Monday, June 30, 2008
Found in an old newspaper article. The punch that landed him 6 more years in jail than the others, seems to be the critical punch.

“Nick's brain was severely injured - most likely from the initial punch delivered to the left side of his head (...)”
Sunday, June 29, 2008
I haven’t seen many of the people I grew up with since I’ve been back. The few that I have seen have been my closest of friends all along, and for the most part the experiences have been fun. Yesterday was a little different though.

An old, old school friend of mine from like kindergarten to grade 6 or 7 called me up and invited me out for drinks. He was the first boy I ever kissed, way back when. The group of us were tight – really tight. As tight as we were, we were also shit disturbers as kids. When I think back to some of the things we got into as kids, it doesn’t surprise me that so many of us have grown up to be delinquents.

We chatted a bit about others. I was relatively shocked by some of what I’d heard become of people. Possibly even more shocked to learn my friends’ perspective on certain things. An example would be a really, really good friend of ours was incarcerated for 8 years, for turning some other guy into a vegetable. Turns out they were involved in some gang beating, where this friend of ours hit the guy in the face. When the guy fell to the ground, others stomped him repeatedly. The kids who stomped him, got 2 years – while the friend of ours got an additional 6. Somehow, friend I was sitting with yesterday had convinced himself that the only reason our friend got it so hard was because the authorities were trying to make an example of him. It’s understandable, seeing how he was the one who was predominant in the gang happenings. But it was also clear there was more to that story that was missing. Canadian law isn’t that bias – I’m sure. And somehow, the friend I was with yesterday, though was there, escaped without any legal consequences. Something’s not right there. Something’s missing.

Another friend of ours from way back when, has been accused of rape – three times. Once, maybe he’s innocent. Twice you have got to question. The third time, there’s no fucking doubt he’s a dirty fucking skinner. A few others have taken the real nasty root, become crackheads and crackwhores – some making it out of that life eventually, only to be plagued with diseases as serious as AIDS.

It was sad to hear about the others. It was almost sadder to see what I saw yesterday. He mentioned he needed to collect something owed to him asked me if I wanted to walk down the street with him. On our way, he went on about how they’d better pay him in cash and not dope. Of course, when the crackwhores appeared they paid him in rock. Back at his place he continued to tell me he doesn’t use crack, just sells it from time to time – and even that’s not really his thing.

It wasn’t long before one of his friend’s showed up. We shared a few beer before we took off to another of their friend’s places. There, I found I’d had just about enough. I sat on the couch, the guy on my right asked me for a massage – as casually as he would an actual crackwhore, and the guy to my far left went was on the balcony smoking rock. I went off on my friend, telling him how disgusting it all was. I went off on the crackhead, telling him he could have done better for himself – he was good looking and smart and instead decided to sell his soul to the pipe. He agreed with me. I went off on the skumbag who asked me for a massage. My friend decided to go off on me. His defence was that he used crack too and it’s not that big a deal. He started to argue with the crackhead who was defending my stand and agreeing with me. I left.

And now, I’m sorely disappointed in him and myself. He was the first boy I kissed. He was innocent and naive. He was good looking and kind hearted. Today, he fronts like he’s a hardass, he surrounds himself in trash, and he tries to defend it. He’s cut himself short of what he’s worth and he’s content with it. I’m disappointed in myself because a few people had warned me about him long before I ever agreed to meet up with him. I choose to see it for myself rather than believing second hand information.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Yesterday, I got to work on the first correspondence module I’d received. Long before noon, I had completed everything, taken three exams and graded and average of 98%. And the only reason it wasn’t 100% was because I got a phone call that interrupted me while I was taking one of the exams and I accidently ticked the wrong box without realizing, before moving on to the next question.

Now I wait for the next module. And I hate waiting. So in the meantime, I’ve been looking into the other course of interest; a real estate trading license for British Colombia. I came to realize last night that the two courses really have nothing to do with each other. Though every prospective entrepreneur should have knowledge of keeping books to insure financial accuracy and help with making business decisions, the course I’m taking goes a little beyond what’s needed. So what if I just continued studying accounting? Once I get this diploma for bookkeeping I can effectively open my own home based business – and if I ever decide to go back to the UAE, perhaps an accounting degree is something I can use there, whereas a real-estate license for BC; which includes learning all about the legal aspects of real estate, managing real estate and legal obligations when it comes to maintenance in Canada as well as many other things that UAE has no use for, will be of little help in Dubai.

I suppose that’s a good thing; that I’m considering the possibility of coming back to the city of broken hearts and shattered dreams. Every now and then I get a text message from a friend of mine, asking me, almost begging me to come back. I’m pretty sure it’s not so much that he wants me back, but rather is fed up of the people in UAE in general and he himself can’t leave due to his stateless status. The boy texts me every now and then as well, always saying the same thing, “I dreamt of you last night and just wanted to say hi.” I never reply. And once in a while I get a phone call from someone who just misses me – that’s always nice. But at the end of the day, the biggest motivation for me to come back is my son. And he seems to be doing just fine right now. I had a long conversation with his father recently, about whether or not my baby will be alright if I stay long enough to study these courses. And he seems to think it’s possibly the best thing for everyone. And with my mom the way she is right now, no one expects me to pick up and leave. I fear if I did, she’d die before I got off the plane in Dubai.

I’m glad I’ve had the chance to bore you with my ponderings. Nothing too entertaining here... So how about a song that’s currently playing on the radio as a type?

Friday, June 27, 2008
Yesterday was a rough day. With the news of Sleepless in Muscat’s demise at the top of the list of sad news. Allah yer7amak.

I woke up late. I’d forgotten to take my pill. And I was all around miserable thanks to the down effects of the pills I’d taken the night before. I did however, get off my ass and to the job interview, and I did end up at the post office to collect my study materials from the school I’m now attending. I’ve been waiting on them for nearly a month. And by the time I got home, there was a bittersweet treat from my ex husband in my inbox; a KG graduation photo of my son. And God is he beautiful Mashallah.

Last night I was eaten alive by mosquito’s. The gorgeous surroundings here come with a price. Perhaps I’ll get around to photographing some of the area here, as well as some of the critters that come with it sooner or later.

Anyway, it’s now 6.33am and I’m up. I’ve soothed my bites with Calamine, I’ve taken my pill and I’m drinking my first coffee. The sun is shining bright, and with any luck that’ll be the first sign of true summer around here. I’ll spend today studying, and perhaps getting some housework done. No matter what happens, today has got to be a better day.

Lorazepam is bad when abused.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I have a beautiful resume. I’ve been given a lot of great chances for great learning opportunities. And I continue to be offered them. But I have no aim, no motivation, no direction and little education. I have no routine. I am flakey.

My 5-year-old son is on the other side of the planet with his father, and new step-mother. I can’t stand to be in that country, though I sincerely have a love/hate relationship with it. His father won’t allow him to come here, and in all honesty, I know that’s best for him. I miss him and I know he misses me.

I’ve burned a lot of bridges and I continue to do so. I have a sister I don’t deal with and a grandmother I have not talked to for more than 10 years now. My mother is having seizures, dying from a combination of psychological and physical symptoms, combined with alcohol abuse that is killing her liver and brain cells. She currently believes I’m her nemesis and I have no idea why, when all I’ve done for the past year is try to help her get the help she needs.

I’m great at just about everything I do until I sabotage myself. My talents have all almost dwindled to past-time hobbies. I could have written a book – had an offer once from a publishing house. I could have continued painting and selling art – that went well for a while. I could continue making my jewellery if only I had the motivation to bother selling it – almost everyone says I should. I could have done so many things, but none of them kept my attention for long.

I’ve gained 25 lbs since I’ve been back in Canada, and I have no idea how that happened.

At the end of the day, I’m a 27-year-old loser. I keep asking myself if I’m ready to do something about that, if I’m ready to change that. But even now, I’m not sure.

I’ve enrolled in a correspondence school for a bookkeeping degree. Turns out I have a thing for numbers too. I’ve been offered a position as a financial advisor, a career that takes a hell of a lot of studying and work, with little pay initially, but a brilliant future if you stick to it. I’ve been offered an opportunity to get a real estate license here, but again, that is a career that takes a hell of a lot of study and work, with little pay initially, but a brilliant future if you stick to it. I’m considering taking a part-time job, while I study bookkeeping, and one of the other two options, but I’m not sure enough of myself that I’ll even stick with anything till the end.

It’s about time I threw my hands up in the air and said, “Screw the past when it hurts. Screw my mom for hating me. Screw the fuck-up I’ve been. And it’s time to turn a new page and work on me and my future.” But how the hell do you kill old habits, when it’s really hard to determine exactly what they are and which ones need to go in the first place?


This is my personal weblog. The thoughts and opinions represented here are mine and mine alone. They do not reflect those of my employers, associates or peers.

I am forever changing and always staying this same; a true living contradiction and as such, my thoughts and opinions change frequently. I may or may not still hold the same opinions noted in out-of-date posts.

By reading my blog, you agree to accept these realities as absolute truth.


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No matter where I am, I'm lost and learning to like it. I'm a living contradiction, and the best lies I tell are the ones I tell myself.
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