The Romance in the Assyrian Convention

In August, I plan to visit the Assyrian Food Festival in San Jose for the first time. I’ll also be attending the 84th annual Assyrian American National Federation (AANF), commonly known as the Assyrian Convention, in Scottsdale, Arizona.  Coincidentally, my 41st birthday, which is fast approaching, happens during the convention which makes it more special.

Unfortunately, there appears to be negativity hovering over this Convention.  Some Assyrians on Facebook commented: “It’s not like it used to be.” “It is all about money.” “AANF is a corrupt organization.” “Its definition of success is based on a profit margin.” “There are many losers.” “It is all about parties, swimming pool music, getting high, and drunk.” “It’s a meat market.” “Cheap.” “Sleazy.” “It’s not for me.”

If you are one of those Assyrians who feel like that about AANF, I understand.

But as I write this post, I cannot stop thinking about a theory commonly called “Tin Disease.” During the harsh winter of 1812, Napoleon invaded Russia with 600,000 men. He returned to France with 10,000 men, losing 98% of his troops. According to this theory, the main cause of death of all those men was not really the cold:  it was a button – a uniform button made of tin. Because in very cold weather, Tin buttons would disintegrate and turn to dust. Napoleon’s Army couldn’t keep their jackets closed and majority died from hypothermia. Historians and chemists alike, enjoy telling this story to explain, not only the failed military invasion, but the eventual collapse of Napoleon’s empire.

Today, the president of AANF proudly claims on a Facebook that “This is the only event [AANF] in the diaspora that brings together 2,000 people over a weekend and offers them a variety of activities.”

2,000 attendees represents approximately 0.5% of the entire Assyrian population in America. Wikipedia estimates there are 400,000 Assyrians living in the which means that 1 in every 200 Assyrians living in the US, attend the conference. In my opinion, this low level of attendance shows the lack of desire for Assyrians to connect which I view as lamentable.

The number of annual attendees should arguably increase, especially after the 2003 American liberation of Iraq, when thousands of Assyrians migrated to the US. I hope that by my 57th birthday in 2033, which will be the same year as the Centennial Anniversary of the AANF, that attendance reaches 10,000.

But to be fair, AANF is not solely to blame.

I find the quote by the Italian writer Carlo Levi to be perfect for our story: “The future has an ancient heart.”

I do not intend this blog post to highlight AANF as an organization:  I wanted to emphasize the Assyrians who create history, with AANF as the venue to discuss, appreciate and document the history of our lives. Just know that all our stories in AANF are part of us now. And that they are bigger than us. They will always be.

Assyrians represent the unification of the ancient and the future at the Assyrian convention. It is a romantic idea. Romance, after all, is a nostalgic form of our history.

Every time I attend the convention, I feel I’m part of a legacy – an ancient and deep-rooted legacy.  As Europe went through World War I, Assyrians in America formed the AANF. Along with it, the Annual Assyrian Convention tradition was born…to tell our story…stories that connect us, those are our chemical molecules. Those are endorphin of our brain, the interwoven relationship between chemistry and history comes alive at the conventions. That is why I love the AANF mission, vision, and value. I support it.

Because of the decreased interest in attendance, future Centennial Anniversaries of AANF appears to be the opposite of the grandeur of ancient Assyria. So do not listen to your inner voice when it tells you not to attend. I invite you to come and perform countless acts of kindness for other Assyrians in exchange for a new story. 

In this post, rather than speculating on the reasons for the Facebook comments above, or get involved in nuisance arguments with others, I’d rather talk about the positive molecules of our lives. I want to shape the process of thought by supplying the substance of thoughts.

So despite all the negativity surrounding the Assyrian convention, I’m here to tell you – it’s okay. Just come. Even if you don’t have a group, a girlfriend, or a boyfriend to come with, it’s okay. I am going, because I want to be connected. So you should too! Let the endorphin’s reaction of our connection be caused of our unity. The aromatic molecules from our stories are abundant. We will have something to talk about.

See you at the convention, or maybe earlier at the Assyrian Food Festival, stop me… I’ll smile very serenely and say, nice to meet you. That is our future.



P.S. 1. I am not a member or a volunteer for AANF. I did not get paid to write this.

P.S. 2. Last year and this year I’m staying at Embassy Suites by Hilton Scottsdale Resort last year.  A seven-minute walk from the convention hotel.

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The Holy Trinity of Doing Business in Iraq

*3 mins read.

The world’s tallest building is in Dubai – but not for long. Because in Basra, Iraq “The Bride” – a 604 story building – will soon rise, according to Business Insider.

Because I’ve been working in Iraq for a few years, friends and acquaintances always ask me about business opportunities in Iraq. Questions like: what are the best industries? What could I invest in? What does Iraq need?

My answers to these questions is simple, Iraq needs a complete reconstruction starting from underground with sewage systems, to street paving, to building bridges, hospitals, and entire cities.

There is a lot of interest, on the part of many different companies, to explore the new market after the political climate settles down and the war on ISIS ends.

And most importantly, Iraq has the resources to pay for it all. Iraq has the potential be the next Dubai. But what is stopping Iraq from becoming the next Dubai?

The answer to that is simple – the holy trinity!

  1. Who do you know?
  2. Who can you influence?
  3. Who can you bribe*?

Unfortunately, Iraq’s business market is run by powerful groups and elites, political parties who control government institutions. It’s not a monopoly, it is oligopsony.

After the collapse of the Roman Empire, a hierarchical feudal order emerged in Europe with kings, lords, and peasants. Just like that 2000 years later, after the collapse of Saddam’s regime, a hierarchical order emerged in Iraq with a few political parties, bureaucrats, and modern day sherpas.

Those political parties control the government and dedicated to building personal wealth, bureaucrats acting like bandits, and sherpas do the daily work.

I cannot explicitly use names of companies, but I can share the pattern of how doing business in Iraq is done.

For example, XYZ Corporation wants to open a business. XYZ seeks or knows someone in Iraq. This Iraqi person is related to someone who is influential. This influential person can collude/bribe with an official or member of a political party to bless all the paperwork through the bureaucratic channels. These Iraqi bureaucrats would sign, stamp, and shuffle the documents faster than calling back their wives – when, that is, they get a call from a political party member. 

This official would bring protection against harassment from different sides too, and would probably offer militia protection at a discount. 

Someone might ask: how do these companies bribe these officials? Well, very simple.  This eponymous official has a close family member who acts as a consultant. This consultant signs the legal documents to obtain fees for his consulting services, provides account numbers for his off-shore accounts. As contracts get signed, money gets wired to those accounts – the holy trinity at its best!  

Here is a video for an Iraqi recognized parliament member Hanan Al Fatlawi confesses on Iraqi National TV (min 1:04+): “Iraqi is a piece of cake. We divided it between us. Everyone took his/her piece, contracts, commissions,…all of us benefited…

I provided the recipe of why nations like Iraq and others fail. There is no need for economic theories or open-market laws in a country where the laws of AK-47 and militia rules. Only those who Nassim Taleb refers to as “Intellectual Yet Idiots” who he describes as Ivy League educated yet “cannot find a coconut on a coconut island” would infer otherwise.

This oligopsony with its holy trinity is the single obstacle to economic growth. These people stand against the economic progress, which leads to unemployment and makes many people susceptible to be exploited by terrorist’s organizations.

If you are a major business and would like to invest in Iraq, it would be extremely difficult without the blessing of the holy trinity.  Without it…I say good luck!

As for Iraq, it shouldn’t require the rise of a benevolent dictator to strike down this holy trinity with sledgehammer on an anvil to forge a brighter future and make Iraq the next Dubai.


*Bribe: It’s an interesting concept. It has a different meaning to different people such as consulting fees. Since the Creation (if you believe in the Bible) where the Serpent bribed Eve with an apple (eating a fruit), to Jared Kusher’s personal touch in weapons sale to Saudis, humankind has been bribing each other. It will not stop. And with $110 Billion, a lot of people believe you can even bribe god this time.



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Less Than 24 Hours in Qatar

Qatar will be the 25th country I will visit.

“In the next few hours, my life will change,” I told my friend on the phone. It was time to return to Chicago, to the real world. It has been six months and five days since the last time I was in America.

I had an 18-hour layover in Qatar. After all these months in Iraq, I deserve any luxury that comes my way. My journey home had started.

After a two hour flight from Baghdad, I landed in Qatar. I’ve never seen such an impressive airport. It is a source of national pride for Qataris.

I proceeded to the passport control. Upon arrival as an American, I paid $20 for a tourist visa. My friend Abdul Latif was waiting for me. He has been working in Qatar for about three years. As we drove to the city, we were sharing updates about our lives and I said: “I wonder if my negative attitude about Qatar will change after my visit.

I started asking him all kinds of questions about Qatar. And he answered, giving me his perspective as an American expat. Apparently, he enjoys working there. One of the odd things he mentioned was that Qatar treats teachers very well. He knows of an American couple that teaches English in one of the Universities. They get paid well and have an impressive apartment as part of their package.

We drove to Souq Waqif – which means “standing market” – to have some lunch. There are numerous shops selling souvenirs, traditional garments, handicrafts, and a few shisha lounges. The Souq is one of the last remaining authentic features in Doha. The area is popular with locals, tourists, and expats alike.


The novelty of this scene that we are two Americans having lunch at an Iranian restaurant, together with other Iranians, being served by a Filipino waiter in an Arabic country. It’s a true mix of cultures, eating and working together during a time when President Trump is raising political tension with Iran. It all makes for a very charming picture now. But if war broke out between Iran and America, I wouldn’t want to bet on peaceful co-existence continuing, between the Iranian and American ex-pats living in Qatar.

I told Abdul Latif, Qatar has a relatively negative reputation in Iraq. Most Shi’a Iraqis believe that Qatar is one of the countries that is financing ISIS activities in Iraq.

“What is your take on that?” I asked.

“Well, Qatar is not financing ISIS, but kind of paying a tribute so problems stay away from them, similar to store owners paying mobsters protection money.”

“Interesting spin,” I said. (Most of these Qataris don’t realize that they are looked at negatively in Iraq.)

After lunch, we went on a tour of the city, which appears to be under construction in preparation for hosting the FIFA 2022 World Cup. We passed by the soccer stadium that will showcase opening night – very impressive.

Then we visited the Villaggio Mall with its VIP public bathrooms. As we parked, some Indian (or maybe they were Palistani, a prime example of a country’s inequality/class) car wash workers came and offered to wash our car. It was an interesting concept – an extra add-on to the shopping experience. Wealthy Qataris probably never wash their cars themselves. As for the mall, with its canals and gondolas, it emulated the city of Venice.

It was evening by the time we left the mall. It was time to go check the Qatar Corniche with its nice panoramic view of the skyline. It was Thursday night, the start of Qatar’s weekend. Many people enjoy promenading on the corniche. I said people, but in reality, it was 95% males walking around. Just walking and probably drinking Coca Cola. I guess, in this part of the world, that’s part of an ultimate weekend.

Abdul Latif pointed to the buildings of Qatar’s skyline and said, “the majority of these high-rises are empty.” I guess he was inferring that there is a real estate “bubble”.

I asked him if there is any other place to see before I leave. “Not really”, he replied. Apparently, one can tour Qatar in less than 24 hours.

We then drove to the DoubleTree hotel by Doha’s Old Town. I noticed posters of Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani and his father in many of the buildings and hotels in the capital. The son took over the kingdom from his father after a bloodless coup d’etat. I actually thought it was both ironic and funny.

It has become customary in many Arab nations for the ruler to prepare his son to take over after his death. Pictures of the son would be next to the father in most public buildings. It’s a not so subtle form of propagandic intimidation – “my son will take over after my death. Don’t even think about it!”

But wait, I started to see a parallel with American politics. It was first George “H” Bush and then we had to deal with “W” (on the Republican side). For the Democrats, it almost became the husband and wife show of the Clintons. As for the Trumps, I don’t know what to make of this just yet, but it seems that he is preparing his daughter for the Presidency. It looks like an Arab style nepotistic power grab.

When I arrived at the hotel, I found out that there was a nightclub and to my surprise, they served alcohol and because I heard music, probably allowed dancing. I wondered if, like in some other Arab countries, there would be signs that said “No Man to Man Dancing”. I wasn’t able to satisfy my curiosity because I couldn’t get in the club. They had a strict dress code and I didn’t have my dress shoes with me. I found the entire thing to be shocking – tantamount to finding a nightclub inside a prison in Venezuela.

I had scheduled a shuttle the night before to take me to the airport at 5:30 AM the next day. As I was waiting in the hotel lobby for it to arrive, the concierge asked if I was waiting for a taxi. I said: “No I’m waiting for the hotel shuttle to the airport.”

“Yes sir, the car is waiting for you.” He replied.

The van “shuttle” I was expecting turned out to be a 2016 Audi A8. I guess in rich countries like Qatar, words like “shuttle” are not exactly lost in translation, but take on a different meaning.

Later, when I reached the C10 gate, Qatar Airway’s Boing 777-300ER was waiting to fly me home. As my flight was taking off, I realized that my pre-conceived notions of Qatar still needed more thought, because as we all know processes and politics in the Middle East are complicated, to say the least.



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The Longest Bridge

*Note: This is my incomplete ninth draft version for possible memoir book.


Let me introduce myself. My name is Ninos Youkhana. I didn’t graduate from an Ivy League school. I haven’t held a high position in a glamorous American company or served in public office. I’m not a lawyer or a doctor. I haven’t built a billion dollar business. I will not enter the history books like Saint Steve Jobs or the modern day Alexander the Great, Mark Zuckerberg, who connected humanity. In short, I haven’t accomplished anything great that would justify a stranger reading about my life and my thoughts. In a world where no story seems worthy of public mention unless it comes from the lives of famous people like the Holy Mother of Silicon Valley Sheryl Sandberg, this is my story of how I got here. It’s my memoir.

I’m forty years old, born in the land of Sindbad the Sailor – Basrah, Iraq. The greatest things I’ve done are to migrate to America, learn English (for which I still need my dictionary every day, even for some basic words) finish my Bachelor and Masters degrees in Computer Science, work as a translator for the U.S. Army in Iraq, and as a cultural adviser for the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad. The coolest thing I’ve done is crossing the bridge between the American world and the Arabic world – several times. From a nation of kebabs to a nation of cheesecakes, from a nation where honor is tied to a woman to a nation where honor is tied to an income, from a nation where an average American can die from bingeing on fast food rather than dying from a car bomb like in Baghdad, from a nation where casual sex could get you killed to a nation where finding one-night stands is just a matter of swiping right, I have crossed the longest bridge – between the Muslims and Christians. As many people do each year.

But just like each person has a unique thumb print, I believe each person has a story to tell. It is all about the stories of our lives that secure us a place in history. And to remember our past is not just for memories, but a rebirth of our future. There are many ways to write a story. This is my journey from misery to magic, brick by brick.

I wrote this book for the American people, the Iraqi people, my Assyrian community around the world, and for my family. One of my main reasons is to find closure, similar to the closure an American family might seek when trying to understand how – but especially why – their daughter died in Iraq while serving in the U.S Army.

While Americans feel lucky being born in the most powerful, politically stable country in the world, with access to Ivy League schools, and the advantage of having the social capital to network themselves to high positions in influential companies like Facebook or Lockheed Martin, I’d like to find closure for my misfortune of being born in the wrong country at the wrong time. The world knows what happened to Iraq, but I’d like to know why it happened. I’d like to know why, simply being born in Iraq, has sometimes made it seem like I committed a crime. Sometimes even, that I committed a crime against my own fate.

Just like Americans, I was born in one of the richest countries in the world. Yet the American foreign policy adopted by the elites of Washington DC kept my country at war with Iran for eight devastating years – all to serve American interests – eventually leading to the Kuwait invasion. That, in turn, was followed by ten years of sanctions that landed me in Jordan, as a refugee, before I migrated to America. Why did the elites of DC do this to Iraq? Was the Iraqi blood cheaper than the American blood?

Then came the quagmire of the American invasion. After fifteen years of liberation from Saddam’s dictatorship as of this writing, the democratically elected government of Iraq has nothing to show the Iraqi people, their ineptitude only demonstrates that the efficiency of a dictatorship is a better option for securing and building an Arab nation.

Obviously, I would have had a very different history. And very possibly, if America’s companies had been vying for contracts and Anglo-Americans seeking employment in Iraq, I could’ve enjoyed the life of an Emirati in my country. I could’ve given you my spot in the American dream.

In the book, I will attempt to find answers to many other questions asked by Iraqis and Americans.


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Black And White – A Workout Reverie

*2 min

I was breathing hard as I was swinging the kettlebell. I lost count, was it 64? I placed the kettlebell on the ground. My heart was pumping fast. I took a breath and raised the volume of the music in my ear. The sharpness of her voice was giving me goose bumps.

Linda George’s, elixir of Assyrian singers and the zeitgeist of the Assyrian music, “Kuma O Khara” (Black and White) song was playing loud in my ears. The rhythm was pumping in my blood, her words were echoing in my head – life is a series of bad days and good days.  This is how our life will pass until we die.

It was a bad day for me, lost in a maze of choices. Caught by analysis paralysis, but really it felt more of Buridan’s ass. I wanted to shake destiny.

I’m expecting something to happen that will open the door to the next level. Maybe it’s my Middle Eastern mindset of transferring responsibility to a higher authority, in this case God, or the American mindset of believing in Karma, in this case, waiting to cash in on my past good deeds. But the sky never bothered itself to return an answer, and Karma it seems is a placebo effect.

So far, I lived an average life, and I just don’t want to live an average life. I refuse to think I failed for not achieving greatness.

That special feeling that we have when we were kids growing up thinking we were destined for something big. Then all of a sudden you realize there is nothing special in you, and you might just be another average person living a boring life – one good day followed by a bad day. It’s psychologically crushing.

I looked at the mirror in front of me. I saw myself and couldn’t believe I’m 40. I wish I had data on those years. How many of those 40 years were bad? How many of those years were good? How many days were bad? How many days were good? I don’t know.

But imagine if we have marked our calendar life with a bad day or good day mark.  How would it look after all these years? How much sadness or joyfulness fill those calendar boxes?

I don’t want to lose that childhood feeling. I don’t want to give up.

I have to make some decisions soon and perhaps wait for the divine to wake up and say something.

A bad day or a good day, this is neither good nor bad. It is simply life.  We all have to deal with it.

I picked up the kettlebell and started to swing again. One…two…three…four…black…white…nine…ten…eleven…twelve…thirteen…black…white…lost in another reverie.


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Why I stayed working in Iraq?

*2 min

“Against our deepest wishes, we become suddenly, inexplicably, committed to a path we have avoided, a line of thought we’d had no interest in.” – Zachary Lazar

Last year I wrote a post titled: “Five Years between T-Walls” where I talked about some of the psychological problems I faced working in Iraq, one of them is the battling destiny vs. choice dilemma.

After that post, some people emailed me back and asked if I was ok. Others wondered why I even stayed that long working in Iraq. Why did I sacrifice that many years of my life? Why did I miss all those special moments and holidays away from my family?

I wasn’t there for my grandmother’s funeral.  I arrived in Chicago two days before my sister’s wedding. I wasn’t stateside when my first nephew was born. Two romantic relationships fizzled out. And, I flew back to Iraq the day my father was going through his cancer surgery. And many more milestones slipped by in my absence.

Why did I do all that? Did I love working in Iraq that much? Or did I love making money that much?

In this post, I try to answer these questions briefly. I will leave the long answer for, possibly, a future book.

When I read books that cover the past fourteen years of the American history in Iraq, I feel I’m part of those books. I understand it. I live it.

And, not like the way a physics teacher understands physics. But maybe the way a chemistry teacher lives through chemical reactions, or better yet, a boxer in a boxing match. I live in those pages of the American history in Iraq.

I was paid, (and paid well) to be part of historyfrom the first day of the American invasion of Iraq until President Trump’s travel ban…from the absurdity of it to the idealism of it all. In this sequestered life in Iraq, I feel at home. I feel I’m somebody. It gave me a sense of identity. I’m on the frontlines of American foreign policy.

When I ponder my option to go back to my normal life in the U.S., I get confused. I face uncertainty. I face another type of loss: prestige, status, income, identity… being somebody. Maybe it’s a version of “Into Thin Air”, mine is ”Into the Uncertainty”.

What will I do that is bigger and better than now? Be a business analyst? A consultant? A manager? A programmer? A falafel shop and maybe call it the T-Wall Kitchen?

t-wall-kitchenphoto credit: Diego Montoya

Five years ago, I was designing a few programming processes that would go into a new health care system for Blue Cross Blue Shield of Illinois. I was sitting on the sixth floor of one of the high-rise buildings in downtown Chicago. I could turn my chair and face Millennium Park. But I didn’t feel the purposefulness. I didn’t feel the satisfaction.

Some escapades in Iraq make me feel high like the satisfaction of climbing Mount Everest. I connect governments.

If I go back to the US, then I must go back to something even bigger than what I have now. I can’t move backward. My heart wouldn’t let me.

This is the toughest decision I have to make, to go home…to go from being somebody to being nobody. It will never be the same.

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40 Reasons Why I’m THE Assyrian Bachelor

As a painful memory of my New Year’s Eve fades away, I thought of starting my first blog of 2017 with a subject I haven’t written about in the past four years of blogging.

Here is a little background to where and when I was inspired to write this post.

On Christmas day of 2016, I was with a few friends and co-workers somewhere not identified on Google map in Baghdad. It was late evening, the sky was clear after a rainy day, and the ground turned to mud. Between our muddy cars and the ubiquitous T-Walls, we hosted the last bonfire.

The culture shock of the lifestyle between T-Walls is difficult to depict in writing for those who have not lived it. The demographic ratio between men to women is literally hundreds to one. In this environment, the attractiveness of a female rises exponentially. Not only does a two in Chicago becomes ten, but she gains the notoriety of Kim Kardashian as soon as she lands in our bubble. 

No, I’m not spilling my guts, but after five years, I’m still not used to it.

Ravenous for any female contact, where kissing is a revolutionary activity, friends and co-workers are always trying to outdo each other in every way imaginable. I surrendered to my cloistered life and gave up on any attempts to meet a girl long ago. I would be better off searching for El Dorado.

While we were drinking and exchanging stories with a bit of Don Quixote style self-aggrandizement, our conversation turned to women. As usual. 

Fueled by a few Vodka drinks, dating stories, and with some motivation from men who checked-in to a life/work style of (D)ivorced, (S)ingle, (S)eparated Department, I was inspired to write this post.

I must stop typing now to let you enjoy my list, the voice of truth, and go wash my hands from the omnipresent Baghdad dust.

40 Reasons Why I’m THE Assyrian Bachelor

  1. I’m 40 years old. Never married and no kids.
  1. I kill spiders with an Assyrian worrier courage. (Flip flop is my ultimate weapon.)
  2. I give you my Facebook password. (This act will create problems but it will level off as you take command.)
  3. I’ll click “Like” on anything you post on Facebook and Instagram.
  4. I let you take all the time you need to get ready. I get ready half an hour before you are done.
  5. I am human; but I have a big heart. I forgive quickly.
  6. Your parents will love me.
  7. You will be the only one I follow on Twitter. (Comic included illustrating the impact.)
    Twitter Romance
  8. I let you win in any game we play. (I suck in games.)
  9. I admit when I’m wrong. I’m always wrong.
  10. We travel at least once a year.
  11. I buy new airline tickets to a different country, if you don’t like the country we just visited.
  12. I listen when you talk.
  13. When you are upset, I will shut my mouth rather than trying to answer you.
  14. I can be your date for anything. (Just don’t abuse it.)
  15. I text you and ask you about your day.
  16. I return your text within an hour. (I know what you’re thinking. Why one hour?)
  17. I always use proper form in writing when texting (You vs. U etc.)
  18. Any gift from you will make me happy; because I know you are thinking of me.
  19. I’m against animal cruelty.
  20. I always go to the gym.
  21. I write our love story.
  22. We eat at Hard Rock café in every city we travel to. (If there is one.)
  23. I cook for you, although the truth is I don’t even know how to cook an egg.
  24. I drink red wine mostly; and I’ll sneak bottle of wine into movie theaters. However, I usually forget the corkscrew.
  25. I am a wealth of useless facts, random stories, and some inappropriate jokes.
  26. I don’t live in fantasy football. And I don’t care about super ball or any sport in that matter.
  27. I buy you a new Louis Vuitton piece on your every birthday. (This is a big one.)
  28. I write our life legacy for our kids.
  29. I binge watch your favorite TV show with you even though I don’t watch TV. (Just don’t abuse it. I need time to read.)
  30. You can go out with your friends every time you feel like it.
  31. There’s nothing you can break that I cannot buy. (Except my heart.)
  32. You never gained weight. Wear it!
  33. You buy at least one piece of clothing a week, because I know you have nothing to wear. (I’m taking a risk here.)
  34. When you ask me what’s wrong, I never say “nothing”.
  35. I read Men Are from Mars, Women are from Venus book. Ergo, I understand a little bit about relationship. (No consoling is needed.)
  36. I read Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence book. Thus, I understand a little bit about sexual life. (No consoling is needed.)
  37. By now I’m deeply loyal to iPhone. Switching me to Samsung is an act of cheating. (Let me have this one)
  38. I’ll go shopping with you. (Just don’t abuse it.)
  39. I‘m romantic like Mr. Casanova and naughty like Mr. Grey. (Must have a lot of alcohol for this.)


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