A Time for Schizophrenia

The morning of Eid is a morning that can summarize a woman's life in kuwait in a nutshell. It involves wearing many faces that don't actually belong to you, flashing what you got in your bank account in the form of an outfit, and feigning a sweet natured propriety to people that you hardly know. In such a morning I wake up in a drowsy cranky mode and stumble into the shower unpleasantly. The shower is the key component to beginning this day, for only with water splashing on my naked skin can I meditatively prepare to slip into a day of full fledged superficiality, faked amicability and socially overbearing expectations.

The role I am expected to play is of a prissy geisha, fully decked out and bling bling'd with overrated jewelry. I have to make rounds to 6-7 houses of extended family members, most of whom I don't know (and don't really care to). It is always embarassing to enter these houses because I have no idea what their names are, and who's related to who and how the hell they are related to me. I don't know who I'm supposed to call "khalti" since I am no longer a little child and I feel really awkward when a man only 15 years my senior offers me money. It is equally as uncomfortable that the very man that just shoved a 20 kd bill into my hands decides to offer me short-sighted career advice, drawing references from his own unimpressive experience. But I repress the part of me that is openly sarcastic and loudly objectional to unintelligent advice and resort to my 'calm non-fiesty' personality that smiles, utters thank yous, blushes, and then looks at the floor.

The final destination is Grandmother's house, who has her own set of unfamiliar guests that are supposedly relatives of ours. The male guests shun away from the sacrilige of shaking my hand, and deny me the respect of proper eye contact during their simple nod of a greeting. But they do not hesistate to stare at me behind my back (my sister always catches them) while I degradingly pour them tea and serve them sweets, as per Grandmother's orders. In this submissive role that I adopt , not only do I conciously deny my intellectual superiority and accomplishment over these men that I serve and dangle my existence for, but I also find myself sighing and batting my eyes, staring at the ceiling and laughing ever so delicately. When I unknowingly become out of character and do something as blasphemous as crossing my legs, (apparently it insinuates an attempt of seduction), Grandmother quickly advises me in private to 'sit properly' so as not to appear 'loose' to the guests.
"ya bnayah, 9eery thigeeela!" she barks at me, God bless her....

After my academy award winning performance at Grandmothers, I release myself from the confines of propriety, drive like a freed maniac, and go home to prepare for another role. The necessary role. The role that flushes out all of this fetidly faked behavior that I abhor (hence the blog title, 'maa7ib rasmiyaat') and indulge in a forbidden extreme, the needed extreme that will stabilize me back to healthy balanced normality.

I peer into my closet to find the appropriate attire for this event (the attendees of which are confirmed to be safe non-arabic speaking individuals -:) thanx 3asoobah). My immoral black pants are screaming to be worn. The thousands of mini belts and dangling chains that flutter on this scandalous fashion piece makes any reserved woman look like she just X-ed out of an underground rave in Russia. The perfect costume for the needed role. I'll wear them with spiked 5 inch heels, flop a blonde wig a' la miss cosmo's incognito (God, I love blogging) and creep out of the house quietly in a breeze...Too bad I can't wear the cat woman alter ego mask, Haloween was three days ago.

Now I'm off to execute, 3eedkum Embarak ow kil 3am wa antum bi khair!