Me? I Drive a Hyundai in the ME ...

One of the things that assaulted me when I first moved to Qatar was the prevalence of high-end cars.  

Granted, the majority of vehicles we saw were Toyota Landcruisers, not necessarily luxury, but a favorite amongst the locals.  And at +/- 60,000 $ Canadian they certainly don't come cheap.

​But beyond that it seems I was surrounded by Range Rovers, BMW's, Mercedes, Porsche Cayenne's, ​Nissan Patrols, Suburbans, Lexus, Hummers, Cadillac Escalades, the occasional Ferrari or Lamborghini, and most recently, countless Rolls Royce Phantoms.

Cars are a big deal in the ME, and it's easy to get caught up in the wave of enticement that provides for interest-free car loans, 2 years no payments, and 0.33$ (CA) a liter gas prices.

Cars that your common Canadian would not dream of owning, not only because of the purchase price but also because of their gas guzzling drain on finances.  Movie cars, Hollywood cars, Joan Collins cars.  ​Not what you'd imagine as "get you to work and back driving through potholes in the desert"-type cars.

I'm not much of a car person.  But I must admit I was initially impressed by the chrome and rubber.  When we first moved here, ​I was surprised to find myself gazing longingly at the bevy of sexy rides stationed side-by-side in the parking garage of our temporary accommodation alongside our rental vehicle.  I would watch unshaven offshore workers sidle out of their Escalade, flustered moms of four drag groceries and snotty-nosed kids out of Volvo XC90's, fresh-faced 25-year-old's hightailing it in a Camaro.  Cars are a BIG thing in Qatar.

​We were driving a rental at the time.  A very discrete white Toyota Corolla.  If you are living in Qatar and not driving one of the above luxury rides, chances are you own a white Toyota Corolla.  Ours set itself apart only by the persistent smell of gasoline that pervaded every single square inch of fabric.  Obviously it had previously been driven by a refinery worker.

But otherwise it was a fine car; by Canadian standards it would be considered a perfect starter car, or a very reasonable, fairly environmentally-friendly, gas efficient city car.  But driving around in the midst of Landcruisers, Suburbans, Escalades, and Patrols, I couldn't help but feel really, really short.

Two months after we arrived, we decided it made sense to buy rather than rent.  We started looking around for the best possible buy.  After shopping around for a bit, we opted for a Hyundai Sonata.  After all, we weren't here to impress, we were here to earn a living, put away what we could, travel when the opportunity presented itself, and try as hard as possible to maintain the lifestyle that we'd enjoyed in Canada, no more, no less.  So we settled for that very reasonable, perfectly affordable, fairly environmentally-friendly Sonata.  

But I admit to occasional car envy.  I admit to feeling really short in traffic.  Try as I might, I have never managed to achieve coolness factor in that Hyundai.  I wear my shades, and turn the radio up real loud, but I have no CD player.  So at 3:00 p.m., stuck in traffic, you will hear either Edit Piaf belting it out on the QBS French hour or some Arabic rhapsody booming from my busted speakers.  

At one point I thought hanging a dice from my rear-view mirror, tinting the windows and adding some big rims and color might give me some street cred. Nothing came of it; it's still a pipe dream.  But who knows?  If I drive this car long enough, Smilin' Vic might be willing to let me paint it matte charcoal, slap on some big rims, tint those windows black as night and install a killer boom box on the rear dash in my final months in the desert.  

We've bought a second car since.  It is a decidedly cooler 4x4, but definitely not the super-butch, alpha-male, hormone-driven Ford F-150 Smilin' Vic pictures himself in.  It is a mid-sized, sedate, family-friendly, affordable 4x4.  I admit, there is some gratification in knowing that he hasn't got me totally beat on the coolness factor.

If you're thinking of moving to the ME, stay focused on your objectives.  If purchasing a super-cool, really big, or extremely expensive ride is a part of your five-year plan, you've come to the right place.  But if it's not, be wary of the temptation and desire to fit in with the big boys here.  I know more than a few expats who went out shopping for a sedan and came back home with a Hummer!  Cars are a big deal in the ME.  It's easy to get caught up in the hype.  But if you put your mind to it, it's not impossible to resist.​

Me?  I still drive a 7-year-old Hyundai in the ME!

​Pimp My Ride, Gypsy Style!

After-school run ... typical rides.  A far cry from the battered green Ford Fairmont my mom would pick me up in on the occasional days I didn't take the old yellow school bus!

Frequent Questions About the ME ... Part II

Here are a few more questions that I occasionally get when people find out I live in the ME.   

1.  What's the weather like?  (Or ... Is it really that hot?  Are the desert nights cold?  Do you get a lot of dust storms?  Does it ever rain?  etc.)

ANSWER:  Generally, Qatar is hot.  The heat varies, but the weather never strays much from hot.  The months of October to May are actually quite pleasant, ranging from low 20's to low 30's.  Humidity is not so high during those months, and we frequently sit outdoors in the evenings to enjoy a BBQ dinner, a coffee, glass of wine, etc.  October, November, March, April and May usually make for good beach weather.

December and January nights can dip to the low teens, and our first year in Qatar it was actually 4 C on New Year's Eve.  Since we have nothing but small space heaters to warm up our living spaces, and since most houses are made from cinderblock, warm sweaters and blankets are in order on colder nights.  A few sporadic hours of rain and occasional thunder showers are not uncommon in these months, but rarely have I seen it rain for a full day or even for more than a few hours at a time.  It can happen though, and our first year in Qatar we experienced about three weeks straight of rain (during the 2006 Asian Games), but this was a truly exceptional occurrence.  The rain is usually light, and makes for a slippery mess as it mixes with dust on the ground to create a kind of sand grease that coats cars and windows and lawn furniture.

The months of June to September are not so pleasant in terms of weather.  July, August and sometimes September can quite reasonably be likened to hell, with temperatures sometimes soaring up to 50 C coupled with extreme humidity.  You do not want to be caught outdoors for any length of time without water and sunblock.  Even the swimming pools become too hot to swim in, despite the best efforts of chillers.  And on the off-chance the pool is cool enough to bathe in, you will start to steam immediately upon stepping out.  

I once went for a run at Aspire Park on a cool September morning at 9:00 a.m.  By the time I was 1.1 km into my run, I realized I had no water left, the sun was beating down mercilessly, and I still had 1.1 km left to get to my car no matter which direction I headed.  By the time I made it back to the parking lot, I was seeing spots, having visions of myself collapsing right there of severe sunstroke, dehydrated in the midst of the piped-in bird music and manicured lawns.  I was salivating like a madwoman at the sight of the manmade lake glistening off in the distance, with delusions of a sprinkler magically switching on, if only for an instant.  The experience terrified me; it made me acutely aware of the fact that it is possible to collapse from heat and dehydration just a few hundred meters away from a source of water.  

Fog rolls in during the fall months.  It can make driving quite treacherous, particularly if you are heading out of the city.​

Dust storms are frequent and quite unpleasant, but it is rare that I have seen an actual sandstorm.  We tend to get days where the sand particles just seem to hang suspended in the air.  If it is windy, the particles can sting your eyes, and if you've mistakenly left a window open while you've been out, you are likely to come back home to little sand mounds scattered throughout the house.

There is a lot of beige.  The dust particles create a haze of beige that blocks out blue skies and clouds.  There are no puffy, fluffy, low-hanging white clouds here; rare is the day that you will catch ferocious, thunderous, black clouds coursing their way across the skies.  No, most days it is just beige, though we do get some amazing flaming red sunsets on occasion.

All in all, the weather can take some getting used to, but I have to admit I don't find it as daunting as I did a few years back.  It doesn't even faze me when the weatherman on the radio declares that "It's going to be a balmy 28C today in Doha."  In Canada, that statement would read "Get the sunscreen and water spray bottles out, head for the beach, and stay hydrated, it's going to be a sweltering ​28C out today."

​2.  Aren't you concerned about civil unrest?  

ANSWER:  Is it in the back of my mind?  Yes.  Am I overly preoccupied?  No.  Qatar is by all standards a very safe and stable country that happens to be situated in a volatile part of the world.  While it would be silly not to be concerned, I truly believe the same can be said no matter where we might happen to be living at any given time.  

In August 2008, after a leisurely and peaceful 2-week vacation on the Island of Phuket, our taxi was caught in a protest on the way to the airport, resulting in us having to walk the final kilometer with our 3-year-old daughter and 4 pieces of luggage in tow through the throngs of protesters who blocked the roads leading to Phuket International Airport and eventually the tarmac itself, resulting in 118 flight cancellations.  Military and airport personnel helped hoist us over the airport gates and we were among the lucky few to board the last plane to fly out of there for the next four days. (click on the link below this post to read more about the airport demonstrations.) My point?  You just never know when chaos will strike.  North America, South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, there is no telling what awaits you. 

Natural disasters, violent protests, demented and crazed individuals out to cause maximum damage ... they're everywhere.  It's no great help losing sleep over "what if's".

3. Is it hard for a Western woman to get used to such a male-dominated society?

ANSWER:  This is really a tough one to answer.  There's no simple yes or no answer for me.  In many ways, once you've gotten into your groove, life for a Western woman here is really not that different than in Canada or elsewhere.  But there are definitely differences.  Some of these are good; for example special lines for women in banks and other public establishments, the ability for me to quite openly call out any male who shows harassing or inappropriate behavior that could be deemed an insult to my honor; the tendency to be given preferential treatment at the airport if you are traveling with a young child.

But it's important to always remember where you are.  I do not offer to shake any man's hand unless he offers to shake mine first.  Most men are not offended, but some could be; when I first arrived here I was most startled when I met a male colleague who I'd spoken to and corresponded with for months but never actually seen face to face.  He had the annoying habit of always calling me "mate" over the phone, in a very thick British accent.  I felt this was a bit familiar, but he was a nice enough guy, so I let it slide.  When I finally met him, I reached out to shake his hand, and he politely refused, telling me his religion did not allow him to touch women he was not related to.  I was truly stunned; it seemed a departure from his very chatty and congenial nature.  But I took note, and now discretely tap my heart with my right hand when introductions are made.

Older men may be particularly offended by a female's overt presence, and I have seen one become absolutely irate upon seeing a female Western customer sitting on her own, close to a young family in the male waiting area.  While most establishments have separate female and male waiting areas, it is common practice for families to sometimes sit together in the male waiting area.  But I would advise against sitting there as a woman alone.  It's just not worth the potential confrontation and humiliation.

​Some things are hard to wrap your head around as a Western woman, such as not being able to get a job without your husband's signed permission, not being able to set up initial accounts without your husband's help (e.g. phone, electricity, etc.).  Knowing that my husband gets a "ping" on his phone every time my daughter and I exit or enter the country (he gets this as he is our sponsor).  

But in general, ​life is no different here for me than it was in Canada.  I just have to think a little more.  Think about my actions, think about my surroundings.  And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

​There are many more questions ... fodder for a future post.

Click HERE to read an article on others who scrambled over the fence ...

'Needful' in the ME ...

OK.  Let's get this straight.  Before arriving in Qatar, the only time I'd heard the term 'needful' was in reference to Stephen King's "Needful Things".  

And even then, it was a weird word.  Because it came from Stephen King.​  And let's just face it ... Stephen King is decidedly weird.  But because he is who he is, and because I devoured his books shamelessly as a teen,  I accepted 'needful' as an adjective.

But in reality, it is a word that ​insinuates desperation.  As in:  "She is very needful."  Or "That is one 'needful' dude".  I'd just never heard this word in any positive, 'normal', 'day-to-day' conversation.  

Flash forward to Qatar.  The term 'needful' is used in the workplace at least 26 times a day.  ​

​My first experience at work with 'needful' was after sending a complaint to the maintenance department.  I had sent an e-mail explaining that we had a problem with a tree that had grown to the point where it was blocking our facility's extraction system.  

They wrote me back the following:  "Thank you for expressing your concerns.  Kindly do the needful and we will be happy to follow up."​

????​

Being extremely naive, I thought long and hard about this.  I didn't actually know what needful meant.  I thought they might have some strange insight into my character flaws.  Perhaps the Maintenance Department had recently hired on some psychotherapist to more fully understand the tormented demands of 'needful' individuals such as myself.  So I turned to my ever faithful, ever erroneous friend 'Wikipedia'.  (Let it be known that I turn to Wikipedia daily for unreliable information.)

Here is what I found:  ​

Do the needful" is an expression (considered archaic in some regions) which means "do that which is necessary", with the respectful implication that the other party is trusted to understand what needs doing without being given detailed instruction.

The expression is currently used mainly in South Asian English particularly (Indian English). The expression was current in both British[1] and American English[2] well into the early 20th century. In later years it was sometimes used as a parody example of contemporary South Asian English.

So there are a few fundamental flaws with this expression, particularly if you are applying it to me.  

First of all, you are assuming that I will be trusted.  Ummmhummm.​

Secondly, you are assuming that I will take on whatever responsibility I have asked you to assume in the first place.  Ummmmhummm.​

Ok, just for the record, even if I only have the nerve to say it in my blog, which NOBODY actually reads, but I don't care because I actually get to vent:  "NEEDFUL is NOT an actual WORD!"  "Got it?"  "NOT a WORD."  It is a weird alien concept concocted by Brits living in India who were thinking "Let me invent a word to totally screw these guys up while actually sounding like I know what I am talking about."​

​But seriously folks, NEEDFUL is NOT a WORD!!!!!!  And take it from me, if you ever want to advance in your career, do NOT use "Do the needful" when responding to your boss or to any colleague who has half a brain.

I have studied languages.  Don't get me wrong ... often I have to look a word up.  But trust me when I say that if I don't get it, I don't use it.  Or at the very least, I look it up... in depth.  Believe me, when your google search turns up only "Indianisms" or "Wikidictionary" as your source, chances are the term had not gone viral or been popularly accepted in the Oxford English Dictionary.

I Hate ('hate' is the 'h' word in our house ... technically, as a mom, I'm not supposed to use it ... if I do, I'm supposed to put a coin in the jar ... but let's assume that only applies to verbal utterings and not the written word ...) ... where was I?  

Oh, yes.  I Hate "Doing the Needful".  Because It Means Doing NOTHING!!!!!!!!!​  Or doing something that I may assume is required without actually understanding what is required.  Or doing something that is not required when it actually wasn't, but I assumed it was so I did it anyways.  Most often, it ends up being doing something which no one else was willing to understand or be accountable for.  And I will end up being crapped on for it.  Really, no matter what, I avoid doing the "needful" because it is most certainly going to end up being the wrong thing, something which was none of my business to begin with.  But mostly, when I end up doing the needful it is because neither the author of this request or me truly  understand what needs to be done.

Case in point:  I  tell you the tree is blocking our ventilation system.  You tell me to "do the needful".  So what exactly am I supposed to do?  Pull my chainsaw out of my handbag and chop it down?  Spray it with the handy weed killer I carry around with me 'just in case' I encounter tangle weed on my commute to work?   Zap it with my Zombie spray?  Call the gardner and tell him to stop watering the damned thing and just let if f&()ing die?  Get staff to pee on it as a show of ultimate disrespect?  Host an annual office picnic under its shaded branches?  Dance Gangham style outside our building, holding up a poster warning visitors of poor air quality in our building?

Don't go there, don't ask me to 'do the needful'.  I'll most definitely go postal if you push it.  ​

Most days I simply reply the following:  "Thank you for your insightful direction; it made all the difference.  I have done the needful on my end.  Kindly reciprocate so that we can consider the matter closed."

More crap, but you're dealin' with the best here.  I will not be left dangling and needful in the ME ...​

​All the things in this store were crap that no one actually needed ... 

No Reason for Me to be Bored in the ME ...

One thing is sure about living in Doha; there is no reason for anyone to be bored.  Granted, you may have to work a little to find out what is happening on any given night, but trust me there is ALWAYS something going on.​

Tonight was a great example.  Doha National Theatre was showing the complete works of William Shakespeare (in 97 minutes).  Senter Stage Musicals was staging Oklahoma.  This afternoon we'd spent at the American School of Doha Friendship Festival, a huge annual fair complete with bake sales, dunking tanks, bean bag tosses, bouncy castles and raffles.​  This weekend is also offering up the 10th Doha Jewelry and Watches Exposition.

The winter months in Doha are filled with things to do.  From tennis opens featuring top-seated international players (read Serena Williams, Victoria Azarenka, Maria Sharapova, etc.), to power boat races, to productions such as Romeo and Juliet by renowned companies such as Shakespeare's Globe Theater out of London, to the Doha Tribeca Film Festival, there is no reason to lament the lack of entertainment.  ​

F1 MotoGP, Annual Dunestock, Placido Domingo, Spain vs. Uruguay, The Tour of Qatar, Kevin Spacey in Shakespeare's Richard III, and the list goes on.  All literally on our doorstep.  Scouts campouts where volunteers from the local U.S. Military Base come to volunteer, children's triathlons, 10 km races and a host of other social and sports activities.  

Last summer, we crossed the street and walked 1 km to ​attend Cirque du Soleil - Saltimbanco (2nd row seats!).  Marine exhibitions at the Souq, unparalleled fireworks displays at every possible occasion (most recently for National Sports Day), and any other number of other activities to be enjoyed by young and old alike.

Last fall, we went to ​see the The Russian Ballet at the Qatar National Exhibition Center (the building is something to behold in and of itself).  Once again, we managed to be seated three rows from the stage.  There was a mixup with our tickets though, and it appeared another couple had been assigned two of our four seats.  Smilin' Vic, ever the fixer, called over a bearded "usher" who was standing near the stage.  He politely but firmly told the "usher" that this was, at the very least, unacceptable, and to get the situation sorted out pronto.

The "usher" offered us  seats in the first two rows, seats reserved for diplomats.  Smilin' Vic would have nothing of it.  He told the "usher" to sort it out somehow, but we wanted the seats that we'd selected.  The "usher" sorted out his request, then let us know in a not-so-subtle tone that we must forgive his hesitation as this is not normally a part of his duties as the Chargé d'Affaires of the Russian Embassy!!!!  Only in Doha!

The only disincentive to attending these events is the congestion and traffic on the way there and back.  As I've said before, I'm not the best when it comes to braving night-time traffic in Doha, and I often end up quite frazzled on the way to and back from these happenings.  But the events themselves always end up making up for the negative driving experience.​

While day-to-day life may sometimes seem somewhat humdrum, and the sand and the beige may become hypnotizing in their constance, while the lack of truly defined seasons may begin to wear thin, and where the lack of mountains, valleys, rivers and forests may stir wistful angst in my heart on occasion, there is truly no reason whatsoever for me to ever be bored in the ME.  ​

Getting Sacked and Bucket Lists in the ME ...

This was an interesting and eye-opening weekend.  Smilin' Vic and me, the most anti-social of anti-socials, attending two social gatherings on two separate evenings with two very distinct groups of friends.​

Our first invite, last night, was to a 'going away' party for a co-worker of mine.  A bitter-sweet occasion.  A harsh reminder of how occupationally dispensable we all are.  A co-worker whose job was reclassified and whose qualifications did not meet the new JD.  

"Shukran".  "Thank you very much".  Your services are no longer required.​

No mind that you are a dedicated and loyal employee.  Skip the fact that you have a flawless attendance record.​  Forego your attention to detail.  Poo Poo your positive attitude.  

Face the facts, someone wanted you gone ... and you're 'outta here'.  

We'll be nice about it though.  We'll give you three weeks advance notice.  Then we'll send you home to laze out your 2-months' advance notice so you can let the humiliation, regret, fear and shame ferment just a little bit more.  And then you've got three months to get your ass out of Dodge.  'Cos you ain't welcome here no more.

But in a sense, he's one of the lucky ones.  As a male, being sacked in Qatar means you can no longer stay in the country, nor carry on sponsoring your family to stay here.  Not only do you lose your job, you lose your house, your children's school, your spouse's job (she cannot work if you cannot sponsor her), everything.  If someone wants you gone badly enough, you could be gone within a matter of days.  

Yeah, he's one of the lucky ones.  He even got an NOC (non objection certificate), which means his current employer does not object to him seeking and gaining employment elsewhere in Qatar. ​

Scary what you can end up grateful for.​

So a few colleagues got together and did the only thing we could.  

We exchanged gifts; bought him a bunch of Harley Davidson memorabilia, seeing how he's a fan.  His Harley was a Bucket List item; something he'd always promised himself but never gotten around to.  But he'd finally bought himself a Hog here in Qatar.

Sadly, as we gave him the loot he revealed he'd sold his bike that very day.  Ended up being a somewhat twisted gift.

We'd arranged a going-away party fueled by Turkish takeaway, red wine, white wine, dark rum and Coronas.  Stood around telling stupid jokes, trying to act like all was cool and we knew he would be moving on to something better.  Tried to ​convince him and his wife that this was for the best ... that it was actually a relief.  He didn't have to worry anymore.  'Cos that's what we all tell ourselves, isn't it?  That if "they" eventually show us the door, at least we'll know in what direction were heading.

But in reality, we're all slightly crafty hypocrites.  In it for the bigger buck, the generous annual leave, the hope for early retirement.  We want to be able to choose when it's time for us to go home.  We want to know that we still have that much power, that much control.  But we don't.  At the end of the day, every expat, no matter how talented, no matter how popular, no matter how loyal, no matter how committed, no matter how willing .....  

... is ....

... expendable.​  

We wanted to say "until we meet again", but in the expat world we knew this was simply "goodbye".  No prettying up required.  We've seen it all before.

The night itself was a success.  We talked, we laughed, we told silly jokes and really tried to keep the mood light.  Hugs, slaps on the back, anecdotes and just a few near-tear moments.  He's got hard days ahead.  But last night wasn't the time to be bringing him down.  We needed to let him know how much we'd appreciated him, how much we'd miss him, and how much fun we'd had with him.​  We needed to let him know that he mattered, and that he would be missed.  Despite the sad undertones, the evening was filled with laughter and love.  Hopefully he'll leave knowing that for a select few he actually did make a difference.

​Fast forward to tonight.

Tonight was spent at my best friend's, for a purportedly completely different celebration.  

We were celebrating her husband's promotion.  His promotion to one of the most established and elite positions one could possibly hold within his company.  To a position that brings him international accolade and recognition.  To a position that few men of his age could even aspire to.​

A position that he's filled for the last two years unofficially.  But two weeks ago, he was finally given the title that goes with the position.  Officially.  

No company memo, no pay rise, no thank you, no bonus, no ​words of appreciation.  Simply a letter stating that as of "date" he holds the position of "_____".  Carry on.  Thank you.

The celebration was marred by the lack of corporate enthusiasm.  He was saddened by the lack of appreciation.  We were marked by the ​undertone of disenchantment that pervaded the accomplishment.  The disappointment was deafening.

It reinforced my belief that there is no professional accomplishment to be celebrated or redeemed here.  There is no expat advancement or achievement that will be recognized or valued or celebrated.  Professionally, for an expat, this land is devoid of merit.

It was very sad in a way.  We should have been whooping and whaaping at his success.  We should have been breaking open a bottle of bubbly.  We should have been toasting his fortitude and drive.  ​

But instead, because of his disenchantment over how the whole deal had gone over, we sat sedately with our flat wine and shyly whispered our congratulations.  ​

Strange what you can end up disillusioned by .

But we still partook in meaningless banter.  We feasted on amazing Thai dishes, white wine, red wine and Coronas.  We exchanged gifts, both for the promotion and for a few missed occasions since we'd last seen each other.​

Since the hosts, our friends, had recently been to Bali, they brought us back Kopi Luwak coffee, referred to in "The Bucket List" (if you haven't yet seen this movie starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson ... DO SO NOW!).  It is coffee that has been ingested by and pooped out of a strange Asian wild cat named a Paradoxorus.  ......

And as the night progressed, and we sat there with our friends, we forgot ​about our reason for being there and got back to really enjoying JUST BEING THERE.  And my best friend and I drank wine, ate brownies, talked about cooking shows (Chopped, UK Come Dine With Me and Guy's Big Bite at the top of the list) and had some serious belly laughs.  Serious.  The kind of belly laughs that hurt, but in a good way.  The kind of belly laughs that remind you that no matter what crap is going on, a good friend can take it away.  The kind of belly laughs that stay with you for a lifetime.  The kind of belly laughs that make you cry.

And I was struck by the differences and the similarities of the two evenings.  But mostly the similarities.  

​The knowledge that, like the Kopi Luwak bean, all of us have been ingested by this country in some way.  And the knowledge that all of us will likewise be excreted in some disenchanting way ... fired, retired or promoted ... In some way each of us will move on feeling just a tad soiled.

We all want to think we've made a difference.  We all want to think we would be missed.  We all want to be supported.  We all want to know someone cares.  We all want to laugh.  We all want to cry.  We all want to laugh until we cry.​  

We all have a bucket list ... and that bucket list likely includes but is not limited to all of the above.

Tonight, to you, whoever you may be, I wish for you this:​

"May you laugh until you cry.​"

Odd what you may wish for.

Click on the link below "The Bucket List - Kopi Luwak" to see what life's all about.​

The Bucket List - Kopi Luwak 2