25.08.2002 | 1:47 p.m.
something = nothing

Dubai is the epitome of postmodern,globalised hell. Look out the window,what do I see? Lives pressed in antiseptic concrete being led with perfect symmetry. Every street corner is a Simpson's joke; every trace of art is stifled by shopping malls and five star hotels. Women are all Vogue material complete with conspicuous make-up, surgically altered bodies and manufactured smiles. Men hold the waists of their fragile beauty and guide them towards ideal lives. Children revel in their Fisher-Price worlds never knowing the joys of scraped knees. Days adhere strictly to their definition to ward off madness. Wake up, shower, go to work, mask your contempt, lust after that hot co-worker, come home frustrated, watch Entertainment Tonight! blankly, get dinner at KFC, go to bed, wake up....and the schedule budges an inch on the weekends to make room for fancier dinners and alcohol binges. Ambition disappears into the ready-to-serve mixture of decorum and predictability.

"I'm a distributor for the GAP. What do you do?"

I stare beyond venetian blinds at the speedy grey. I watch sand whirling towards uniform apathy. I rub my palms against my crossed arms to fight the air con. I take delicate sips of lemon iced tea to wash down pita bread and hummous. I listen half-heartedly to background chatter about poor productions. I gasp excitedly when dad's client from EMI tells me she's from Richmond. I glance at the watch to subtlely tell Mama I want to go back to the apartment. When that doesn't work, I say "Ma, let's go back." At home, I channel surf until I stumble upon a documentary on Jean Harlow. I read erotica disguised as female sexual liberation written especially for neurasthenic house wives. I lie in bed for hours listening to "Closing Time" on repeat. Finally I fall asleep dreaming of salvation in the form of absurdity.

That is what I do. And I can bet I'm happier than you are.

deja vu? | jamais vu?