The Meeting

He is back and he wants to see me. No, he didn't say it that eloquently, rather he stressed it more strongly than expected. He arrived unannounced, catching me off guard of this another intrusion in this mundane, laid back life I tried to live. We left what we had somewhere out of nowhere. The trail of the affair just went cold and it just grow on us we did not bother to fix it. The message in my mobile, followed by six calls which I did not bother to answer proves that he is indeed back. From where, I don't know and as much as I say to myself that I don't care, I was carefully applying my mascara and my gloss in the mirror, I want him to see how I changed the past six months he last saw me, no more the doe eyed, smirking, happy-go-lucky expatriate he came to know. I was staring at my contacts ladden eyes, green and brown specks, my shoulder lenght hair washed in his favourite scent. I chose the little black dress, a pair of red wooden slippers with intricate Japanese design I bought from Tokyo. Incanto Shine by Ferragamo. I looked preppy, yet elegant, just like someone who will just take a cappucino in Starbucks and not someone who will meet a former lover who marked her for sometime.

I hailed a cab from Muraqqabat, ignoring the stares of strangers on my legs, gave the address of this obscure Arabic restaurant down Jumeirah. I was fidgeting, uneasy. I scolded myself for not downing the last bottle of the miniature vodka I secretly stocked in the cupboard to ease my nerves. I tried to recall the first time I met him. That was almost two and a half years ago. I was a newbie in the city, trapped in this country where the scent and the sounds sent me in a limbo. I was melting under the heat of the Middle Eastern sun in Bur Dubai waiting for the company car to take me back to the office and I was standing in a little corner grocery behind Dhow Palace when a frozen mocha Dodge alighted in front of me. A man in his mid thirties rolled the passenger window asking me casually if I need a ride. Damn! What did my land lady said about car lifts? Never, ever dare. They will take you to the desert and rape you. But the stranger seems to be safe. He has this smiling, deep set, cola brown eyes, a five o'clock shadow in his face, a dimple on his left cheek. Full set of white dentures. No, he did not look like a terrorist nor a suicide bomber and the sweat rolling in my back caused me so much discomfort. I asked how much he charged to take me to Al Sufoh Road. He told me whatever I can afford. He said this with a smile and I noticed an accent. British? Maybe so. I said, 20 dirhams? He just shrugged his shoulders and he said, "Ok, let's roll away." The cool breath of the AC was heaven and I snapped my SE mobile open to call the company driver to go jump in the lake. A little bit politely, I told him I took a cab. Mr. Dodge Driver was eyeing me in the mirror as I safely buckled myself, placing my body in the farthest side of the passenger door, ready to bolt if he thinks dirty. He asked me if I really believed that he is making a living picking up strangers. I just shrugged. "So", he said, "Your name is Nikki?" I stared at him aghast. How the hell did he know? He smiled broadly, "Your name badge". I stared at my chest and pulled the badge brusquley, muttering stupidly to myself. I nodded affirmatively. (Good thing I did not use my real name). He turned on the CD and the song Tunnel of Love softly blared. "Dire Straits?", I said. He looked surprised. I told him I grew up listening to their songs, my old man's collections. He seem pleased. "You are a classic girl," he said. I beamed, nice compliment, I breathed to myself. I started the conversation, asking the usual things, the traffic in Sheikh Zayed Road allowed me to basked in the sounds of this '80's British band. He said that he is an engineer with projects around the Palm, he asked things about me, I told him with all honesty. I usually warm up to strangers, a bad habit. He laughed at my anecdotes, he quoted my favourite quotes. Basically, I knew the things he is talking about, we were laughing our ass off with the things we had experienced whilst living here. He was amused by my stories and he talked about living for a long time in the UK, though he is of Spanish - Lebanese descent. The reason for the accent. We reached the office and I thanked him. I handed him the bill and he will not accept. He never intended to take anything, he just saw me in Bur Dubai and wanted to play Good Samaritan. He wants to see me again, maybe for coffee, he likes to know me better, I seemed to be an interesting read. Out of being polite, I gave my number, never thinking that by that split decision, I have change the course of my life and his.

That was 2 and a half years ago. The cab reached my final destination in Jumeirah. I descended the few plight of stairs, checking myself in the glass mirrors. He stood up when he saw me. His 6 foot 2 frame dwarfing all that was around him. I slowly walked meeting his gaze. We stood face to face, taking me in, all that I am. I became wary of his gaze and he opened his arms. I hesitated, taking a step back, he pulled me to him, crushing me in a very tight grip, inhaling me, his hands in my back, his hardness jolted me in mock surprised, he rumbled in laughter in my ear, I trembled slightly and he felt it. He held me more tightly, I struggled a little, but he won't let go. I relaxed in his arms, inhaling him, feeling his lips in my hair, his thumb tracing my spine, causing me to shiver in a good way. My eyes became misty and I tried to control it and he knew.. he knew, and he whispered "It's ok baby, I'm home."

Lion Heart

It was 11:14 in the evening and I was all alone in the darkness of my room. My little world was about to unfold into a lazy slumber and the Dubai skyline caught my attention. There are no stars in this part of the world. Barely nothing; only a hazy smoke-like oblivion which is a reminder of a sad after thought. Few lifetimes back, the Mosque gave its slow cry of prayers. Shuffles of bearded men in their flowing garbs, clutching their beads about to surrender in their earthly immortality and to commune with their beliefs.

It is in this moment of silence and weakness that I allow myself to think of you. You are my best kept secret, something I had wrapped in my little world; someone I had kept in an ornate box in the library of my memories where I could tip toe in the middle of the night and admire the sheer perfection of what we had once. You came out of nowhere and I like to believe that you are once a dark Machiavelli noble man trapped in this era of bygones and ambiguity, just a passing memory of someone who will never stay. Like the flash of your arrival your departure was also gone in a fraction of a second, causing a slow intake of breath from my part, a sigh on my lips and a wisp of gentle wind that caressess my hair locks. I missed enhaling your scent, the sound of your accent and how you eloquently expressed your desires as you carved my body with your fingers, exploring each and every inch, circling, kneading, feathery touches. But most of all, I miss the rendezvous at midnight hour, the dark conversations coupled with wordless sonatas, of my hands locked in yours, our fingers entwined in perfection. I miss the silence of togetherness, of you kissing my forehead and me hearing your rapid heartbeat as I lay my head in your chest. What we had is so achingly beautiful I had a knot in my throat and butterflies in my stomach.

Yet; there is no lingering hope that you and I might consider of giving chance another thought, another clean slate and erase all th searing words that we once said to each other to appeased our souls. Afterall, you are just a mere afterthought and I am just a passing glance. Maybe someone you knew once. And you are just the passing memory that keeps me sometimes awake in the darkness of day break.

The Love Letter

Dear You, 

I don't know where to start on this, but I know what I am feeling now is a passionate, deeply moving experience. All I know is that you had transformed me and my ordinary feelings into something rare and brilliant. I was once someone who navigates the world with indifference. I lived my life the way I wanted it to be, without pondering the consequences of my actions nor weighing my decisions in the process. But destiny played a sweet joke on me, you came and changed everything. In your own little way, you had transformed my world view and altered the way I think and reduced my level of cynicism about what is possible in the arena of human relationships. 

You were different, like nobody I've ever seen or heard or read about in this lifetime. You somehow coupled enormous intensity with warmth and kindness and there is a vague touch of innocence around you. You had witnessed and experienced my flaws and imperfections, my shining moments and downfalls, but you had stood by me with the conviction that could humble even the fiercest of all warriors. You have the habit of turning up when all around me is crumbling apart and fixed everything without any effort and questions asked.

Right now, I cannot find the courage nor the strength to say the things that are long overdue, but I am saying it now: I love you. As profoundly, as deeply a human can possibly feel. In your subtle way, you had completed me and I will not find myself wanting.

Love, 
Me

Pappy

I remember your Chuck Taylor's the most. It was a murky shade of green, a hole on the left side, your pinkie toe visible yet you did not mind. After all you were a rock star dad, your long hair tied at your back and walking with your trademark swagger. Your likes coined the grunge era in the early 80's and you hold on to it as long as you want. We held hands as you shepherded me to my Kindergarten class, my Hello Kitty back pack and my Precious Moments lunch box in tow. Wawa made an elaborate cucumber sandwich with tuna, thrown a piece of apple and my favourite Hiro Chocolate biscuits just in case I will throw the sandwich out of disgust. I remembered how I held your hand tightly, never wanting to let go, I was scared shitless of the strange place full of kids my age, wooden blocks on the floor, plastic kitchen sets, a headless Barbie doll, a red wagon with a ruddy bear as the passenger and hundred of Legos scattered on the floor. My teacher in her stiff grey uniform and horn rimmed glasses smiled benevolently as you spoke to her, while I eyed my new surroundings. I chose a seat at the back near the books and started leafing the bright coloured pages. You came to me and rumpled my head, securing my pig tails and kissing me good bye. I beg you to stay in the cafeteria, my eyes misting with apprehension and finally you said yes. I checked you from time to time to see if you are really there and I can see you with all the nannies and the mothers in their gossip hour. You were the only father there, smoking your Marlboro Reds, killing time whilst waiting for me. This went on for several weeks and I can only imagine now the boredom yet you stayed. I was used for everyone to wait for me.

I remembered how you laboured with my schoolwork, making my projects with much gusto and every time I have the highest grade, you beamed with pleasure. You taught me to draw and to appreciate art; reviewing my reading comprehension, correcting my pronunciation. I was 10 years old when you introduced Sidney Sheldon in my vocabulary. The Sands of Time, my first novel and I read and reread the life of Megan, Gracella, Lucia and Theresa all over and over again. You instilled in my head the magic of words, the beauty of classic films. I recalled how you woke me up at 12 MN to let me watch the classic Romeo and Juliet. The Montagues in their funny tights. You introduced me to politics and the intricacies of religion, your radical self slowly rubbed on me. You hate rules and you are spoiled, you disliked to be told and to be nagged. You lived your life without sense of responsibility, only good times. 

But I won't dwell on the other hateful issues, I will save it for later. For now, I want to stay in the cocoon of the past where there are butterflies and cotton candies, ET and the Sound of Music, of bed time stories and my first bicycle ride. I want to traversed the road where in a brief moment of time I was a happy child, bursting with sunshine and radiance, not the dark and morbid adolescent I turned out to be nor the cynical and sarcastic adult I am today. I want to remember dancing in the rain, of birthday parties and me as the centre of your universe. The golden child where fairy godmothers visited her in her dreams, of ballet classes and the little girl in the pink tutu.

 I want to remember the little girl who held court, with friends in pinaflores or the little Catholic child wearing a white satin dress, white veil adoring her head during Flores de Mayo with a basket of bougainvilleas and roses smiling sweetly for photographs on her first communion. I want to see the brown skinned child with a dimple in her left cheek, a toothy smile on her round face. Such innocence such bliss, such magnificence. Where did the years go by? Daddy where did you go wrong and why did you forget to hold my hand again?

Dreams of Utopia

Satin sheets tossed aside

Our legs entwined like unfinished sentence

Your unshaven face slowly grazed my neck

Sending ripples of shivers down my spine

You bit slowly as I moaned softly

Slumber carefully envelopes me

Yet your hand trails the length of my body

Causing an assault in my senses

Your fingers tracing the pubescent line of the crevices of my soul

Promising raptures of second chances

The scent of your skin next to me

Reminds me of wood smoke and jasmine

Of journeys across the Mediterranean Sea and the Arabian Desert

Of harems, Bedouins, crusaders and kibbutzes

Your dark hazel eyes all knowing

Laced with long lashes like India fan

Hiding secret getaways, rendezvous and unbroken vows

That hold constellations of amorous oracles

And somewhere in the midst of magenta winds

Of sand storms and brown, high winged falcons

Under the canopied terrains of the sands of times
I am beggared, a slave for release

You brought me to the zenith of your celestial domain

And like Icarus, I rose to the skies and feel myself burning

Down... down...down...

Steel Magnolia

I don't want to be just the girl who would regal you with words written in grandiosity and prose; nor the girl who would stimulate your mind with witty repartee's and fuel your cynicism with my own brand of wry sense of humor and amusing banters. I don't want to be the girl who you would remember as the one you hooked up on a night you were bored, a nocturnal aficionado like yourself; interesting for a while but someone you can blatantly tossed aside as soon as your conquest is rewarded and your curiosity is satisfied.

I don't want to be the girl who you placed in a pedestal, sending her to an emotional roller coaster ride and reducing her to question herself on her incapacity to handle a relationship let alone raise a pet or stand on her own two feet. I don't want to be the girl whom you require to hang on every word you say, to walk on egg shells around you and disappoint you in the process. I will not be the girl who would wait until you come to your senses nor the girl you will dismiss like a paid servant.

For I am the girl whom if equally reciprocated will make you the centre of her adrenaline. The girl who would stay in the sidelines and adore you for all that you are and not what you can dispense materially. For I am the girl who can make a name on my own and can seat on my laurels and basked in the glory of the sun. I am the girl who made surviving a religion for I am the epitome of a steel magnolia, gentle on the exterior but tough if the situation calls for it, however, empathy, warmth, laughter, kindred spirit and generosity are the makings of my being.

I am the one who was taken from your rib and molded to His perfection, the one who was placed beside you and not behind for we are one to traverse the entity of our existence with joint dispositions. The cruelty of the world managed to distort some of my smooth edges; but nevertheless, I am the girl who would put you first more than herself.

I am the girl who is in sync with your desire, who is in tuned with your mind and has the spirit to hold your reins with hands laced in velvet and steel. I am the girl you want to go home to, the one who knows you inside out; the fears that you deny and the success you secretly admire. I am the girl who would hold your hands and wipe away your doubts and inhibitions and to bear your intricacies with divine patience and humour.

For I am the girl who would bring out the best in you, your pillar of  strengthwhen it seems that everything is falling apart and after all are said and done; I am the girl who would love you better even after death.