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Part of being an adult, I’m told (by people who claim to be adults), is learning to prioritize. Meeting deadlines, being consistent at work or school, that kind of thing. The thing about that is… how do I say this? My priorities are so, so different. Twenty-three years old and sleep is still the most important thing. Here I am, on an oddly-timed vacation and I just fall asleep wherever I’m sitting. In the car, on a sofa, sideways on an office chair, it doesn’t matter. And if there’s a bed, forget about it: I’m gone for hours. This exemplary habit of dozing off randomly has started to cause some concern among people around me, mostly because they don’t know me that well but also because why would anyone choose to sleep instead of going to the beach or wandering through a fancy mall? To these people I say, it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, I’d just rather not be an adult. Besides, I think most of you so-called adults are just pretending anyway. You do you but I gotta get my twenty-eight hours of sleep.

I’m much better at staying awake on this trip, of course. That may have something to do with the amount of soda I’ve been ingesting but also because people keep making promises of freshly rolled sushi and Turkish kababs. I don’t mean at the same time. Lunch and dinner. Or something. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not just food that gets me out of bed. I went jet-skiing with my brother (who, in an attempt to be a hero, insisted on driving fast) and I now almost understand why women can’t drive in Saudi Arabia. Almost. It was a bumpy ride. I was very concerned for my uterus and whatever other organs I need to function/live but my sense of adventure (it’s a very small sense) got to me. The whole time, I kept thinking of an older cousin who had flipped over with his daughter while jet-skiing a month or so before and cut his feet on the rocky path back to the beach. His feet started swelling and the cuts got infected and it was a whole gross thing. But, by God, I lived!

Another part of adulting for a woman of my age, of course is the choosing of a mate. I have been supremely disappointing to all my family members in this regard as I slowly age into my spinsterdom. Who knew, though, that in the heart of Dubai, I would find love? A spring fling, if you will? It all went down at a marketplace. He was selling health products in a leather jacket. I was strolling along a path. My eyes caught his beautiful green irises. His beautiful green irises caught sight of the shopping bags in my hands. He stopped us in our tracks when he spoke in a thick Turkish accent. I couldn’t take my eyes off him when he insisted I buy something organic to get rid of my acne, maybe grow out my eyelashes. A ten minute conversation about hair growth oils with my dad prevented him from staring further into my face but that was enough. I am confident we’ll meet again. I’ll think of him always: every time I eat a doner kabab; every time someone mentions Thanksgiving and especially when Erdogan is on TV.


P.S. I actually wrote most of this post during the end of my trip but I got lazy about finishing and posting it so it is obviously really late. But it’s here, so there.


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