An Alternative Perspective

Here is an excerpt from The Lunatic Express, by Carl Hoffman, which struck me particularly as I was reading about his adventures around the world:

"America was anything but an abstraction. It was literal, vivid, reinforced every time a South American went to the movies or turned on the TV. It was a constant tease, this magical place where everyone was rich and beautiful (not to mention violent), and I tried to imagine what it would be like to watch a daily stream of Colombia - how powerful the idea of that place would become."

What if...? 

History

I intended to have a post for every day that I was abroad. I actually wrote a journal entry for nearly every day; I just never published them. Part of me wants to go ahead and put them up. The other part of me asks: how much time can we spend looking at the past without hindering progress? It's important to study history, but where is the line between being stuck in the past and using history to move forward? 

Day 26-29: The Days Pass By, Omani Salsa

I'm going to start coupling or compiling days in entries in order to catch up, although I'm more than a month behind already...

The days pass by so quickly, again. It's confounding, and worrying, because my memory doesn't reach back that far, and even as I look back on my journal notes they seem superficial, vague, incomprehensible.

Wednesday, June 29

Surprise of the week: Salsa dancing is huge in Oman!

Salsa dancing is apparently a rather big cult in this country, and it's definitely not dominated by the expats. Perhaps because of the Portuguese occupation of Oman years back, but seeing young couples mamboing, salsaing, and zouking it out on the dance floor at Trader Vic's was an awesome sight. There was a band from Cubaa singing and playing, and people are so much fun, having a good time on the dance floor. Adel taught me the basic steps and some moves - my body is so stiff when it comes to allowing myself to be led by people I'm not comfortable dancing with, it's a bit frustrating. Hopefully practice will cure that.

I was flooded with memories of UWC, my high school, that night. The salsa dancing brought back so many memories of the Latinos and of my trip to Guatemala/Mexico after graduation, as well as my nickname Juanita... it was a bittersweet night, but fun regardless.

Shitty camera quality, but some pictures regardless:

Shoo hada?

What is this?
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-14212640

And this?
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/africa/somali-children-at-risk-of-death-on-the-front-line-2317187.html

And this?
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-14021340

And these are just a few from today's headlines.

Ana orid an abkee. 

Day 25: Cough-y Grinds

Saturday, June 25

Ana ta'abana wa orid alnam.
My cough is back. Damn air-conditioning. (Maybe it also has to do with smoking shisha last night...)
You would think that for a 6+ million dollar project, they might at least be able to moderate the temperature within the building.

Day 24: I Finally Ate.

Friday, June 24

I mustered up the courage to go to church again today, and found the right [Protestant] service this time. How do I describe the feeling of peace and contentment that I felt there? It was as if I'd come home, or as if I'd finally eaten a meal after starving myself for a long time. The feeling is tough to describe. A lot of times in Christianity, we talk about spiritual hunger -- about spiritually craving God the way our bodies crave food. It's hard to understand until one experiences that feeling of hunger and then appeasement. People talk about being on spiritual rollercoasters, riding up and down from one retreat to the next, or from one Sunday service to the next. For me, perhaps because I haven't experienced that spiritual high from attending a church retreat in a while, it's been more of a feeling of spiritual starvation. Maybe because I haven't been to church in a while; maybe because I haven't been part of a fellowship in over a year; maybe because I feel like I've wandered off the racetrack, but I've been feeling starved. It's kind of like this empty feeling, a void that nothing can seem to fill. When I'm busy and surrounded by people, I'm happy and perfectly fine, but when I'm alone, this feeling of loneliness creeps in, and I'm hit by a craving for love. Most people, myself included I will confess, will try to satisfy this craving by going out and finding someone for the night, or hanging out with friends, or busying theirselves with work. But it's never enough -- however great the temporary happiness is, it's only temporary, which means that at the end of the day, we're left looking for more. Yet when I went to church today, asides from feeling ashamed for having wandered so far off the path, I felt content, for the first time in a long time.

I didn't do much today after getting back home from church; just took a few hours to finish reading Shantaram. It is a heartbreakingly beautiful book, and I highly recommend it.

Day 23: Rock This Party

Thursday, June 23

Yeah, I went to a party here. It was SHWEEET. 90's-themed party at the Al Bustan Intercontinental Hotel (I think the place used to be a palace, no joke.) It was a lot of fun -- I realized how much I missed the good old music of the 90's//early 2000's. As much as I love Prospect Street, it does get a bit tiring hearing the same songs at every eating club every weekend. Besides, we got free mixed drinks at the Al Bustan. Win.

Day 22: Accents

[Wednesday, June 22]

They're sexy.

Between the British co-workers in the office and the Arabs in town, not to mention all the Pakistani/Indian/Asianpeople that are everywhere, added to my chameleon tongue (props to Hazami for the phrase), I should come back with an interesting accent myself.

Day 21: Mission Globalization -- Mickey D's and Cross-Cultural Marriages

Tuesday, June 21

We officially moved into our new offices at the Royal Opera House today! The offices are very nice -- much more office-y looking than the little cubicles in our old office (which was just a temporary locale while the Opera House was being constructed). Now that we have separate offices spaces -- I get to share one with Alison, yay! -- each space is separated so that one has to go outside of one's space and walk down a hallway in order to enter the next - which is very inconvenient when the rest of the logistics team is located in the space at the end of the hall, and a bit sad - I liked being able to see everybody's faces all at once! Anyways, my only real complaint about the new office is that the building is freaking cold. I think the thermostat was set at 17 degrees Celsius, which translates roughly to somewhere around 60 degrees Fahrenheit, I think. For someone who wears cardigans in 80 (hell, I can wear 'em in 100) degree weather, definitely way too cold.

It was a relief getting outside into the warmth of the sun and Marie's oven of a car for our lunch break today -- to McDonald's! Alison screamed with excitement, literally, when Marie suggested we eat there. We took a picture of the food -- I got a free glass with the "large" value meal, woot! -- but I don't know how to upload it from Alison's phone, and I figure y'all know what a Mickey D's meal looks like already. It's amazing how McDonald's is everywhere, no matter where one goes. Kind of like Starbucks...

So the conversation of the day revolved around relationships [of course it would, that's what girls talk about], and the difficulty of maintaining cross-cultural relationships. Basically, the gist of it is that according to common knowledge (and experience), it is quite difficult to be in a serious relationship with a person from a different cultural background. Whether this culture be national, familial, or - often most important - religious, it is near impossible to date outside of one's culture. For me, I have two takes on the situation, also based on my dual cultures: American and Korean. America is supposedly the melting pot of cultures, where anyone can date anywho without any problem. True in some cases, quite false in a lot, as my Korean side jumps in. America is more of a tossed salad than a melting pot, and more often than not, people stick to their own cultures. Case in point: my Korean parents want me to marry a Korean boy. Although they probably wouldn't disown me if I married outside of my race (I think), it would most likely deal a large blow to my family if I were to marry someone my parents didn't approve of. So many families are broken, and so many children estranged from their parents, all for the cause of "love". And more often than not, it's because of irreconcilable cultural differences. In a world where we're supposedly moving forward, connecting with people from all over the world and calling it globalization, why do we still have problems with cross-cultural relationships?

Day 20: Double-hit Wonder + Seafood Pizza

Monday, June 20

Today, I mustered up the courage to try out two new phrases: Sabaa al-khayr and Masaa al-khayr (Good morning and Good evening) to the guy at the front desk of my apartment. I've memorized the words off of a sheet of Arabic vocab and have been rolling the words around in my mind for the past few days without actually trying them out because I keep forgetting the exact phrasing and/or am afraid to bungle it so badly that nobody will understand me -- which, by the way, has happened before several times.

So now the front desk guy thinks I speak Arabic. He was so impressed when I came in after work saying masaa al-khayr. Actually, he knows I can't speak Arabic but knows I'm interested in learning, which means that he can speak to me in Arabic anyways, even if I don't understand a lick of what he's saying. I don't even know how to say "I don't understand". I think tomorrow I'll ask him his name. (Yes, I've been here almost three weeks and still don't know the name of the man who hands me my keys every day when I get back from work.)

Today, I tried seafood pizza -- I'm generally a good old pepperoni or mushrooms topping type of pizza girl, but man do they make interesting pizzas here in Oman! Call it Italian with a twist of Arabia. Anyways, my co-workers and I went to lunch at a cute pizza/Italian restaurant in Jawaharat al Shatti, a strip mall next to Shatti al Qur'm, a beach with a gorgeous view. The pizza was, as one of my previous roommates would say, "nom-licious". That is, possibly the best meal that I've had here thus far. Ironic, huh?

Unfortunately, I feel lame taking pictures of "mundane" things like food and the daily view, and I know I'm going to regret it later, but I didn't take any pictures, so I guess you'll have to come to Oman to check it out for yourself.

Day 19: Need Somebody to Love

Sunday, June 19
(I know, it's midway through July now. Don't fuss.)

I actually don't have much written down for what happened today, other than that it was a fairly quiet day at the office. Nothing out of the usual -- Saud brought me tea with milk; I got frostbite in the air conditioning; my co-workers complained about the lack of productivity; I copied over 100 pages of contracts (talk about mundane.);  Alison had to stay behind at work til late again; etc. etc.

So today, I thought I'd write about one of the topics that's come up in the many conversations that my hubby (Alison and I have been branded a married couple. I am clearly the more affectionate in this partnership) and I have engaged in during our time together here in Oman.

Human nature and the desire to be loved. Not quite sure how we started to end at this topic, but after talking about ex-boyfriends and bad boyfriends and why girls cling to them, it really boils down to that song, "Need Somebody to Love."

Why is this? Because at the root of everything -- no matter how much money one makes or successful one is -- is the desire to be loved. This is the reason why there are so many wealthy, successful people out there who seem to "have it all", but are never really satisfied. This is the reason why so many people in our daily lives are unhappy. We are all searching for something, something to fill up that emptiness inside of us, to banish that fear of being completely alone. I have a fear of being alone - whether forgotten or not cared about - and that is actually one of my biggest fears and pet peeves. One of the easiest ways to belittle somebody, to make the person feel insignificant, unneeded, and even unwanted - intentionally or not - is to forget him or her. It's funny how people make such a big deal out of hate. If you ask me, hating is not worth it. It takes too much effort, and the fact that one must actively hate somebody makes that person important enough to be worth hating. Apathy, on the other hand, is a cold, brutal bitch. Most people envision hell as a place of fire and wrath and great burning and God's hatred upon you. A pastor once described his version of hell as God not caring at all anymore. And really thinking about it, that version scared me more than any threats of brimstone and fire. For somebody to completely and totally detach another person from his life - that, I think, leaves a deeper wound than hate. If we maintain this wound metaphor, hatred is a messy and bloody wound. Apathy is a deep puncture that leaves a scar that never heals. Why is that? Because at the end of the day, nobody really wants to be alone. Everyone needs somebody to love, be it another person, some spirit, or even a pet, and everyone needs somebody to love him or her.

According to Sajjad, though, the reason why people are never completely satisfied is because of the human nature of greed, which I think is also valid. But that's a tangent for another day.

Day 18: Couchsurfers in Oman

Saturday, June 18

The highlight of today: the main breaker went out in our apartment. Fortunately, fixing it was a matter of flipping a switch.

Last night, Alison and I met up with Sajjad, a Couchsurfer in Oman. For those of you who don't know, the Couchsurfing project is a network of people all around the world who travel, host, and meet up with people for coffee. The Omani network is actually quite large, but it's been dormant for a while. Sajjad is one of three guys from the Muscat area who are trying to make the Couchsurfing community here more active. We went for coffee, ending up at Starbucks and chatting about CS, Omani people, and marriage. Twas a fascinating conversation, and one with topics that seemed to dominate most of my conversations with people for the next few days afterwards. Or perhaps it is just common subject matter.

Today after work, Alison and I went for a run to the beach. This is my excuse for posting pictures of the walk to the beach next to my home.

Day 17 (Part Deux): I Got Pulled Over by a Cop Today

Friday, June 17

(A couple friends complained about my last post, and since it made me really happy to know that there are people actually following my blog, I figured I'd make a big more of an effort to be dedicated to sharing my adventures. Haras.)

If I could make up a joke about today, it'd go like this.
Cop: "Put your hands up!"
Me: "blubblubblubblub..."

Today was a day of interesting experiences.
Firstly, after getting to bed after 3 AM last night, I got up around 8 this morning in order to go to church (does this sound familiar?). Although Islam is the official religion of Oman, the Omani are very tolerant of other religions, and there is actually a sort of church compound in the nearby area of Bousher, where there are weekly Catholic, Protestant, and Evangelical services, along with a few other denominations of Christianity. I hailed a cab and got my way to the compound without any trouble, but once I got there, I didn't know which building to enter. Being so brilliant, I stopped the nearest church-goer and asked, "Which is the Christian service?", to which they pointed to the building straight in front of them. It took until after I went inside, sat at a pew, and lasted through about 10 minutes of the service until I realized that I was in the middle of a Catholic service. If I have to claim a denomination, I call myself Protestant. But by then I felt that it would be rude to leave in the middle of service, and Christianity is Christianity, anyways. Of course, I was the only person who didn't cross themselves after prayers. I was also the only person not kneeling during the liturgy (I think that's what it was).
It's always an enlightening experience going to Sunday Mass.

When I got back, I took a nap before dragging myself and Alison out of bed to go to the Dive Centre with Hazami and Jurgen, two co-workers. It was nice - while I've gotten to know Hazami in the office and in our rides to and from the workplace in the mornings and evenings, I've never really had the chance to speak with Jurgen, who is one of the guys on the technical team at the opera house, so it was nice to talk with and get to know him today. Alison and I went together into the water first, but were so skeeved out by leering men that we got out of the water fairly quickly. One guy was stalking us, actually circling us, like a shark and its prey. Even though Hazami and Jurgen assured us that the guys wouldn't touch us, it's still kind of creepy being circled by anything, man or shark, in the water. I think I want to buy a one-piece...
The tide was way out today, at least compared to last week, so it was strange, wading out 50 meters into the sea and still being able to touch the ground with my feet. Hazami, Jurgen, and I decided to swim out (I felt safer with Jurgen swimming with us), way past everyone, nearly to the rocks on the other side of the bay. We definitely swam at least half a mile out - I don't think I've swim that far, ever. But it was a lot of fun, at least during the times when I didn't think I was surely going to drown. Which almost happened when Hazami attempted to hold me up while I tried to tie my hair out of my face. I think we could have, and would have made it all the way over to the rocks if we didn't get pulled over by the water police, who told us that we were swimming out too far. It was an entertaining moment. The only other really scary times were when boats would come speeding by, and there was the fear that they hadn't seen us and were going to mow over us. So actually, it was quite a relief to know that there actually were water police on the patrol, since there weren't any buoys, or boundary markers.

It's really interesting, how there are no lifeguards nor real boundaries past which swimmers are not allowed out. I noticed the same deal when I was in Puerto Escondido, Mexico, last summer, when a friend of mine took a thirty minute swim that took him to the cliffs on the other side of the bay that we were in. Then again, it's not exactly the most touristy area, more of a fishing village. But even at the Oman Dive Centre, a private beach, there are no lifeguards or anything. That was part of the fear of swimming so far out: people generally don't swim past a certain point, past which is considered boat area. But if there is no official boundary, and somebody decides to swim that far out, what happens if somebody driving a boat isn't paying attention to what/who is in the water ahead of the boat? Even if there was a lifeguard, it's not like he or she could do much to save somebody 100 meters out in the water who's just been run over by a boat...Speaking of which, are beach lifeguards an American phenomenon? Baywatch and all. I guess I haven't been to enough beaches around the world to be able to answer that question properly.

After a lovely dinner and a shower, Alison and I had our first Couchsurfing experience, meeting up for coffee with Sajjad, a Pakistani who's lived in Oman for all his life. I'll save the details of that for my next entry.

Day 17: Reality

Dear Daily Journal,
It's actually June 27, and I'm 10 days behind on this "daily blog". I promise I'm taking handwritten notes in my journal, but maintaining a daily blog that's already 10 days behind is proving to be impossible. I officially cede defeat. I'll keep updating with tidbits of my adventures whenever I feel like it.

Yours truly,
The Worst Blogger Ever

Day 16: Mosque the Weekend

I've realized that I'm waaaay behind. So I guess it's time to hit you over the head with multiple entries.

Thursday, June 16

It's only been the first day of the weekend, and already it seems so busy, compared to last weekend (that is, when all we did was sleep). Last night after work, Alison and I met up with Jill at the Muttrah Souk. Although we only went to get a feel of what the place was like, I had a great time, wandering through the labyrinth-like alleys of the souk. We didn't even get to explore the place to its full extent, but it was a lot of fun, walking past the booths and the stores and looking at all the colors and intricacies offered by the sellers of Muttrah. I found myself wishing that I knew how to tell all the salespeople that we were just looking in Arabic, although I doubt that would've deterred them much. There was one store where the shopkeeper made me promise to return, and I teased him that I would only if he would give us a discount, to which he replied that he would give us special deals. I wonder if he'll remember us.

This morning, we went to visit the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque in Muscat with Alina, Jill, and Damien. Although it was hot out, the mosque itself and its surrounding gardens were beautiful, and definitely worth seeing. I find myself so fascinated by Islamic architecture, especially in comparison with the rest of the buildings in the city. Whenever I'm in the car, I can't help but notice that the mosques here in Oman are always the most beautiful buildings around - the design, the shape, the intricacies are all so beautiful compared to the basic structures that most other buildings have. While we were in the main "sanctuary", where what used to be the world's biggest carpet is located, Damien struck up a conversation with two of the guards, asking them about where different parts of the room had been made - the chandeliers, the carpet, the window panes, etc. Funnily enough, the conversation moved on to himself, and it turned out that the guards thought that we (myself, Alison, Alina, and Jill) were Damien's four wives! They must have thought that he was quite the man of diversity, haha.

In the evening, we went out for dinner with John, one of the guys that we met last week, and met up with his friend and some of his friends. We went to Pavo Real, a nice authentic Mexican restaurant with a live band which brought back much nostalgia and happiness with their tunes. After dinner and shisha, we went out to hit the clubs - Alison and my first time out! haha - and ended up at Safari, a club in the Grand Hyatt. They had a live band performing popular hits like Hot n Cold, Sexy Back, Disturbia, etc., and were pretty good, surprisingly, but I guess I always prefer to enjoy the show and appreciate the musicianship than dance when watching a good band perform... All in all, a fun night to end a fun day.

Because I owe you some pictures:

Souk photos:

In Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque:

 Haha, couldn't resist getting a picture of this. Even the world's (second) largest carpet needs to be vacuumed regularly.

Day 15: Spanish Fail

Wednesday, June 15

It's kind of funny how all my posts end up being about language or culture, one or the other. Or both.

Highlight embarrassing moment of the day, and quite possibly, of the week:
Due to a mix-up, one of my superiors asked me to call the mayor of Madrid today in order to confirm/reaffirm certain details. Last week, I had to call in order to confirm the office's address. Because the mayor's office number is not readily accessible, I had to call the administrative office of Madrid and talk through different people in order to obtain the information I needed. Last time I called, the first thing I asked was, "¿hay alguien que hable inglés?" Eventually, I did manage to get through to someone who spoke English, and he walked me through the spelling of ayuntamiento letter by letter, "a for apple.... y for you..." etc.etc. Today, I had to call the administrative office again, but this time in order to get the phone number for the alcalde's own office. So, I went through the whole process again... except that this time, there was nobody who spoke English readily available. So, I confessed in my halting, bumbling Spanish that I could understand Spanish if the operator spoke slowly and clearly to me, and managed to obtain the phone number for the mayor's office. Fortunately, the operator gave me the direct line to the personal secretary of the mayor. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure, and couldn't understand the secretary when she picked up. "Digame," she said, after something which was probably something like "office of the mayor of Madrid...", and I had no idea what she was asking for. After about 2 minutes of awkwardness, when I was like, "tell you what?", she finally asked, "English?" and switched to English. Long story short, I hung up on her accidentally twice (stupid phone.), and eventually got the information I needed, while making myself look like a complete idiot on the phone in the process. At least nobody else in my office speaks Spanish.

Day 14: We All Speak English...

Tuesday, June 14

... but none of us are speaking the same language.

This post kind of reminds me of one of my earlier posts, where I complained about the difficulties of communicating with the people of the Arabic language, and my own troubles learning how to speak the language.  However, this is a bit different in that everyone is speaking the same language, technically: English. In the office, everyone speaks English, simply because that is the one language everyone has in common. With a team of people from France to Palestine to the States to the UK, all gathered here in Oman, English is the one language which everybody speaks. However, that doesn't necessarily mean that we speak the same language. Perhaps it is a cultural difference, or a difference in expectations, or misinterpretations, but more often than not, there is some sort of miscommunication occurring, and it's not due to the accents. Of course, the greatest struggle occurs when two people who aren't native English speakers are in conversation, and they are trying to communicate through the one language they have in common, although neither are completely comfortable with it. It's like English is an extremely thin balancing beam upon which we teeter-totter our way across, trying to meet at one common destination. Or maybe it should be described as a sort of DMZ, in a figurative sense.  

Day 13: How to Drink Orange Juice

Monday, June 13

Today was a long but entertaining day. In the morning I went with two of my coworkers for a meeting with the managers of a hotel that will be hosting our first performance group, in order to clarify and agree upon details for accommodation of the guests, checking in/out processes, etc. It was a very enriching experience - the negotiation, all the fine details - and I was particularly impressed by one of the managers, who really seemed to know how to provide quality customer service. The hotel is gorgeous, reminding me quite a lot of the hotel I stayed at when visiting NYU in Abu Dhabi last spring - the luxury and the details to hospitality were impressive.

Today I also had my first awkward cultural moment today - during the meeting, I requested orange juice, as did my coworker, Jill. I didn't get a picture of what they brought out, and I can't find any pictures online, so I'll try to describe it to the best of my ability: juice in a jug-like bottle, with a glass that looked like a shotglass with an orange slice garnish. I must say, I had no idea how I was supposed to drink it! I kept waiting for Jill to make the first move for her juice so that I could copy her movements, but I guess she was just as confounded as me, as neither of us touched our drinks until halfway through the meeting, one of the managers interrupted to ask why we weren't having our refreshments. The other proceeded to explain how to drink the juice (pick up the straw, place into bottle of juice, and drink.) The juice was delicious though - fresh squeezed, NOM.

After the meeting, the rest of the day at the office was a mix of hilarity and frustration as we tried to work with our local Internet service providers to figure out and fix what was wrong with our Outlook emails and laughed at each others' frustrations. Damien, one of my bosses, attempted to speak with me in Spanish, which failed as soon as the words "mucho bien" came out of his mouth, and then attempted to speak in Arabic to my other co-workers by proclaiming "sabaa, sita, sita, arba!" which roughly translates to: "morning, six, six, four!"

Day 12: 7 O'Clock Prayers

Sunday, June 12

Day's recap:

Office drama exists everywhere, no matter where you are in the world, or in what type of office you work in. Our office is not exempt from this rule. I feel no need to go into the details, but the one lesson that I learned from my observations today is: do not delete anything. Rather, print out and retain records (i.e. of emails), so that in the case of clarifications and "she said he said"s, the hard print will always be available to refer back to. I'll talk more about the office in another post.

After getting back home, I decided to go for a walk around my neighborhood, trying to find the beach, as I'd been told that our apartment was really close to the water. After wandering in the wrong direction for a while, I finally found it, and it is so lovely! There's a nice little park - called the Al Ghubrah Lake Park, although it's more of a pond than anything - for people to walk around, and with a coffee shop conveniently situated at the head of the park as the path leads down to the beach, it's quite cute. I think I'll be coming back here much more often, and I look forward to it.

As I wandered around the beach and was walking through the park on my way back home, I caught the sound of the 7 o'clock prayers drifting out of a nearby mosque's loudspeakers, interrupting the song playing on my iPod. Since I've never really paid attention to the prayers before, I took out my earphones this time and took a seat at one of the outdoor tables by the coffee shop, and just listened. And as the imam's voice and his prayers washed over me, I couldn't help but think of my own religion, Christianity, and my own spirituality.

In Islam, Muslims traditionally perform salah five times a day: around dawn, after noon, in the late afternoon, at sunset, and later in the evening. In a Muslim country, the sound of prayers pervades the city as they are sung through the loudspeakers at each mosque. It's so integrated into daily life here that it's not unusual to see the hustle and bustle of affairs to come to a pause for 15 minutes during each of these times, or to see some people disappear into prayer rooms while non-Muslims continue their work undisturbed. Most non-Muslims have learned to tune the prayers to the frequency of background noise. As I sat in the park, listening to the song-like prayers, I couldn't help but wonder: how can this imam (and the millions of faithful Muslims) sing prayers for 15 minutes without pause, 5 times a day, and I have trouble sitting still for five minutes each day to talk with God? And it's ironic, that it takes listening to the evening prayers in a language I don't know for a religion I don't follow, in the middle of a Muslim country, to realize just how lacking I am in my own spirituality. It scares me and it challenges me and it humbles me incredibly all at the same time.

Day 11: "Shai, ma fee haleeb"

Saturday, June 11

STUPID network. Signed me out and made me lose all my changes. Anyways, here's what I've managed to salvage from my memory.

How do the days go by so quickly? Today was rough, because, well, it was Saturday. (If you don't get what I mean, replace "Saturday" with the word "Monday" and I think you'll understand.) I finally remember how to say 'tea' - 'shai', which is so similar to the Hindi 'chai', which is so similar to the Korean 'cha', ha - and so have a much healthier daily caffeine intake now. The only downside is that the guy who brings us our tea/coffee every day keeps forgetting that I don't want milk, and I'm too shy to keep asking 'ma fee haleeb' when he keeps forgetting, although he does remember that I don't like to have sugar in my tea...

I've realized that my Korean side has quite an influence on me, and so I'm naturally quite shy upon meeting new people (Korean conservatism?). This might sound funny, especially to my good friends. I don't know, sometimes the American side of me allows me to open up and be [obnoxiously] friendly, and then I'll be overcome with self-consciousness and retract into myself. That's when I realize that I have yet to be completely at ease with myself, something that I hope to remedy as I continue to discover more about who I am through each of my experiences. Anyways, I digress.

After work, we went to the City Center Mall to pick up a gold earring for Alison (she'd had a bad infection in her cartilage). The mall was really nice - it was actually a bit strange being in such a modern place, just like at home, the only difference being the Arabic text, the people dressed in dish-dash and abaya, and the escalator ramp instead of the stairs that we have in the States. We had dinner at Chili's - again, an interestingly disorienting experience - and spent some time at Borders before picking up some groceries from Carrefour and heading home. I got a new book - splurged - basically bought the cheapest, longest, yet most interesting book I could find: Shantaram, by David Gregory Roberts, which I hope will last me for a while before I need a new book to satisfy my cravings.

Today was the first day that we discovered that cab fares are bargainable. Not only that, but today I realized how enthusiastic cab drivers are to teach an interested passenger Arabic words and phrases. If only my brain were as enthusiastic to retain all those words and phrases...

Day 10: So we met some guys at a beach...

No, but for real, and they're really cool. More on that in a bit...

I've realized that when there is no light in a room, I will sleep. And sleep. And go back to sleep again. My body seems to have a habit of waking up around sunrise every morning without an alarm nor fail if the sun is coming into the room, preferably onto my face. Most of the time, I turn over and go back to sleep for another hour or so before getting up for work, but it's still one of the nicest sensations to wake up with the light and warmth of the sun bathing my face, telling me that it's a new day. Today, though, I woke up late. I blame Alison, who pulled the blinds shut so that the room was swamped in darkness all morning long.

Highlights of the day:
- hand laundry. There are no laundry facilities in our apartment, and we're too lazy/cheap to take our clothing to a local laundromat, so instead, we did our laundry the old-fashioned way - my hand. It was refreshing to wash my own clothing and to put on the 50 degree Celsius-dried clothing a few hours later with the smell of the laundry soap still in the clothing, the fabric still wrinkled and somewhat stiff from being wrung dry by hand.

- the Dive Centre. We took a cab to a private beach/snorkeling (I think) club about 20-30 minutes away, and the beach was breathtakingly beautiful. The water is enclosed by mountains on either side, the water is so blue you can see down for several meters into the water even without putting your head underwater, and the water was very salty and warm. I felt a bit uncomfortable wearing my bikini, even though we were on a private beach, and sure enough, we received comments from other guys in the water. Needless to say, we didn't stay in the water for a long time. While relaxing on the beach, a fellow beach-goer chatted us up, and we began talking with him, then his friends. One was from Canada, one from the States (he last lived in Conshohocken!), and the third from Palestine/Jordan (unless I recall incorrectly).We talked for a while, then passed my Frisbee around for a bit before heading back home - the guys gave us a lift, and we ended up having dinner with them at a Thai restaurant around the corner from our place.

Now I know you're most likely sketched out and thinking that we were out of our minds to accept a ride home from someone whom we had just met. We had the same thoughts. But I don't know - maybe it was because of my experience with the people from the pick-up league who I had met the other night, or the comfort of speaking with expatriates from America - it felt comfortable to hang out with them, and hearing their stories and sharing experiences was a fascinatingly interesting conversation. Were we too trustful?

Here are some pictures from the Dive Centre:

Day 9: Cabs in Oman

Thursday, June 9

So today, Alison and I got into an argument with our cab driver, who wanted to charge us 2 RO (a little more than 5 dollars) for a 5 minute ride from the grocery store back to our apartment. He had initially charged 1.5, which is expensive in itself, but then jacked the charge up to 2 after saying that we made him drive in circles. We paid him just to spare the trouble of bickering, but it got me thinking, how so many cab drivers try to rip travelers off. Here in Oman, there are no meters that measure the amount of time elapsed or the distance driven; generally it's a set amount to get to a certain place, or to drive from one region to another. Actually, it's bargainable. This, we didn't discover until a few days ago, when another cab driver tried to rip us off. We protested, and he immediately lowered his asking price by 1 full rial, which made us realize how most cab drivers here quote inflated prices for taking us from one place to another. The thing is, they're all so friendly and nice that you don't realize you've been ripped off (especially when we're not aware of how much it ought to be to get from one place to another), until it's too late. Fortunately, there are a few gems of cabbies that don't rip you off and are genuinely honest. That's when you take their numbers. Although a lot of times, they will insist their numbers upon you, whether you want it or not, in the hopes that you might call them again for a ride. I think I've gotten more cabbies' numbers in the last two weeks than I've gotten potential dates' numbers... ever. Kind of sad. Although the drivers are pretty adorable themselves...

Side note: had ice cream today for the first time in Oman! It's the real deal, dude. There are actual pieces of figs, pistachios, chocolate - whatever flavor one decides to try - in the ice cream.

Day 8: Muscat tour

Wednesday, June 8

Today, I completed my first official week of work at the Royal Opera House. It feels kind of funny, since in most other parts of the world, Wednesday falls smack dab in the middle of the work week, so fondly called "Hump"day for being the hump to get over before being in the the latter half of the week. My bosses left for some business in Dubai for the weekend, and whether it was their missing presence, or simply the fact that it was the weekend, the atmosphere in the office was quite cheerful and relaxed. Heels kicked off under office desks, Facebook breaks, and jokes frequented the environment. After work, Mish'al, who is on the national committee of Oman (for UWC) got in contact with me, and introduced me to his cousin, Abdullah, who is my co-year who attended the Atlantic College in Wales. Abdullah and his cousin, also Abdullah, came by and picked me and Alison up to show us around the city. They drove us around Muscat, pointing out different landmarks and commenting on central areas, such as the Muttrah Souk. We dropped by the Sultan's palace just so we could get a look, and took a couple of pictures outside - although it was too dark to get any really good pictures, the building is gorgeous.

It was quite interesting to spend the evening with these fine young gentlemen - according to Abdullah, when Omani youth want to hang out, they pretty much pass the time driving around town, looking at things and chatting. I'm not sure how accurate his statement was (I have yet to meet any other young Omani thus far), but I guess I was surprised, seeing how difficult that custom is from the antics of most university students at home in America. Also, I was also a bit surprised to find that Abdullah's family is the only to attend the United World Colleges. This is interesting, because Mish'al is a member of the supposed national committee, which selects students to represent Oman at UWC. But according to Abdullah, the only Omani to ever attend UWC have all been members of his family. I couldn't help but wonder if this was due to bureaucracy or if it was just a lack of unawareness about UWC in Oman. But I digress.

One thing I noticed was that I felt quite American hanging out with these two guys. I think we culture-shocked each other. I had assumed that they would be more accustomed to the sometimes overt culture that is characteristic of most western societies, particularly Americans, but I guess that there is still a big difference, which can sometimes make one feel slightly uncomfortable, or out of place. It was weird, because even at UWC-USA, even with all our different cultures, I realized that we all adapt to another culture, the UWC-USA culture, that allows us to get along so well together, no matter how different we were. But then again, perhaps I was fooling myself, since during that moment I felt more American than I had in a long time. It was a disorienting realization, to say the least.

The Sultan's palace at night:

Day 7: Arabic versus English

Tuesday, June 7

Everytime I find myself in a foreign country not knowing any of the language, I find myself desperately wishing to learn it as fast as possible. Especially after having grown up in a bilingual home, where my parents speak much more Korean than English and I speak much more English than Korean, the frustrating inability to communicate due to a language barrier is familiar, but no less aggravating. Whether it's in a taxi, or in a cafe, or even when trying to specify that I want my coffee black, without milk or sugar, at the workplace, I find myself struggling to communicate my thoughts or desires across to the other party. And it is so, so frustrating. I've looked up a few websites that teach Arabic and have begun learning the alphabet, so at least I can become familiar with the script and the sounds - figure out how the sounds are strung together, but it's rather difficult not to become too impatient as I want to learn everyday vocabulary rather than painstakingly making my way through the basics. Also, whenever I'm in the car with an Arabic speaker, I ask them to teach me phrases and words, making them repeat it until I can reproduce the sound that means something in this particular country.

But it's so difficult. The words slip out of my memory as soon as I place them in, and especially since I am not signed up for classes and am too cheap to hire a private tutor, I feel like it's a hopeless cause. I want to learn, but this is the first time I've found myself in a situation where my vocabulary numbers less than the fingers on my two hands. Ironically, I find myself veering towards Spanish. Whenever there is a very simple word that I should know (e.g., "and", "but", and even "no"), my tongue instinctively reaches for "y", "pero" and "no" even as my brain tells it that those are not Arabic words. Ironically, my Spanish skills came into use the other day when I needed to contact the mayor of Madrid in order to confirm his mailing address. I ended up getting the information from an administrative contact, but I was a bit ashamed of myself, because I was too afraid to attempt to communicate directly in Spanish. Instead, as soon as the first person picked up, I asked "Hay alguien que hable Inglés?" ("Is there someone that speaks English?") Needless to say, I know some of my friends would be disappointed in me.

It is so tempting to find solace in the English speakers around here - especially as they are so friendly and willing to help and show me around the place - I'm tempted to tell myself, why bother learning the local language? I'm only going to be here for two months, and besides, the Omani dialect (really, more like a language unto itself) is not going to come in useful in any other Arabic-speaking context, seeing as how even the words are different from Egyptian, or Syrian, or Palestinian. Is it a hopeless cause?

Day 6: Pickup Ultimate in Muscat!

Monday, June 6

Today after work, I took a cab to the American International School in Bousher, a nearby area of Muscat (I live in Al Ghubrah, Bousher is about 15 mintues or so away). The taxi driver was very kind and friendly - he chatted and even put on classical music on the radio for me. He probably assumed I like classical music since I'm Asian. He also talked about how Oman has been developing over the past 40 years (since the new sultan came into power), and explained how one of the biggest developments in the expansion and construction of highways which make travel easier between towns.

I had been expecting a bunch of high school students hucking discs after school. Instead, I found myself playing Ultimate with a group of adults mostly teachers at AIS or the nearby American-British Academy. We scrimmaged before striking up a game to 10. Needless to say, I was pretty impressed. For people in their 20's and 30's, some having borne children, most only having begun playing Frisbee a few years back, they weren't bad! They were pretty fit too, which made me feel rather out of shape, although I claim jet-lag still... It was a great game, so much fun, and it felt good to play Frisbee again - no matter where you go, where you play, the thrill of the game is something awesome that never changes. I scored the last point of the game - and the season! (since most of the players are teachers, they all leave for the summer and return around September) - which felt good, although I think there were others who wanted (and probably deserved) it more that me. Afterwards, Jeff (through whom I'd learned of the pickup league through FFindr!, a Frisbee networking website) invited me to join them for some beer and shawarma. Shawarma is this sandwich-like wrap, kind of like a gyro but not quite, with meat and spices and such. Although I'm not quite sure what exactly it was comprised of, it was delicious. I've got to find out where that shawarma place is so I can get some on my own the next time I get a craving... It was really nice hanging out with the group of teachers, chilling and sharing stories. Also, one of the Frisbee players' dog seems to be rather fond of alcohol - it got a taste of someone's beer and went crazy looking for more, which was rather entertaining. All in all, it was a great night.

Today, I got a sense of how great the Frisbee community is. Ultimate might be a growing sport, but it definitely has the best company. As I've once heard it said, "Frisbee is the only sport where you can have the disc in one hand and a beer in the other." Perhaps because of the fact that it is a growing sport, just as fun to play unofficially as officially, I find the game - and along with it, its players - to be surprisingly chill, compared to other sports. And the people are great - competitive but so friendly, and to have a great meal after a few hours of hard playing is one of the most satisfying pleasures of life. Although I only got to play with this particular group of people for one night, and many of the teachers will probably be moving on to other places in the world to teach even if I should return to Oman during their Frisbee season, it feels good knowing that I'll probably run into them again somewhere someday at some tournament on some field, and I can't wait to see them again. 

Day 5: First Day of Work!

Sunday, June 5

Actually, there's not really much to share (I wrote in my journal for today more detail about yesterday... why, I'm not sure; I guess today was pretty uneventful). First day of work for the Royal Opera House in Muscat! Not too much to do, because our team leader hasn't arrived yet. Currently, we're working in an office down the street from the opera house, since construction of the building hasn't finished yet. We went to the site though to get a tour of the place so that we could get an idea of what the layout of the place is like. It is beautiful. Perhaps it's not as big or fancy as some other opera houses around the world, but man is it exquisite. With hand-crafted decorations such as carved marble, gold-leaf, paint and teal designs, the interior of the opera is a work of art. I mean, with all the handiwork being done and still to be done, I can see why it's taking so long for completion. Apparently construction was supposed to be done a while back, but I guess there were some major delays. In any case, the first performance in the opera house is scheduled for in 3 weeks' time, so insh'allah, it will be done before then... The transition team currently on board is a great group of people - a good mix of locals and expatriates, though chiefly expats for now - I'm looking forward to working with and getting to know them in the coming weeks.

Day 4: Recuperation

Saturday, June 4

So it looks like my "daily" blogs are going to be a few days behind, at least until I manage to catch up and fall into a proper rhythm - kind of like recovering from extreme jet lag, it takes a few days before the body becomes accustomed to the new sleeping schedule.

Here's the first: Saturday, June 4

So I arrived around 11 PM last night and hung out with Alison in the apartment, watching a cute movie before finally making myself close my eyes around 4 AM. Actually, since that translates to approximately 8 PM (EST), I couldn't actually get to sleep til around 5 or 6. Thus, in the morning when Alison woke me up around 8 AM, I sat up, make some surprisingly intelligible (but alas, unremembered) conversation with Alison, then fell back asleep until close to 3 PM. After lounging around in the apartment until Alison came back home (I was too afraid to go out, since my Arabic has a vocabulary of fewer words than the fingers on one hand, and also, more importantly, because there was only one key between the two of us, which Alison had taken with her to work, and the apartment door locks automatically...) When she got back, we went out to LuLu's Hypermarket, which is basically Walmart in department store form, not dissimilar to Macy's. Huge supermarket on the first floor, clothing and electronics on the second floor, appliances on the third floor, escalator ramps for shopping carts and all. After making our purchases, we took a cab back (we'd decided to walk over... and boy was it humid.), ordered Indian from the restaurant next door, and called it a night. I made sure to force myself to bed by midnight, so I wouldn't be too exhausted in the morning.

Note 1. O man, is HOT! Okay, horrible pun and horrible Engrish. But seriously. Average temperature around this time of the year floats around 105 degrees Farenheit, morning-afternoon-evening with a variance of about 5 degrees or so. Combine that with full humidity, and it's a pretty unpleasant place to spend your time walking around outside. Most people here drive private cars, because cab fare leans towards the pricey side, and air conditioning is on full blast. I've got to start drinking more water... On the other hand, perhaps because I've barely been outside, but the time that I have spent outside (read: 20 minute walk to LuLu's) hasn't been as bad as I was expecting. It actually kind of reminds me a lot of Central America in the summer.

Note 2. So the weekends here are Thursdays and Fridays, and the working week starts on Saturday. It's kind of ironic that after years and years of waiting for Saturdays to release us from the tedium of each school week, Saturday has become my Monday. (So yeah, I slept through my first official day of work. But I was jetlagged, so cut me some slack.) It's really weird though, because now I keep thinking that today is Monday, but it's really not, and it's really hard to keep track of the days of the week... it's actually quite disorienting.

I haven't really been out much yet, so no pictures for now; perhaps when something exciting happens? Or when I decide to dust off my camera and bring it with me outside some day. 

Playing Catchup: Days 1 - 3 (PHL, CDG, DXB, MCT)

Philly, Paris, Dubai, Muscat.

Finally made it last night to what will be home for the next 8 weeks. It was so nice to walk into the apartment and see my friend and housemate Alison, instead of an empty apartment. I haven't yet had much of a chance to get out and explore much, since last night I arrived, today I slept through most of the day (jet lag, travel exhaustion, I guess), and will venture out in few minutes to check out the neighborhood/local grocery store (Walmart)...

In the meantime, I suppose I ought to recount the last few days.

I left Philly on Wednesday evening, EST, and arrived in Paris in the morning (Paris time). After searching unsuccessfully for a water fountain and being unwilling to pay the equivalent of 7 USD for a half-liter bottle of water, I ended up chilling in the airport for about 4 hours, just reading and doing some drawings. I sketched a random guy who was passed out in the waiting area, except he ruined it by shifting his position. Sometimes I wish I could just tell someone not to move, but then that would ruin the whole drawing/photo. Paris, or at least the Charles Du Gaulle airport, is quite charming. The "toilettes" have pink seats, at least in the ladies' room, and I hear English, French, and Spanish sporadically over the intercom. French really is a cute language - I guess I've always had a thing against it after my brother tore it to pieces when I was an impressionable 8-year-old who agreed with everything her big brother said. In any case, I'd definitely like to explore France in the future, and learn to speak the pretty language as well, in the meantime.

A 7-hour-flight later, I landed in Dubai, where I was picked up by my sister and her visiting friend, C (we're going with initials for the most part, to simplify things.) It was so nice to see my sister again - she's been in Dubai for an internship, so we hadn't seen each other in about a month. Considering we're best friends and sisters, that's a pretty long time, I guess. So we arrived at her flat, I put down my suitcases, and she announced that we were going out in half an hour. So... I scrounged around for a semi-appropriate top, changed, and went out with her, C, and two other friends of my sister, A and M. It was a pretty fun time, checking out the clubs in Dubai. So many expatriates! After a year of eating clubs, to say that the club scene in Dubai is different would be quite an understatement. My only complaint would be that my eardrums were actually hurting by the time we left one of the clubs. For those of you who know me and my small hearing problem, that's a bad sign. Hopefully there was not too much damage though. After getting back to my sister's place, I crashed - didn't wake up til my sister woke me up around noon. Instead of venturing out for one of Dubai's famous Friday brunches (read here for my sister's experience), since C was still kind of sick, and I had a flight to catch in the evening, we went instead to Basta Art Cafe in Bur Dubai, which was a really cute little place with cool paintings and quite delicious sandwiches. C has some cool pics, I figured I'd let him be the paparazzi tourist. We wandered around various souqs and eventually wound up at the Mall of Dubai, where Sephora had some promotional show going on and people were hitting up the ski slope (yeah, a man-made ski slop in Dubai... say what??)... finally boarded the plane around 10 PM in DXB and landed in Muscat 45 minutes later...

Here are a few pictures, all from Dubai:

Night view of the city from the car:

My pretty sister (:

 View from my sister's flat

 Water taxis

 Gold Souq - where all the shops only sell gold.

Introduction

So, I've decided to take a page out of my sister's notebook and start up a daily blog while I am here in the Middle East. I've actually already begun a journal which I've been recording my notes in for the past few days, so there's a fair amount of catching up to do online, but in any case, this is technically Day 3 of my journey. It'll be really easy to follow for the first month or so, since the entries ought to correspond with the day of the month (I left home on June 1). Currently I'm sitting in the Dubai International Airport, waiting to board a plane to Muscat, Oman - home for the next two months. I've spent the past 24 hours with my sister (she's been here in Dubai for the past month or so for an internship), and it was fantastic seeing her and spending time with her again. But now it's now for us to get on with our own shows. So let's get this ball rolling, I'll post some updates and perhaps some pictures later. 

post-hangover insomnia

It's 4:52 AM.
Is this normal?

Good Friday

Just how heavy was that load on the way to Golgatha?

"See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down.
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?"

Heavier than we could ever imagine.

John Stuart Mill's "On Liberty"

An extract from the section "Of Individuality..." which really struck me as I sit in Panera's trying to catch up on readings for my philosophy class.

But society has no fairly got the better of individuality... In our times, from the highest class of society down to the lowest, everyone lives as under the eye of a hostile and dreaded censorship. Not only in what concerns others, but in what concerns only themselves- what do I prefer? or, what would suit my character and disposition or, what would allow the best and highest in me to have fair play, and enable it to grow and thrive? They ask themselves, what is suitable to my position? what is usually done by persons of my station and pecuniary circumstances? or (worse still) what is usually done by persons of a station and circumstances superior to mine? I do not mean that they choose what is customary in preference to what suits their own inclination. It does not occur to them to have any inclination, except for what is customary. Thus the mind itself is bowed to the yoke: even in what people do for pleasure, conformity is the first thing thought of; they like crowds; they exercise choice only among things commonly done: peculiarity of taste, eccentricity of conduct, are shunned equally with crimes: until by dint of not following their own nature they have no nature to follow: their human capacities are withered and stared: they become incapable of any strong wishes or native pleasures, and are generally without either opinions or feelings of home growth, or properly their own. Now is this, or is it not, the desirable condition of human nature? ...

"the world is both round and flat,"

says the ultimate frisbee player.

It's funny to notice how all the crises that have been occurring in the past few years have been increasingly drawing the scattered independence of the nations of the world together. Globalization as a result of earthquakes, floods, economic crises, revolutions, murders, and more? Yet even as the aid pours out [of the fraying pockets] of well-meaning nations, the disasters don't seem to cease; there is a new crisis on the other side of the globe that desperately needs attention. And then for some, the world may be as flat as it was in the pre-Socratic era of history. There is nothing past the horizon, and they remain wrapped up in their own personal affairs, oblivious (some consciously) to the plights of nations around them. Am I beginning to sound like a cynic? It's difficult not to. 

Study Break

So I haven't updated this blog in about a year and a half; as short of a time that is in the span of life, it is a huge amount of time in all that has happened since I waved goodbye to my classmate shortly before posting my grief online. In the time that has passed since then, I have experienced different heartbreaks, different joys, added to my collection of memories so much - finished high school, begun college, and am now almost finished with my first year of college. So much has changed, yet so little is different. The circle of life is more like the slinky, or the spring of life - there are so many circles, not just one, that keep coming back around again and again, wanted or not.