Forget Her

I wasn't sure if it was a full moon already. The park seemed aglow in florescent light, almost like dawn in fact, quite unusual for a place that's notorious for its dark corners. I glanced at the moon to be certain. It's not a perfect circle, its halo also premature. Still it was fine enough for a walk along Corniche--an escape disguised as an exercise. I found a spot and decided to master the lyrics to a new fascination: Jeff Buckley's "Forget Her". His voice is like no other. Too bad he's singing with angels now. I sat there watching the faint waves of the sea, singing in a concert in my head but A capella to the world. I wondered who broke Jeff's heart when he wrote the song. Now that he's gone, I'll never know. But for me, the lady in question is none other than Qatar.

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Forget Her by Jeff Buckley

While this town is busy sleeping
all the noise has died away
i walk the streets to stop my weeping
‘cause she'll never change her ways

Don't fool yourself
she was heartache from the moment that you met her
my heart feels so still
as i try to find the will to forget her somehow
oh i think i've forgotten her now

Her love is a rose pale and dying
dropping her petals and men unknown
all full of wine the world before her
was sober with no place to go

Don't fool yourself
she was heartache from the moment that you met her
my heart is frozen still
cause i try to find the will to forget her somehow
she's somewhere out there now

Oh my tears are falling down as i try to forget
her love was a joke from the day that we met
all of the words all of the men
all of my pain when i think back to when
remember her hair as it shone in the sun
the smell of the bed when i knew what she'd done
tell yourself over and over you wont ever need her again

I have to be honest. As my Qatar anniversary approaches, I'm more confused than ever. After my vacation, I don't know whether I should come back or move on. Maybe I'm just "fooling myself" into thinking that I like it here. But maybe I do like it here. I think I do like it here. Maybe I don't want to go through another adjustment period. There are so many things to consider, all pointing to a way out. The only thing holding me back is of a selfish nature--I'm holding on to the familiar, the expected, the routine. A year is quite short to be starting all over again. Should I really forget her?

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Dusk

It's exactly 6PM as I write this. I've pressed the play button on my walkman phone and it's now playing Paul Weller's "You Do Something To Me" off the playlist I entitled 'Dusk'. 'Dusk' was previously known as '6PM' but since I rearranged the tracks and added more to the list, I decided to rename it. And what's this fascination with this time of day? 6PM is not just a playlist, it's a realm of memories.

How I came up with a 6PM playlist was easy. I remember as a kid, I'd often walk home at dusk, because any minute later would mean an angry grandma. I'd pass by sari-sari stores or houses with men out on their front yard drinking Gold Eagle Beer or Tanduay Rum (you can tell by these drinks what kind of neighborhood I grew up in), and they'd always have a radio on. This was pre-videoke. What amazed me was the kind of songs these radio stations played. At 6PM, it was always classic slow rock and power ballads like those from bands like Styx or songs like Caravan. Jukebox music right in your own home. Since then, when dusk comes, I'd always crave for songs that have a distinct guitar riff or a lonely bar room feel with an affected lounge singer. A bit bluesy but not quite, more like dreamy. To give you a better idea, here's a portion of my playlist:

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Or better yet, here's a close enough clip of what I mean (the song is in the list too). It's a scene from Y Tu Mama Tambien, just before the threesome did the nasty. The song is called Si No Te Hubieras Ido by Marco Antonio Solis.



It was dusk when I met my first lover. We were both 15 and in love and nobody knew about it. It was a summer affair in which I learned how to drink beer, smoke, and dance. I didn't flip out when it ended. I considered it as my initiation to a mysterious world and I passed with remarkable colors, that I never knew existed. I remember writing an uplifting short story when we ended our relationship. I also remember that it was when I started to write about people without using pronouns.

It was dusk when Ryan, my best bud in high school, and I would go to Capitol Lagoon and talk the night through because none of us wanted to be home. We'd exchange mythologies of the doomed love affair of the two golden statues that marked each side of the Lagoon's pool. The lovers are so close yet forever parted because some artist thought it would be dramatic if the female statue would eternally wait for her hero.

It was one of those talks when I first came out. It was also the last of those talks. Years later, I'd disproved my own mythologies about those statues and instead thought of them as a haunting metaphor for all my relationships--whether it be family, friends, or lovers, we'd always be parted by bodies of water.

It was dusk when I'd drive the long highways of Davao and find myself in different cities in an hour. Aimless driving, aimless thoughts. I remember that the goal was to chase the horizon until it was time to go back. With only a good soundtrack on board, I'd make my way through towns that shrunk smaller and smaller with each mile away from the city. Seeing those towns, I thought I didn't want to go back to my life. Simple living meant simple problems. But then the tape runs out, the last stick of cigarette evaporates, and perhaps the last can of beer turns into burp, and I'd snap out of it, drive back home and try to catch Frasier on cable.

It's that lazy guitar riff that brings back a thousand memories. It doesn't matter now if it was happy or sad. It's just memory. Neither a positive or a negative. And the songs, they are notes that mark the sunset--the very moment when we stop to think: what have I learned today?

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Bitch in Heat

Today was a good day to kill someone. After the adrenaline rush in my last post, I thought I was ready to write something light. But this morning, I was faced with yet another pisser that goes by the name Hossam. He confirmed for me, that a pile of shit with a necktie is simply a gift-wrapped turd.

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I proceeded with my day as usual, although I was already a bit on the edge because I wasn't able to sleep the whole night on account that I walked from Costa Coffee to the office which was a good two hours from 2AM till 4AM. Add my pinoy pal scratching the surface of my crankiness with his usual annoyances. In between that were the boss and Mustafa passing work like they're feeding pulp in a paper mill, expecting me to churn out glossy pieces of A4 from the stinking crap they come up with. By noon, I was ready to explode.

Hossam is a newbie to the office. Three weeks old but already a hotshot since he is Mustafa's best buddy. Hossam and I never really got along well. He has issues and they extended to me.

For some reason, I feel that he hates my guts. I don't mind, you can't expect everybody to like you. And he's the last person I'd want to be friends with anyway. As long as we kept to ourselves though, there wouldn't be any problems. But this morning, Hossam decided to cross the line, invade my space and claim it as his own.

Here's the scenario: I was busy working when Hossam barged inside my office and asked, and not in a nice way, for some letterheads. I proceeded to print five. At the table in front of me, my officemate Abdalla asked for help on his computer so I went there, leaving my post empty while Hossam waited for the printing to finish. After a while, Hossam started tinkering with my PC without even asking for my permission. He was unaware that I was already giving him the WTF look. He then left the room. A little bit later, he was back again, and said that he needed eight more letterheads so he used my computer, without asking me again and that was the time when I snapped, calmly.

"Hossam. Please do NOT use my computer without asking permission," I said slowly so he would understand simple English. His arrogant reply got me trembling so bad I wanted to punch him in the face the way Shia LeBouf's character in Disturbia punched that Spanish teacher. "This is not your computer, this is the office's computer, this is not only for you, this is for everybody."

What. The. Fuck. Is he sick? Obviously, the concept of privacy is lost in this dimwit. So I told him and not so calmly this time, "Hossam, is it so hard to ask permission? I don't go to your computer and use it at whim! I'm not forbidding you to use my computer, all you need to do is ask, I'm right here in front of you!"

"Hey, the boss asked me to do something. This is for the boss I'm doing, if you have a problem, talk to him!" was his reply. "Oh, I definitely will!" I said. And that was the end of our spat.

I think I don't need to tell you how I almost unplugged the computer, bring it to Hossam's table, and throw it on his head. I talked to the boss though and told him that one of his golden boys was stinking the office with foul behavior.

Hossam and Mustafa always seem to get props from the boss. In fact, when I told the boss how a piss-off his favorite rookie was, I hinted that he tried to defend the twat by saying that he "did ask Hossam to do some things for him," to which I replied "But that doesn't give him any right to use my PC without my go signal because we both know what kind of sensitive information we have in there," then I gave him the wink wink and I'm not referring to my porn collection either. The boss has emails that only the two of us know of. "Please teach your boys some manners to go with their suit and tie," I told the boss and left his office. God knows what the boss said to Hossam after I left, but I bet it's something short of dealing with a naughty baby--there there now, don't be naughty again next time or papa will get angry, OK?

For the Nth time, I don't really care about office politics and these guys simply don't get it that I don't want their jobs nor have I aspirations like them to become a boss. I just want my peace and quiet and a little respect (how pink is that?).

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Hedonism and Digital Karma

I've been listening to Skunk Anansie's "Hedonism" for a long time now but I haven't really brought myself to googling the meaning of the word. With karma asking for my dues last night, I finally came across Hedonism in a thick Ethics book.

Epicurus was the Greek dude who came up with this concept of Hedonism--the pursuit of pleasure or happiness (spelled with an "i"). Like other philosophies, this Thought also became hotly contested by the ancient and even modern nerds. Meanwhile, some pervs today cling to the idea and put fun twists in it like Sadism or Masochism and Suicide. Hey, whatever gives you pleasure, right? But knowing all these gave the song a whole new meaning and I find the lyrics brilliant even in its simplicity because of Skin's affecting interpretation of the concept and haunting rendition of the song. (The one below is the acoustic version).

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Anyway, back in college, I passed my Ethics class without attending it. My Ethics professor was Van's family friend and he agreed to give me a free ride. Now, after two years, I'm learning Ethics again. This time, it's for real. Van always says that nowadays, Karma is digital. Mine must be on a 386 computer cause it took two years before it caught up with me. Looks like I'll be earning the 85 grade the professor gave me after all.

I only have a week to read all five hundred pages of boring college textbook and write a comprehensive book review. Whoever reviews textbooks? Well I guess Qatari colejialas do. A certain Maryam called me up and asked if I can write a book report for her. I charged her QR200. Alright, I admit, I prostituted myself. I need the money, OK?

I should get back to my reading. So far it's interesting. And Karma, if you're listening, "I hope you're feeling happy now."

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Dad's Somewhere Out There

On my 9th birthday, my Dad woke me up early in the morning and told me to fix my ears on the radio. He left for work and the whole morning I waited patiently by the radio like a good boyscout. Just before noon, the DJ announced my name on the air and greeted me a Happy Birthday (greetings from your Dad) then a dedicated song followed. It was the theme from An American Tail. I didn't have a party since we didn't have money for parties. But that was one of the most memorable birthdays ever.

Ever heard of the expression "speaking of the devil"? Well, I posted my last entry, and today, I got an email from my Dad. I guess I spoke too soon. But in the spirit of fair journalism, here's what my dad said:

Ja, how are you, son? I got your mail and thank you for that.
I misssed you so much Ja. I just want you to know how much I love you. I know how hard it is to be away from your home but that's how life is. Be patient and always trust to God your everyday life and be friendly especially that you're a stranger to that place. Avoid getting into trouble ha.
I tried to call you on the number that you gave me but I can't get through. And also give me Josh's number too so I can call him.
Ja, I'm getting too old and weak. The only thing I'm asking Lord is to see and be with you before I totally close my eyes. I hope and pray we can spend time together and share every moment that we haven't did before. God knows how much I love and care for you, son.
Take good care of yourself always and be happy with what you have for now.
May the good Lord always guide my sons and protect them from any harm and danger.
See you next mail son, I love you as always.
Love,
Daddy

Okay, so I don't know what happened. I've never known my Dad to be religious but now he seems to be speaking in tongues. People change, I guess, but then again, he's in the US and Lord knows what other uppers they have there aside from 7UP. I'm just kidding. I know he's sincere about this. My Dad can really get mushy and it creeps me out.

Maybe he's exaggerating a bit when he said he's getting "too old and weak". First of all, 55 is not really too old. And second of all, if you still manage to pop out some jizz and get a woman pregnant at that age, you're not exactly weak.

And apparently when he said "always guide my sons," he was actually referring to the five of his sons. And I only know my three other brothers. I can imagine his latest 3-year-old kid growing up and getting traumatized when he finds out later on that there were others that came before him.

My dad gives me good material. I just might consider a career in stand-up comedy.

So that's it. I spoke too soon. My bad. Dad actually made a decent reply. Now, please excuse me while I walk outside and listen to this
Somewhere Out There

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A High School Story

The plot was almost like the Drew Barrymore movie: One evening, I suddenly found myself in High School. What do I do to fit in?

We were five in the car. The boss' wife was driving and Lee, her 15-year old son was seated at the front complaining every two minutes how late we all were for the food festival. His mom complained back that he should've worn his jacket (translates to hoodie) because it would be freezing at the open field. I sat silently at the back trying not to mind the out-of-nowhere punches I was getting from a three year old nymph. Meanwhile, the maid said she can't wait to stuff food into the empty container she brought. I thought it's too Filipino of her to bring tupperware to a party.

Finally, we arrived at The Cambridge School and in parenthesis, "A British Style International School", and you thought schools aren't in fashion. Lily, Lee's younger sister, greeted us at the front gate with her friend Tina (Lee calls her Tuna cause she's a bit flaky). Lee went past Tuna without a word. They had a falling out a week ago and their cold war was getting colder by the day.

We all rushed to the food fair with our contribution of Chinese Noodles and Dumplings. But don't ask why they placed it on the South Africa table. Lily then showed me her display of overpriced bracelets and chokers and told me that before I choke on the price, I have to remember that proceeds will go to charity.

For the most part of the evening, I essentially just went around the school grounds, leaping from one table to the next tasting all sorts of food. Around the world in 80 bites you might say. I may sound biased but the best table, food-wise, was the Philippines. If Doha wasn't too strict, I wouldn't be surprised if I saw a whole lechon with a crispy, golden-brown grimace, displayed in front of muslim parents who were always apt to ask whether the food was halal or not.

The entertainment sucked but watchable as high school kids hurl and strut like it's their moment in the eyes of God. I would check on Lee once in a while because he was so excited to see his friends rap and breakdance. I'm more excited to see the band play. But at least both of us agree that the Lebanese Palestinian dance routine was just gay and annoying.

I got bored after two hours of eating and roaming and watching but I also felt high schoolish again. I suddenly felt the urge to do something rebellious. I stormed out of the school and looked for a grocer. Twenty minutes later (I still held that rebel mode after all that time), I was back in high school, smoking in one corner of the field and rocking with the school band.

The band was singing Wonderwall by Oasis. And somewhere in that open field, Lily was counting her bracelet sales, Tuna apologized to Lee and he "sorta" accepted her apology, the maid was discreetly filling her tupperware with Beef Caldereta, Lee's mom was having a blast seeing the little nymph dance around and I was on my fourth stick of Marlboro Lights.

The host of the show introduced the band's last song, and that was when Lee approached me, he caught me smoking and he gave me the WTF look. I just told him I felt like being a kid again.

Lee's mom and the rest of the family left early and Lee and I had to take a taxi. He was shivering. The night turned out to be freezing and he probably thought that his mom was right about wearing a jacket (or a hoodie).

I was about to throw the rest of the cigarettes when Lee stopped me. He said to keep one stick just in case. So I did. We finally got into a taxi and praised its warmth.

That was three days ago. A night when I felt like I was seventeen again (insert Eurythmics song here

Eurythmics - Seven...

) I still have that cigarette stick in my pocket. Just in case. OUT.

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A Month in the Desert

Armed with courage, hope and my new (but rickety) Walkman Phone, I boarded Qatar Airways bound for Doha.

When I touched ground, everybody here said I came at the perfect time--Asian Games, cool weather, and fasting season done with.

That was November 27, exactly a month ago. I mentioned the walkman phone purposefully because I love music and I find it amusing sometimes that half the songs on my playlist have been accurate enough to speak a part of what's been happening in my life here so far. So here's the buzz on my first thirty days in the desert and the songs that helped rubbed my fate on my face.

"You say the word you know I will find you
Or if you need some time I don't mind
I don't hold on to thetail of your kite."
-"Sleeps With Butterflies" by Tori Amos

I've posted this song before (see "Fly Then Boy" post) and yes I know it's really about this girl who got laid and promised not to do a Fatal Attraction on a guy but I see it in a different perspective. I mean, on the guy's part--that I am leaving loved ones, family and friends, but I want them to be there when I get back. I played this song over and over again before I left Davao and played it one more time before the plane left Hong Kong for Doha ("Airplanes take you away again..."), talk about great musical scoring! (Oh and probably because this was the track I used for Apple's (Martin's sistah) wedding vid [sorry Apple, had to put that song in, hope you like it].

"Hey love,
I am a constant satellite
of your blazing sun.
My love,
I obey your law of gravity;
this is the fateyou’ve carved on me,
Your law of gravity..
this is the fateyou’ve carved on me.. on me."
-"Gravity" by Vienna Teng

My first few days here was terrible. Before I left my "comfortable" life in Davao I demanded from my mom that she make sure that I'll earn at least twice of what I earn in Davao, have my own room with toilet and have a car or a car plan. So imagine my big Big BIG disappointment when I found out that none of those ever existed, or would seem to exist as of now. The night I arrived here they left me in a newly renovated building that has around 16 rooms up and down. All rooms were empty and the Arabian interiors have that Cosmopolitan look (and I'm not talking about the modern city, I'm refering to the funeral parlor). And (pun alert) dig this ...my room had to be at the very end of the second floor so it's like a stupid horror movie setup where the audience asks: "why does the damn room had to be at the very end of the hall?". Creepy. Nobody stayed with me that night, my FIRST night and I just thank God that I was so tired cause I would've freaked out if I had the strength left to imagine even Casper the friendly ghost floating about outside my room.

My room is not that big. Technically it's not a room, more like a stockroom because it has no windows. A slave area save for the old rusty AC that's positioned exactly below a rain drainpipe so it gets really noisy when this desert gets a "blessing" ie rain. But it's not just MY room because I'm bunking with a 50-year old Chinese guy. There are two double decks so we assume that two more poorly accomodated people may soon join our happy little place in the desert. I remember my mom saying to me: "yes, of course you will have your own room, I made sure of that." Right. Strike One.

"It wastes time And I'd rather be high
Think I'll walk me outside And buy a rainbow smile
But be free
They're all free"
- "Maybe Tomorrow" by Stereophonics

It's become a habit of mine to walk here. Everyday I walk around the neighborhood just to entertain myself. Sometimes the walks are short, at times...let's just say at times people think I'm stupid for not taking a cab.
My first few days, I had to walk for miles like you won't believe! (well, except for PJ maybe) At least 2 hours of walking to get to a place then 2 more to go back. I had to . Doha is so rich that not so many people need public transportation. And gasoline is only 80 cents a liter--almost everyone would rather have a car than pay 20 bucks for a cab (which are as rare as the national animal Oryx). So I walked. And that's how I learned about the way of life in Qatar and saw for myself first hand that this place is in fact a gem. Simply beautiful in its own modest way.

Thus the song by Vienna Teng up there ^. It was on one of those loooong walks that I truly listened to the song and it humbled me. I forgot all my disappointments and just accepted my fate. Law of gravity, you can't do anything about it...besides, I heard those zero-gravity boots are way too expensive.

"Any minute now,
my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow,
feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me...
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin"
- "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin" by Colin Hay

I was walking along Doha's bayside Al Cornich one night when this song played exactly when I reached the spot where the old Arabian boats docked. So now you see how man forms a religion. It takes proper timing (song with "ship" for a metaphor + a boat visual = proper timing) and I'm left with two options: either I call it coincidence or divine providence.

The Al Corniche walk lasted for over an hour. That was my last long walk so far. Those walks helped me accept my fate and formulate a plan while I'm here. The plan is to just go with the flow and aggressively step up the ladder once in a while. Get a job, have a business on the side, build that business slowly and hopefully hit it big someday.

Which brings me to a rather sad note.

"You've got your love online
You think youre doing fine
But youre just plugged into the wall......
Well I know what Ive been told
You gotta know just when to fold
But I cant do this all on my own
No, I know Im no Superman
Im no Superman"
- "I'm No Superman" by Lazlo Bane

The song sounds happy but I get a big lump in my throat everytime it gets to the "I'm No Superman" part. I am strong (I think) and I have big plans but I can't do this all on my own (for lack of a better phrase).

Anyway, my first two weeks was basically touristy-sentimental-get-over-it episode. Two weeks is all you need to establish a routine. So basically, my "work" is this...I wake up at 7am. I have to because the only shower room is downstairs and people come in to work at 8am (it sucks living in the same building where you work).
Doha has its way and here work stops at noon then resumes at 4pm to 7pm (that is if you are working at a normal workplace).

But here in this building, people leave at 10pm-12midnight. We can't sleep until everyone has left cause we need to lock the doors. No, Im not a security guard, but staying up a little late affords me to watch the only access to television that I have: YOUTUBE and of course the chance to get connected with the people I love, cause I need love, I'm no Superman.

I'm no computer technician either!

My boss told me that the occupation written on my Work Visa says "Computer Technician". What?! How the hell did that happen? The only technician-ish thing I can do is clean the dirt off the mouse ball. The deal was for my amo to get me into Al Jazeera Network for a training at least, and now it looks like I'm never going to land a job that is remotely close to my expertise, not with a "computer technician" tag! And until now it looks like nobody plans to give me any sort of compensation here. Strike Two. So yeah, I can also forget about the car. Strike Three. Out? In a different sense but no, I'm still in the game. (That's the spirit!)

And what the hell?! I'm no security guard!

Like I said, I'm not a security guard nor a janitor. Sometimes I wish my occupation was as clear as a guard or janitor because right now, I have no idea what I am doing here. This building is a newly opened Education Center. It's weird because my amo and his comrades are leasing out the rooms in this building for those who are interested to run a training school of some sort (so that's what all these BBs are for harhar). So I'm stationed at the reception area because apparently I'm a "computer genius", after all I'm a "computer technician". Yey, I get to use the computer! But I also get to stand up and shake hands with every single Arab who comes in. Since I don't know these people, I assume they are important businessmen and offer them a big smile. The next day the same people come in and bring cans of paint and used rollers. Some people in the
office are annoying and think I'm their secretary they ask me to do emails and letters for them, print out reports and teach them how to surf the net. Some people also think I can make them tea or coffee, but I smile and say "you want to make tea? go make some, it's for free." Yes, I can dare to say that because nobody pays me a single cent until now.

"So I turn to you and I say
Thank goodness for the good souls
that make life better
So I turn to you and I say
If it wasn't for the good souls,
life would not matter"
-"The Good Souls" by The Doves

Everyday it's Babel in this building. A Chinese guy, some Arabs, a Sudanese, a Syrian and a Filipino, any other race interested to join the discussion is welcome. It's fun at times to exchange languages but it's often frustrating. Even the sign language gets confusing. One time I asked this Sudanese woman if she has eaten already signalling with my hand and she just stared at me blankly. I found out later that in Aladdinland that hand gesture meant "wait". I must've looked stupid. The good thing is, even though he hasn't given my salary (yet...I hope), my amo treats me like family (I sleep at their house on weekends, whew! Thank goodness for the good souls). He has a 14yr old son but he takes me to his weekend lunch instead cause the kid doesnt like to wear skirts in public (the boss speaks arabic of course so I have no idea if he's introducing me to friends or just bragging about his new slave, kidding! hehehe). I
stay in his son's room on weekends by the way, and it's cool cause the kid speaks English so after a week of silence with a 50-year old Chinese, I get to have interesting conversation with a 14-year old kid! Back to the lunches--facinating. I've been to one that had 30 guests, all men of course, cause females are in hiding. We all sat and had tea in this big sala and ate in this really long table. And I've said this before but I'll say it again, though the food is good, there's just something weird about how Arabs eat. Let's just say that for people who don't eat pork, they certainly make up for it with the way they eat...gives pig-out a whole new perspective. Don't get me wrong, I don't see anything wrong with how they eat, it's just different and they seem to love eating, like it's not a meal if it's not a feast.

But Arabs are really cool guys (there are rude Arabs but then I'd like to call them rude people) They all look like Jesus. Every time they talk, it's like from the heart, so just imagine how sincere sounding they are. It's common knowledge of course that Arab men speak softly but carry a big stick. But let's not get into that. However, I will testify that I haven't met an Arab nor even passed by another one who stunk. Unlike what we always thought, Arabs are actually nice smelling (but they say wait till the summer when the desert heats up, then say "nice smelling" again in one breath). They love designer perfume and I even have a mental guessing game as to what scent they are wearing when I get a hint.

I'm getting off track. It's supposed to be all about the routine. On routine days, I wake up at 7, do normal office work til noon, have a quick lunch, YM from 1pm-4pm, back to work at 4pm, have my nightly stroll around the block at 7pm, entertain visitors who keep coming in and out from 8pm til 11pm, have a late dinner and watch Youtube til I get sleepy. Some days I get to go out, on birthdays, meetings, errands, etc. On weekends (Thurs-Friday) I spend it at my amo's house with his kids. I usually watch a movie before going back to work on Saturdays. And yes, I do my laundry and ironing without the help of a maid.

The month went by fast but it was very eventful even in the most boring days.
The highlights?

• The extremely long walks.



• Giving the Chinese guy the silent treatment.



• Exploring the culture.



• Meeting interesting people and friends.



• Meeting the Mentor Tim Tayag (on foot haha yourself).



• Having a taste of the Doha party scene.



• Buying Robbie Williams' Rudebox.



• Getting Qatar-style medical check-up.



• Soaking in the Souq (old downtown).



• Not-so-impressive but fun buffet at Ponderosa with the foster family.



• Processing my Qatar ID.



• Watching the Asian Games soccer finals Qatar vs Iraq.



• Watching the boss' internet Cafe for a day.



• Sealing my first month with two cans of Heineken on a cold night at Al Corniche.

That's about it. This has been a long one. I'll probably blog more from now on since I'm fairly settled. Not fully settled, but settled enough.

"I know I can be colorful,
I know I can be great.
And I know this loser's living fortunate
Cause I know
you will love me either way."
- "Colorful" by Verve Pipe

Oh I could just cry with this song. It starts with "Show is over close the story book". My show is far from over I know but guess what, a month has passed and if my stay here in Qatar is a story, then Chapter one just rolled by. Eleven more chapters to go before we close this story book. In the meantime, I know I can still be "colorful" in an otherwise anti -"colorful" society. The best line in Colorful is "you stayed for drama though you paid for a comedy". I say that to all who stuck with me even when times were and are tough. Thank you all. Love you all. Miss you all. OUT.

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Fly then boy

The flight to Hong Kong was the start of the journey into the unknown. Unlike my previous trips this one was the one I was least excited about.

In a little over a week I'll be in a strange land with sand and oil and no one to run to in case temporary insanity kicks in.

On the plane, the only thing that kept me in the comfort zone was Tori Amos' Sleeps With Butterflies on loop..'You say the word you know I will find you, or if you need some time I don't mind. I won't hold on to the tail of your kite. I'm not like the girls that you've known but I believe I'm worth coming home to. Kiss away night this girl only sleeps with butterflies. So go on and fly then, boy.' Well, it's really a song FOR me not BY me.

Oh, if the blog entries seem short, it's because I'm doing this on my phone. Multitap can be so discouraging ü

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