For Jon Mctait

Dubai 2007

I am spending my third Christmas this year in Dubai and restructuring my room, repainting it purple and throwing old stuff in a makeshift cremation box will definitely be the best holiday present I can give myself. Why?

Because I am bored with the city. Because it is swallowing me whole with its drone of heavy morning traffic, its disorienting construction sites/road works/hapless roundabouts and of course, its slivers of chic humanoids who are somewhat bereaved (but still chic) with their intakes of strobe light and scathing music. I guess I needed to disregard the last three years and come up with something less . . . wretched like crying over spilt milk. Like unnatural regression. Like jumping into a quasi-relationship two weeks after a break-up knowing that the baggage is over 30 kilograms and you would have to PAY (big time) for the load. I guess I needed an instant noodle soup to burn my tongue, warm my insides and make love to Dubai anew, Phoenix-style – fast! So, I will begin by painting my room in the most outrageous way possible – the color purple – mental, death-defying, regal, androgynous, passionate and imaginative. And I did. And I also had to bear the rancid smell of paint for almost a week, burning incense and scented candles that ruptured my lungs until I thought about slashing my wrists sinking in its psychedelic oxygen.

I am so sick of this city that I am beginning to see myself in India again. Doing what I really want to do: volunteer for AIDS victims and reincarnating Mother Teresa through me, although, I will never wear a habit, please. I want to WASTE one year of my very inexorable life and deal with something that would really make me happy: be with the downtrodden and recreate magic with them. I don’t know but this thought always haunts me . . . to be in India and do what I have to do. I don’t know where to start but I know I must have a year in India and just do it.

My longtime friend Jonathan, who lives in London, have the same dream.  So, when, my dearest bud? I can’t fucking wait.

Help me. I want to become a missionary, volunteer, whatever you may call it.

I am beginning to feel nauseated with ME being here. I clearly don’t belong here. I belong somewhere else. In a different person with a different job. Perhaps even with a different home base.

Destination: India.

Meantime, let me paint my room purple for now.

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