arab Emirates.
Wondering, "perhaps he wants to see me in this", or "Do I look fat in that?", instead of just packing whatever is comfortable in the desert and leaving out the items that will offend the locals.
My dear, sweet Rasheed, you had better stare at me in awe every friggin day or there will be hell to pay!
So back to the Nigerian community in Sweden. The thing about Nigerians in Sweden is that they are willing to take any crap job on offer and work around the clock in order to save up money to send gifts back home, or perhaps even buy a ticket for a long lost relative. With they way I travel, I am pretty much the same way, so, I tend to end up doing the same shitty jobs as them, just to get some extra cash on the side.
I'd tell you about some of the jobs I've had, but I think most of them come with nice time in jail attached so, for now... I'll leave it to your imagination, which I am sure can be vivid. Anyway, this is why the nigerians come up in my conversation alot. Simply because they do in real life. And man, it doesn't get any more real that this.
I have four friends and they all got married last year. When they told me all about the weddings and the ceremonies, I was tearing up, imagining these Nubian gods marrying Swedish princesses and living happliy ever after... I am a sucker for romance, although my life seems to be pretty void of it.
So there I was with my pink fluffy fantasies getting all worked up when they looked at me, laughed and said:
"Marriage of convienience. You know, for papers only."
Shit man. All my daydreams down the toilet.
They don't even live with these women, they are just a way of getting residencey in Sweden.
Now I ask you this, with most of the Western world having wet dreams about Swedish women... wouldn't it make sense to at least... you know...? As long as you got one anyway, why the hell not? It would almost be rude not to.
I tried convincing my friends of this but to no avail. As soon as they get the papers, they'll divorce and find a nice girl from back home. The End.
Not really the kind of story I'll be telling my kids (if I ever have any) but the truth of the matter, today, here.
Oh... As always there has to be a silver lining right?
So here it is.
While we were all having this talk, a fifth guy entered into the conversation. He timidly spoke up and said: " I met my Swedish wife on vacation in Spain and I love her"
His name is Valentine. How appropriate is that???
Anyway...
That's the kind of ending I like.
I was invited to dinner at the Nigerian Association last night. The assn, being a nicer word for this one guy's apartment, crammed full of Nigerians, sleeping everywhere, in shifts. Everywhere you looked there was someone cooking, doing laundry, taking a bath, studying or singing.
I went straight for the kitchen where I found myself immersed in smells and tastes I had never experienced before. wish I could tell you what it was I ate, except that it had chicken in it... I think.
And pretty darn hot too. Me being me, I told them I love spicy food and 2 hours later with my eyes watering and lips burning, I had to admit that... yeah.. I'm a Swedish wuss.
oh, and I have about ten million aunties and uncles now.
Apparently any older person present has to be referred to with those titles. Calling someone by their name is rude. You can't even say Mr and Mrs something. And if there is a mom there, which there was, everyone has to call them mom.
So I left that evening with 20 times as many relatives than I had upon arrival.
Kinda neat huh?