So yesterday I made one of the hardest decisions of my life yet. I have decided that I'm going to officially migrate out of Dubai - where and when I'm going I don't quite know (how typical), but I've pretty much made up my mind. At the moment my options seem to be either Canada, Australia, or the UK. And why this sudden decision? Well as much as I love Dubai, in all reality I don't see myself enjoying my life here for very long. My family is driving me nuts, my dating life is down the toilet, and very honestly I'm not saving any money. Plus with the way rents are going, I hardly imagine living on my own until I'm either 40 or win the freaking Mashreq Millionaire. And though I am going to missing my friends terribly (all 8 of them), I still feel that my life holds so much more for me outside this city. Who knows, maybe I'm wrong and I could just come back after a few years, but I need to fly for a while.

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Following up on a post I read on Sam's blog about being single, I thought I'd ponder about myself for a bit too. A friend of mine recently pointed out that I've stopped talking about my wedding. And I don't mean the one where my mum has handcuffed me to a woman and is leading me down the altar with a shotgun pinned to my back. I'm talking about my 'dream wedding' where I'm married to the man I love, and all my friends are there to share in my happiness. I used to talk about my wedding day nearly all the time - what food I would have, what I would be wearing during the reception, the guest list, and even what 'our first dance' song would be. And every time, her answer would be the same - "First find the guy, then worry about the wedding". I used to pretty much ignore that statement - after all, what harm is there in fantasizing about the one perfect day? But then I found the more I thought about it, the more I was desperate to get into a relationship. I kept hoping and praying for a guy to message me online, or meet my gaze in public, but nothing happened. I would flip through my Wedding Planner book and look at the pictures I had cut out of different venues, food, and even clippings of song lyrics. And the more time I spent looking at that book, the more downcast I became. So eventually, I decided to heed my friend's advice and stop thinking about my wedding day, and I haven't opened up my Wedding Planner in quite a while now. Hey, I'm 25 after all, and I've got plenty of single days left in me still.

So in my search for a man, I've jumped onto another gay dating site. Now gaydar was a complete laugh, so I thought that trying another site would help me find some intelligent men. Instead, I found that this site was utterly hilarious. There were so many guys on there with the words 'I'm looking for my soulmate / Mr Right...I hope to find him here!' Er...I hate to burst your bubble honey, but if you're on a site where half the men have their wangs as their profile picture, chances are Mr Right isn't on here.

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So in the usual run up to Valentine's Day, I find my single self standing back and looking at people go completly nuts over one lousy day. Flowers are double the price, restauraunts are over booked, and every fucking teddy from Carebearland is on the shelf, ready to be snatched up by some poor guy who hopes that the little fuzzy animal will increase his chances of his girl putting out. I digress - it's just hard to get into the romantic mood when you're single. Still, I do have a date with my vibrator which I intend to keep wholeheartedly.

It never ceases to amaze me the lengths we will go to when trying to attract someone. For example, have a look at this site (n.b not safe for work). We've become so desperate to attract someone, that we've resorted to spray freaking pig hormones on ourselves. I mean if I wanted to attract a man that way, I'd just wrap myself up in bacon and go stand out in the bloody street.

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As much as is it's sometimes easy to forget your heritage when you're not living in your home country, you are often given subtle reminders of where you come from. For example, I've been born, raised, and living in Dubai pretty much all my life, yet there come times when I am sweetly reminded of the Indian in me.

Take for example this little scenario. I was at a friend's place chatting with his mum for a bit, and I happened to mention that I was attending a wedding the following weekend. Here's the conversation, word for word:

Me: ...oh and I'm attending 's (so and so's) wedding this weekend.
Her: Oh really? That's nice...they are such a cute couple!

That's it - topic over and done with in under 5 seconds. Now I mistakenly mentioned the same thing to my mum, and pretty much all hell broke loose. You know when your mum has clearly lost it when the entire conversation consists of questions. So here goes:

Me: ...oh and I'm attending a wedding this weekend mum.
Mum: Wedding? Whose wedding?
Me: (so and so)
Mum: Them? They are getting married? Why are they getting married now? How old is that girl? She is still so young, no? And what does that boy do? I think she is also still studying, right? How is she going to study if she has a family? And isn't that boy die-vorced? What do the parents think? How can she marry a die-vorced man? Where are they having the wedding? In Dubai? Who is saying the mass? Do they even know what proper marriage is? You think these youngstars will stay at home to look after a family? Where are they holding reception? Big hotel or at their place? And what are you giving them?


Hai Hai.

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Censorship is a funny thing. Remember how you would watch programs on TV and see people's faces blurred out or they sit in total darkness doing an interview? I used to watch those interviews and think "Wow - what effective censorship...why don't we just substitue a hand puppet for the actual person next time?" The best thing I've seen is the infamous 'black strip' - the tiny black bar that goes over someone's eyes in some TV programs and in magazines. You call that censorship? What, a black circle is politically incorrect or something? Even online, so many guys' profiles have them stark naked with a black bar over their eyes. I mean what the hell, are you part of a terrorist lineup or something?

The other thing I'm begining to hate is Photoshop. Not just because it's an absolute bitch to use and I'm being forced to use it instead of my beloved Paint Shop, but I am tired of how nearly every image you see has been changed in Photoshop. Even a picture of a freaking apple will be edited so that it looks redder, rounder, and more appetizing. Models are given flawless skin, brighter eyes, fuller lips, washboard abs, bigger boobs - the list goes on and on. Wouldn't it just be better if we had a Photoshop Clinic in real life? We could just walk in, get re-drawn from head to toe, and walk out looking like a million bucks. Or a million pixels anyway.

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