I never mastered the art of swimming. In fact, I can’t swim. That hasn’t stopped me from getting into bodies of water, though. I’ll gladly get in the ocean and I’ll be fine when a wave inevitably smashes into me and flips me upside down in the surf, giving my sinus cavity a nice saline rinse in the process. I’ll get in lakes and rivers and pools, too. I’m not water-adverse, I just can’t swim.
Memories are neat. It’s neat the way they attach themselves to sensory triggers, like the way a smell will take you back 20 years to a specific place and time, like the foyer of your grandmother’s house, or the way the sound of a sprinkler can transport you across decades to a neighbor’s backyard where you spent hours running around in the water as a kid. It’s neat the way a song, one you haven’t heard in years, can take you back to your first break-up, first kiss, first road trip, first whatever. Suddenly you’re there, back in that moment, transported over miles and years, to some specific moment, seminal or otherwise.
Kuwait is not a place I’d pick to visit. There isn’t a huge tourist industry there and attractions-wise, there’s little to see. Plus, it’s hot. REALLY FUCKING HOT. And contrary to popular belief, it’s not always a dry heat. Kuwait is on the Persian Gulf and there are days when the temperatures rise to 120°F (48°C) with humidity.