It's all such an act and I've mentioned this before of course but it continues to haunt me, continues to surprise me.  Ten days to a fortnight after I realize where I'm going comes the actual breakdown. The actual realization and regret. Before it was all scripted, the disappointment, the tears and resignation. And now, when there are guests downstairs and actual work to be done I am incapable of lifting a finger.

I'm alright, I'm alright, I'm alright. It's for the best, four years will go by just like that, I can study what I please, it's another city, a competitive university, people have done worse, the parents are happy. Of course I'm alright.

And they're so happy that I listened and wasn't stubborn and didn't pull them further and further apart, didnt pick at the remains of what is left of a relationship. I'm getting lots of presents. So happy.

And all the congratulations and forced smiles and buying suitcases and straighteners have kept me so occupied. All of a sudden the phone rings again and I cannot, just cannot tell yet another person that I am excited.

All I can do is reassure myself that I did the right thing for me. In the long run this guarantees my freedom. And in that selfishness, I delight.

I'm alright, I'm alright, I'm alright, Except for now I'm not.

The Women

Women in Saudi Arabia do not occupy public space. This realization came to me when I was sitting (yet again) inside a mosque being pushed around by a million women who all of a sudden seemed to just not be there any more.

What does occupying public space even mean? It must be clarified that these women are physically present. I mean you see them everywhere. But not in every sense of the phrase 'occupying public space.' I've mentioned before that Saudi women cannot show clothes, hair and skin. I can see a forgettable part of their faces. I cannot tell how much they weigh, see breasts or legs or arms or birthmarks. Is that even enough to remember a person by? It certainly makes them far more difficult to remember. Mission accomplished Saudi government?

Women in Saudi Arabia are not allowed to have a sense of style because they must all look more or less the same, they cannot drive, cannot smoke, walk with their eyes lowered, they do not walk alone and must act a certain way. They glide in and out of their houses, clothed mostly in black, saying little to strangers and leaving little impact. They are not allowed to leave an impact.

Women in Saudi Arabia do not occupy public space and as I watch these hordes of chattering women surrounding me I wonder if they even know it.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 4

Past Fajr and I had been good for exactly a day and a night now. It was time to get out. Shrugging on an abaya, hastily pinning on a scarf and exactly half a minute later out of my hotel and onto the streets of Madinah. The sun had risen by now and the thousand stalls were laid out.

Women do not walk alone in Saudi and I wound my way through the streets hoping that I wouldn't attract any attention. Never look an Arab man in the eye. Even if he's really good looking. Also never look a policeman in the eye.

A boy in shorts grinned and waved at me as I walked by. He called out 'I've seen you before.' and I turned around to frown at him. 'Yes.' He said, smiling because now he had my attention. 'In the mosque. Your scarf was falling down.' But of course.

He asked if I smoked and I took a cigarette. 'When you are with me it's fine, you can smoke. They'll think we're married.' He said nonchalantly (I almost choked) 'When you are alone you must hide the cigarette under your scarf.' I nodded, pretending to speak little English. 'You haven't asked me my name but I will tell you Muneer Isaac. From Palestine. Are we friends now?' A laugh escaped me. He smiled, encouraged, and I realized he had no idea exactly how beautiful he was.

We sat there, on a random street in a side of the city that was almost empty of tourists and talked. He was studying to be an engineer and had moved here three years ago. He asked about my life and gradually I opened up. Sentences turned into stories as I told him about Karachi and how I may be in London next year. He was the first person to ask me whether I was scared to go.

Hours later, I got back to the hotel. This city too, despite it's effort to dismiss them, had it's secrets.

And so I'd made a friend.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 3

And there is confusion more than anything, chaos more than everything. A thousand languages uttering the same thing again and again and again. So many people, so many places. And all for what? To be part of something bigger than themselves. And even though I disagree with this entire affair on so many levels, there is one tiny part of me that understands it. The need to be this way. Why we cling to what is familiar, what is ritualistic and safe.

It's strange really how it repels and attracts me at the same time. I wonder how everyone else feels right now.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 2

The dressing will probably never cease to amaze me. Saudi women have got to be the most resourceful women on the planet. They can't show skin or clothes or hair. They can't even show half their faces sometimes. So what do they do? They dress up what they can show. Their eyes are always perfectly lines, they wear the most gorgeous abayas and they walk in these mincing little steps that can only be described as attractive. In short Saudi women are actually really goddamn alluring.


I claim that every city I've travelled to breathes differently. I'm not quite sure how Madinah breathes just yet. Dusty hot air, kajol, countless blackberrys. It breathes in ritual and the azaan, mosques by the dozen, a thousand stalls and a whisper, a promise of magic. But not quite religion, not really faith and hardly ever God.

I find myself realizing that this man is actually breaking down in front of me and I think 'no oh please God no, not another one. Not now. Another day, another time maybe I'll sympathize. Maybe when I've caught up with myself.'

It would do to me what I'm most terrified of. Not living in the now. Living in the past. Hurt ties you down.

It's been a long long time since I've allowed myself to be hurt and now sometimes I wonder why people bother with it at all. Walk out when it stops being fun. Keep it simple. Rules I've lived by for what seems like forever. Why feel any more than that anyway? You're never alone after all, not really and belonging to someone in the conventional sense is overrated. It's stress and tears and complications. It's the last time you call them knowing they're not going to call you back tonight, the look in your eyes when you see them connect with someone else, the uncertainty attached to saying 'I love you'. It's hurt.

Besides you belong to nobody but yourself. The bits and pieces of people you choose to pick up along the way belong to you. He doesn't belong to me or her. But I know his secrets and his fleeting obsessions and she doesn't. Still. Not belonging. And I'm fine with that. It leaves me free. Who know where we'll end up?

And maybe one day I'll be hurt too and curse myself for it just like he is now. But that will happen. You're allowed to get too attached. And then one day, all of a sudden and out of the blue, you're not.

People talk and I understand why they do. It's because they're not brave enough to think differently. But it's alright. I'm happy.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 1

Madinah

The women here are never alone. They're either with their husbands, weighed down by their many children or they travel together in parties of four or five and never less. I've been here two days. They come to the mosque for every prayer. Never alone. I wonder if there is time to think of God.

I certainly haven't given the concept much thought since I've been here. The days have passed in a blurry haze of desert heat and headscarves and going to the mosque every so often. I haven't really even been alone till now and now I'm looking, hunting for a pen and watching the man sitting on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette with barely concealed envy. Not just because of the cigarette but because he can. Can sit on the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette and not have to worry about his greasy hair.



The Masjid al Nabi is a little like a sports bar. Everyone goes altogether too much, drinks something from a tap and seem to be overwhelmingly fascinated by a phenomena that I am not completely comfortable with. And of course, if we continue to draw parallels between sport and religion, everyone judges you harshly for not being equally enthralled. And so while I sit here on the steps of the haram as the sky fades to a milky purple and the women around me bow their heads in prayer, I catch some looking at me sideways and knitting their eyebrows together.

A very fancy, very crowded sports bar.


It's a little intoxicating being here, watching all these women and all these headscarves rise and fall at the same time as if they're part of something bigger than themselves. It's a little scary that I find that comforting.

More later.