What Moved Me ...

This is a story about a guy who rides a camel through drive-throughs and does a happy dance with a mop ...

I didn't think I'd write here for a long, long while.

I didn't see the point; I felt disheartened, disillusioned, broken.  I had NOTHING positive to write about.

And I knew there was no good to be had in spreading the negativity.  The world has enough of that already.

I completely stepped away from all forms of social media for about two weeks.  While that might not seem long to some, or so very long to others, for me the lapse was what you'd call a 'significant' break.

I'm not a huge 'twitterer'.  

But I check out Facebook at least once a day.  

I visit my blog every day.  

I'll occasionally sign in to LinkedIn.  

I check my hotmail every few hours without fail.  

I scan Mail OnLine because I secretly enjoy the trash.  

I lurk on my favorite blogs for sheer entertainment and because I've actually become 'friends' with their authors ... these strange, hilarious, sad, engaging, amazing kindred writer souls.  

I read Doha News religiously, because the reporters there always seem to know what's happening here before anyone else...

But for the last two weeks, I just stepped away.  

Completely.

And it actually felt good/great.

It felt like I was a newborn, rediscovering my thoughts; actually having to sort them out before spewing them out.

You see, I'm a thinker, then a writer.  But I'm not much of a vocalizer.  So for the last two weeks, I've actually had to run things through my brain and work through them ... without blogging or talking.  Just thinking.

And since there was (virtually) no social media input, all I had to think about was me and my life and all that's in it. 

There's something to be said about that.

But a few days ago, like every good addict, I decided I wanted a little bit 'in'.  My fast was over.

I checked out one blogger friend in France, and found she'd suffered a great loss.  One as great as mine, perhaps more.  Perhaps unexpected.  I realized I hadn't been around to ask.

I checked out my blog comments and found that another blogger buddy understood what 'ME fatigue' is all about.  (anyone living in the Middle East will understand the inexplicable 'tiredness')  But more than that, he really 'gets' living in the ME as an expat.  The whole 'love-hate' relationship.  Not everyone does.

My best blogging buddy (3B) who's followed me since I was a 'baby blogger' has been dealing with an injured spouse while celebrating a newfound calling.  Empathy and congratulations were in order.

My best friend in the world, the one who was my roommate for four years in university, the one who consoled the inconsolable when I got separated, the one who always assured me it would "be all right", the one who drove hours to see me when I was visiting my dying father, the one I love to the ends of the earth and beyond ... well, she just found out her mom has cancer.  I need to be available ... just in case she needs me.

Smilin' Vic's step-mom is undergoing chemotherapy ... it's not looking great.  I realized that when I opened my e-mail three days ago.  

My brother-in-law wants to make me laugh so he sends funny fart jokes and the occasional positive social interest piece on Qatar.  He e-mails.

My sister, my mentor, sent me a few messages.  I opened them today.  They were sent a week ago.  On WhatsApp.

Forgive me for my weakness, but I have quickly realized that an expat in Doha fares far worse without social media.  Unfortunately, my addiction to fibre-optic connectivity is a lifeline to what moves me.  It is a lifeline to what matters.

The key most likely resides in balance.  Balancing the NEED to communicate and the DESIRE to be heard.  There's no need to be in constant contact.  But there is a need as an expat to be 'reachable'.  There is a need as an expat to 'reach out'.

This blog is no place for negativity.  For reflection, yes.  For appreciation, yes.  For a good laugh, yes.  For a healthy rant, yes.  But not for negativity.  And so I've resolved to respect it for the healthy outlet it's meant to be.

Tonight I broke completely, like the true addict that I am, and was rewarded with a satisfying rush - a good news story, about Qatar to boot!  A story of one (caveat:  not the 'only' one) Qatari making a difference.  Changing the world, one gesture at a time.  That one Qatari made a difference.  That one Qatari moved me.

 

I was moved.  Truly moved.  Moved to the point of wanting to write about something positive again.  Despite the disparaging comments questioning the authenticity of the intent.  Despite the naysayers insisting that it's all a publicity stunt.  

I insist ... actually I KNOW, that there is inherent good in every society.  My previous rants, my disparaging comments about dissatisfaction in this country ... they're justified.  Through the eyes of a North American expat, they're justified.  But they're not fair.  They're my perception of a society, a Nation, trying to come to grips with Westernization.  And who am I to say the Western way is THE way?

All I can say in my defense is that I struggle with what is unfamiliar to me.  Even after eight years, I struggle.   

Which gives all the more credence to my hosts, who struggle every day to adapt to the expat population that engulfs them by approximately 85%.  

I can at least plead the frustration of a 'foreigner in a foreign land'.  

But imagine being a minority and a foreigner in your homeland.  Imagine.  This is your HOME.  And the world, the worldwide scrutiny, the wealth, and the media have taken over.  You have no place.  The world has tried you; you are wrong, you have done wrong, everything you believe in is wrong.  What do you do?  

Kudos to individuals like Hamad Al-Amari and Fatima Al-Dosari for trying to merge those worlds.  What did they do?  A little something.  A little something to make you 'Happy'.

I work with some very cool dudes.  Some Nationals who hang out with me and love a good laugh and song.  Some very respectful, respected, respectable individuals who actually want to see the WORLD, not just Qatar, be a better place.  Like the guy I know who went back to the Philippines last year to visit his childhood nanny, because he missed her, but also to see how he could help her and family.  

Living here is not easy.  I don't always 'get' it.  Often I want to go home.  But that's my thing.  

On the flip side, I admit to feeling personally offended when I read or hear of outsiders or newcomers trashing this country.

Everyone has some good in them.  They just don't always 'get' it.  Forty years ago, North Americans were driving 140 miles an hour down the highway with a kid bouncing around in the front seat and a case of beer at their feet.  We've evolved ... most of us ... to an extent.

Give Qatar time.  

Not eternity.  

Time.  

You got it.  

Qatar will too.

 

 

 

 

 

Me isn't WHO I want to be, ME isn't WHERE I want to be ... So What's Left?

I don't feel much like working these days.

I don't feel much like getting dinner ready.

I don't feel much like blogging.

I don't feel like getting out of bed.

But I do.

I'm crap at pretty much everything I do lately, but I push myself to be the uncrappiest I can be.

Because of Smilin' Vic.  Because of Kiddo.  

And somewhere, deep down inside, because of me I guess.

Because if I don't at least try, what's left?

I'm not happy with me for a number of reasons.  Middle-age spread, lethargy, inability to get over the loss of my Dad, non-productivity at work, inability to be there enough as a mom for Kiddo, inability to be the wife Smilin' Vic deserves.  There are more reasons, but those are the ones that really count ... in reverse order.

I'm not happy with the ME for a number of reasons.  Dust, heat, traffic, nepotism, cronyism and favoritism.  Insecurity, instability, general unrest.  A society where I am the oddball because I have a career; a society where I can't openly practice my religion.

I'm not a psychiatrist, but my past professional experience with DSM-IV tells me that chances are I'm suffering from some form of depressive disorder.  

I don't enjoy socializing; I'd be quite happy to stay in bed all day.  The exercise that used to motivate and invigorate me now seems like a burden; an added burden to the growing list of unaccomplished tasks at the end of the day.  The moments of culinary bliss that I used to cherish in the kitchen seem pointless and ill-spent as I throw a microwave dinner or bowl of cereal on the table these days.

There is a SADNESS that is engulfing every single waking moment.  And those waking moments take up more and more of my day.

Smilin' Vic has always touted my ability to sleep through anything.  Nothing disrupts my ability to sleep ... NOTHING.  Except years ago when I was stuck in a failing marriage with a sense of drowning and despair.  

And except now.

I sleep, but I wake every hour.  My dreams are angry, frustrated and chaotic.  I awaken at 3:00 a.m. and can't fall back asleep.  When the alarm rings at 5:00 a.m. I click on snooze methodically, repeatedly, and when 6:00 a.m. finally rolls around I would give anything just to stay in bed and sleep through the day.

I don't want to be HERE, but I don't know where I want to be.  So I carry on HERE.  Hoping it will carry me somewhere.  Somewhere better.  Somewhere happier.  Somewhere I want to be.

Tomorrow, Saturday, we'll celebrate Easter here in the ME.  We won't celebrate on Sunday because we have to work; it's not a day off.  We'll have a few friends over, cook a ham - yes, we can now buy pork products in Qatar at the naughty booze shop.  The kids will decorate Easter eggs and go on a little egg hunt, and I'll throw myself into making it feel like Saturday is Easter SUNDAY.  I'll keep on keeping on.

Tonight, I pushed myself to play board games with Kiddo.  Her laughter was so genuine, her feelings so true.  I sounded fake even to myself as I laughed along with her, but I'm not going to let this get the best of me.  I will fake it 'til I make it.  

I'm not used to being unhappy.  It's not my nature.  Dissatisfied, yes.  Frustrated, yes.  But unhappy?  Never before ...

I KNOW I have EVERY reason to be happy.  I have a MILLION reasons to be happy.  I have maybe 20 reasons to be sad.  WHY do those 20 trump the 1,000,000?  HOW do those 20 trump the 1,000,000?

NOBODY knows how much I don't want to be 'Me' right now.  NOBODY knows how much I don't want to be in the 'ME'.  

But I'm not a quitter.  I will find 'Me' again, and I will learn to love 'Me' again.  In the 'ME' or elsewhere.

In the meantime, I may write, or I may not.  I have a feeling I may not for quite a while.  At least not on this blog.

I think the time has come to step away for a bit and re-group.  Keep a personal journal in those moments where I feel I 'have to let it out' and walk away from social media in general for a while.

And hopefully one day get back to giving rather than sapping.  Giving to my family, to my friends, to my readers and to myself.

If you've followed me in the past, thanks.  If you've read this far tonight,  thanks.  From the bottom of my heart.

And good night.  

From me.  From the ME.  For a while.

Uploaded by Paula Mathis on 2012-09-16.











Weather You Like ME or Not ...

The shift in the weather has been sudden this year in the ME.  

No, this isn't Doha.  This is a pic from my friend's living room window in Northern New Brunswick on April 1, 2014.  APRIL FIRST!!!!!!  Those are telephone and power lines in the background.  Having gone from that extreme to the …

No, this isn't Doha.  This is a pic from my friend's living room window in Northern New Brunswick on April 1, 2014.  APRIL FIRST!!!!!!  Those are telephone and power lines in the background.  Having gone from that extreme to the harsh desert, I'm hopeful that some future assignment might see us halfway weather wise, maybe on the French Riviera or something!

After surprisingly cool and pleasant temperatures extending from December to the beginning of April, we were greeted on Sunday with a steadily rising barometer, reaching up into the low 40s by mid-week (that's Celsius, in case there was any doubt).

No escaping it, summer is here.

No escaping it, summer is here.

Something tells me it's going to be a long, hot, humid summer in the ME.  Doha skies like the ones below, a welcome sight in March, are likely a thing best forgotten for the next seven months or so.

Rare Doha skies in winter, slightly reminiscent of Atlantic Canadian summer skies.

Rare Doha skies in winter, slightly reminiscent of Atlantic Canadian summer skies.

We are fast approaching the months where it's too HOT to swim, ride a bike, ride a motorcycle, play tag or even walk outdoors.

Almost time to put these babies away ... (not my wheels BTW ... I don't ride)

Almost time to put these babies away ... (not my wheels BTW ... I don't ride)

Within a few months, the only respite we'll have from the heat will be the air conditioned indoors and memories of cooler climates.

It's those very 'heated' Doha moments that make me feel like 'cool' is more than just a generation away, and that make me so very happy not all our trips are "beachy".  

Like our most recent trip to London for Spring Break.

It's nice to have a not-so-distant memory of cool, damp and stormy.  

Smilin' Vic and Kiddo strolling in London in early April ...

Smilin' Vic and Kiddo strolling in London in early April ...

My sister and her hubby joined us from Canada on rainy strolls through the streets of London.

My sister and her hubby joined us from Canada on rainy strolls through the streets of London.

So nice to have recent memories of enjoying the "toasty-warm" of indoors.  

Does anyone else feel like singing "Hallelluiah!" when they look at this pic?  A nice glass of red really warms the insides on a damp and cold spring day.  (@ Cheshire Cheese, London, England)

Does anyone else feel like singing "Hallelluiah!" when they look at this pic?  A nice glass of red really warms the insides on a damp and cold spring day.  (@ Cheshire Cheese, London, England)

Or perhaps this is more heart-warming to some?  (@ Cheshire Cheese, London, England)

Or perhaps this is more heart-warming to some?  (@ Cheshire Cheese, London, England)

I dare say the hot days of summer are here.  Slow, lethargic days.  Weather we like it or not, summer is here in the ME.

So I'll leave you with a few more pics of our trip ... (note that not ALL days were damp and gloomy).

Landing in London ...

Landing in London ...

Just out for a leisurely patrol ...

Just out for a leisurely patrol ...

Intriguing contrast ...

Intriguing contrast ...

View of St. Paul's Cathedral from Fleet St.

View of St. Paul's Cathedral from Fleet St.

Lighting a candle for my dad, God rest his soul.

Lighting a candle for my dad, God rest his soul.

Sacrifice commemorated ...

Sacrifice commemorated ...

....

....

Mandatory sight-seeing break ...

Mandatory sight-seeing break ...

Ye Olde Pub Time ...

Ye Olde Pub Time ...

I love this place ... La Floridita has a real '50's gangster vibe.

I love this place ... La Floridita has a real '50's gangster vibe.

Yup!  We stayed here on our last night in London!  How does a desert dwelling Atlantic Canadian say "High Tea"?  Sounds something like "SOCIAL!!!!!"

Yup!  We stayed here on our last night in London!  How does a desert dwelling Atlantic Canadian say "High Tea"?  Sounds something like "SOCIAL!!!!!"

Directions from the Waldorf to "Matilda".

Directions from the Waldorf to "Matilda".

Afternoon matinee :-)

Afternoon matinee :-)

A 'Frank' you'll never forget ...

A 'Frank' you'll never forget ...

Christ Church in Oxford.

Christ Church in Oxford.

Oxford.

Oxford.

Oxford

Oxford

Oxford

Oxford

View from our flat in the evening. 

View from our flat in the evening. 

Ask me about gas ....

I try to keep my blog flowing ... I write about a lot.  From traveling to dining, being a mom and a wife, working and living in the Middle East, death and dying, missing home and getting pissed on occasion.

I write about the craziness of driving in the Middle East, being an expat mom and watching my Third Culture Kid grow up not really knowing where 'home' is.  Living in a land of sand that is the polar opposite of my homeland.  Going from -40C to +40C.

Struggling to build a career in a land where 'working woman' is a funny word.  Trying to learn a language that won't even share its alphabet with me.  Singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" during a sandstorm.  

I write about all of these things because they help me make it through the day.  Writing let's the 'feeling' out.  And hopefully a few souls will be entertained or become informed with what I have to share.   

And then I check out my blog 'metrics' and discover that the most hits I get are based on a Google search for "flatulence at high altitude". 

But of course ... 

Just Me .... A Canadian Having a Ball in Doha

​I'm done with being moody.  

Ok, not really, but for the sake of maintaining a readership of ten per day, I feel an obligatory injection of humor and optimism is in good order :-)​

So I've been wondering of late what exactly keeps us in Doha.  Illness and death overseas get you thinking that way...​  but enough of that.  

So.  

Really.  

What does keep us happy in Doha?

Well, this weekend, it was the Great Canadian Snoball ... With entertainment like "Hot Mess" and special invites like "Cirque Eloise".

A band dressed like the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (in short shorts) and girls in ball gowns and goalie masks make life in the desert ​quirky cool.  A giant moose mascot and a styrofoam snowball fight bring together people of all nationalities.  

RCMP in shorts and Ray Bans ...  Stanley cup-like trophies in the background ... Doha Canadiana.

RCMP in shorts and Ray Bans ...  Stanley cup-like trophies in the background ... Doha Canadiana.

We sat united at a table with Doha-ites from Canada, Poland, the USA and England , all joining together in a tandem lip-sync of a bilingual anthem no proper Canadian can sing in its entirety.

These are the social media moments when you're grateful for the anonymity a Canadian hockey mask allows ...

These are the social media moments when you're grateful for the anonymity a Canadian hockey mask allows ...

We all congregated at the open bar, heaving bosoms from all nations stuffed tight into patriotic white and red ball gowns.  A few kilts dotted the room, doubtless a few Nova Scotians who had long since forgotten their heritage but couldn't get enough of the thrill of knee-high socks and dangling jewels. 

We rushed (politely .... "Sorry", "No, please, excuse ME", "pardonnez-moi", "please! go ahead") to queue in orderly fashion as our table number was called for the Canadian spread at the buffet table.  

Pea soup from Quebec, sheppard's pie from the Maritimes, salmon from the Pacific Coast, mussels from the Atlantic, perrogis from the prairies, Alberta beef, poutine from Quebec (French fries smothered in cheese and gravy. ...... classy, yes?).  

No wonder we're the nation renowned for "sorry" and "Tim Horton's".  We never came up with a sauce we could truly call our own.  (Though all true Canadians will recognize canned Habitant pea soup as a National staple.)

We got progressively toasted as the eve wore on.  

The Polish crew invited the far less hardy Canadians to join them in a vodka toast.  

The French tut-tutted the absence of foie gras.  

The Sri Lankan bar man regaled in the attention bestowed upon him in patrons' quest for more free booze.  

The Egyptian got a little too close to the Scottsman's wife.  

The Brit sat quietly at the table sipping on gin and tonic until 1:00 a.m., at which point he suddenly broke into a tear-rendering version of "God Save the Queen" (to which we all drunkenly raised our glasses).

The Canadians kept on shouting "He SCORES!!!!!!!" for no obvious reason. 

The Spaniards gathered with us kept on countering with "GOALLLLLL"! 

The non-smokers surreptitiously lit up, and the TESL teacher started giving lessons on how to tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue.  

One by one the room moved away from the accountant who chose this night to display his hidden talent (farting rendition of "Oh Canada"; btw he didn't miss a single note).  

We watched in awe as the respectable, reputable project manager went from table to table showing off his amazing skill of pulling the cloth out from under the table contents without tipping a single salt shaker.  Until he did.  Then we all turned away in disgust.

We listened and sang along as the band played songs from Canadian legends like Gordon Lightfoot, Stompin' Tom, The Tragically Hip, Brian Adams, Chilliwack (sadly, no "1755" or Lynda Lemay ... French wasn't on the playlist ....).  Once the band was spent, people of all nations clambered onto the dance floor, kicked off their shoes and danced like Carlton to hits of today.

A few disparate souls staggered out before the night was over. But most, in good Canadian fashion, stayed until last call was called.  And even then, quite a few lingered.  Reminiscing around the closed bar, much in the way we hang about at a good old eastern Canadian kitchen party, shooting the $&:! and willing a good night amongst friends to go on.  And then one by one we made our way slowly back "home".

All in all, it was a wonderful night to be a Canadian in Doha.  

To just BE.

A Canadian. 

In Doha.