Misadventures

I like reading other people's blogs but I only have a handful of blogs I really love. People that type as if they are writing lyrics to a song. Only a few whose adventures I truly want to read about. Real sit up and pay attention stories-I'll read every single word. So, my blog. What shall I post about? I'm sure there is only so much you want to know about what I bake or only so many photos you want to see about my wonderful holiday. I started this blog in Uganda, when every day was an adventure, but now feel I have nothing more to share than my first world problems.

I've told you Kuwait is hot, running can be wonderfully special at 5am on the seafront or hell as you dodge rubbish, man holes and catcalling. It is unusual to have a date anywhere else apart from Starbucks. And driving in the expressway is mirrored to a rally car video game. So, I need to take a fresh look.  I am going to try and write again with a pen and paper...I have to practice my handwriting for class anyway (my mum knows I'm not joking!) and see what happens.

But, until then I will share with you how this weekend I took a day off to be sad. There are times when going to bed all afternoon is justified. Tears are tiring but goodbyes are exhausting.
I've had to say goodbye to a couple of dear people in my life recently and yesterday I said goodbye to my mum in Kuwait. She has been ill in hospital for over a month and now it's time for her to go to be with her family in Sri Lanka.

In the hospital room friends pretend there is hope, put on a brave face, but my eyes are covered with my sunglasses. Flying business class, we say. What an adventure a real treat, a lovely way to start retirement. Do you think she cares that she has a wine list or a glass of champagne at takeoff or a better magazine collection? She is just so tired she says. Sweet tea and goodies are passed around and memories are shared. But I'm not sure if the show is for her or us. I feel I'm part of the back stage crew, just popping in and out of the room, not getting involved in the script.

 This powerhouse of a lady that looks after me and everyone is tired and leaving us. She was the driving force behind collections for ladies who take refuge at embassies here in Kuwait. For ill-treated maids waiting for weeks and months on end in the safe house before legally escaping back to their home country, sometimes these ladies have nothing but these care packages lovingly gathered. My dear Pyaseli will be welcomed with two big arms.


I'll write again, hopefully with an adventure of sorts...one that doesn't involve gym changing rooms!
Bye 'til then...