extraordinary dreams

This is a hard one to write. I told myself that in this post, I would open up more about myself than quote the Rats or use my friends' life dilemmas to make a few people laugh. It's the last post of the decade, and I want to end on something more personal.
Ten years ago like now, I was in Jordan with my entire family, welcoming the new decade in the Wadi Rum desert, near a bonfire and under a sky full of shooting stars. There was so much love and laughter that day that I thought we were going to have a really wonderful year, or ten. And let's just say it wasn't quite what I expected. Three divorces, five cancers, four deaths.
Now before came the doomed decade, I was the unstoppable kind: I thought of myself as the best writer at age 13, and wrote a book to prove it. I thought I was going to be one of the greatest actors of our times, and had started acting in plays, always as a leading character of course. There was nothing humble about me or my dreams, and I believed in them more than anything. I miss that about me. Because once reality started crashing in, I stopped dreaming. I was sixteen but thought of myself as an adult. I thought "now that I understand life (imagine the audacity) I have to prepare myself. No more silly dreams about winning oscars and making the best-seller lists. Let's go to AUB, do some practical degree about something I couldn't care less about, and lower our expectations." Wow. Really amazing philosophy of life I got there.
And every so often, I would wake up in the middle of night in cold sweats, terrified that all I was doing with my life was what everyone else was doing, and that all I was ever going to be is what everyone else was going to be. I was going to be ordinary. And that was the single thing I never  ever wanted to be.
But I was too scared of being disappointed. There are things I couldn't control, like the fact that my mother died before she saw any of her kids grow up. So in what I could control, I would make sure there would be no disappointment factor. I let all of my dreams go.
The truth is, I made a huge mistake. I thought I could manage my disappointments by lowering my expectations and that turned out to be the biggest disappointment of all. And it wasn't the lesson I was supposed to learn. Here's what I know now: Life is short. And it can take months of fighting a disease or a split second to take you away, and no one knows when.
In the last decade, I lost my faith in God and I said a prayer at the Vatican; I broke a heart, and I dated a guy who turned out to be gay; I lived in my very own apartment in New York City and somehow I'm right back where I started: sharing a bedroom with my younger sister and fighting with her about wearing my new shoes.
Now comes the next decade... And there won't be any shooting stars to make a wish to, but I want to dream again. And I don't know yet what those dreams are going to be, but the possibility of doing something extraordinary is enough.

letting go

"There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go" (Author Unknown)

It's the last week of the year and it's a good time for change. This weekend, a lot of my friends had a down moment, inevitably linked to the emotions of the holidays, and there was a bit of loneliness to deal with. One waited for a Merry Xmas message that never came --even though she had no idea she was expecting it until she was actually expecting it. The other ran back to her ex after eight months of separation even though she truly knows she never wants to be with him again --Xmas made her doubt. A third found out her ex got engaged and even though it's been years since she's even seen him, she couldn't help but cry her eyes out all day. And I'll admit I cried more than a couple of times for a lot less reason than her over the last two days, including once for crashing my car (slightly) and at least three times because of my friend the Masochist.
And now it's over. It's Monday morning, and the resolutions are falling into place as we put the year, and the decade, in perspective. And before comes 2011, I think we better let go.
I don't know about the boys, but us girls, when it comes to stirring up the past and dragging it on forever, we're absolute professionals. We look back and reminisce and keep reliving moments that are gone, feeding a memory that has no more place in our lives and has nothing to do with the present. And we forget to live in the moment.
But we should have more confidence than that. Just because we lost something or someone, doesn't mean we are doomed to a life of loneliness. And just because we don't have a man in our lives, doesn't mean our lives are incomplete. Sometimes I feel like we live in a society where everything we talk about and all we live for is men, women, relationships, flings, one night stands, breakups, divorces, engagements, and the whole nine yards. I'm not one to talk, I write a blog about it, and I'm always surprised at how many topics I still haven't tackled. But it's too much. Everything all day long is about this one and only obsession. Ninety percent of conversations at all times have something to do with men and women dynamics. A friend told me a couple of weeks ago "women aren't my priority." And I thought, my God, how refreshing. I had never heard that before.
I guess loneliness is what we make it out to be. We can choose to feel like we are lonely --or look around and realize that we are lucky to be so fully surrounded. And most importantly, we should learn how to be one hundred percent good with ourselves first and foremost. That's my number one resolution.

xmas blues

The city is filled with lights and bumper to bumper traffic, holiday tunes are all over the radio, last minute gifts are being packed. And for some inexplicable reason, I'm getting the blues.
Not to be a grinch --but that wonderful joy that came with being a kid and waiting for Santa to come around on Christmas eve to distribute gifts and hear us sing "petit papa noel," it's gone now.
When we were children, Christmas was all about the presents. How many will be under the tree, did the letter to Santa arrive, am I getting everything I asked for?
Then as we get older, well, it's still about the presents. But it also becomes about family. You start to appreciate being around the people you love,  and although Christmas is just an excuse to get together, it has this sort of magical power that helps people mend tensions and brings everyone together. The airport is filled with people trying to get to their families after days of backed up flights and snowstorms, because everyone wants to get home before the turkey is out of the oven.
And as the years go by, it becomes about the people you miss. The faces that aren't around the table anymore, only around us, in picture frames. And although we miss them every day, somehow, on a day like Christmas, we miss them more.
And that's for the lucky ones. Others live through Christmas like they do on any other given day, in misery, without any food, in a refugee camp, or in a hospital. There are no presents and no families. No trees, no lights, no holiday tunes.
So here's a thought: for Christmas, say a prayer. For those we miss, and for those who miss out on everything.

In perspective

I'm going to allow myself to go off topic this once.
Today I don't feel like making some witty remark about how the Rats have an excel sheet comparing their penis size to their height in percentages (I saw it with my own two eyes), or how women all over the country are preparing for the arrival of a fresh shipment of males. Although it would be fun to tackle, today I want to put things in perspective.
Last night, my 16-year-old cousin arrived from Chicago. She has been there for the last ten weeks, in a rehabilitation center, working on regaining every function in her body. Three months ago she fell off her horse, broke a cervical vertebrae, and lost everything we take for granted every day, like the ability to move her fingers, her arms, sit up, stand up, move her toes, walk a step.
Now she can already stand up on her own, take steps with a walker, and regained almost all of her arms and hands' functions. And in a couple of months we all know she will be on her feet again, dancing away. It's a miracle. But what is even more of a miracle, is to look at this young girl's face and see her smile. From day one, stuck in intensive care with a tube down her throat for days, this little Princess gave us the most beautiful smile in the world. It's so full of positive energy, that you can feel her magical spirit all around, and it's contagious. There is no doubt in my mind that her attitude is what helped her defy the odds of spinal cord injury and fight for her right to stand up and walk again.
When I saw her yesterday after her 24 hours of flying, she looked more beautiful then ever. I thought of all the stupid, silly things I complain about every day, and I put them in perspective. Here I was standing in front of my 16-year-old cousin sitting in a wheel-chair, exhausted, but still looking happier than I've ever felt. Made me feel so small.
Some people say you have to stop and look around you from time to time, because there are always things happening, or people in your life teaching you things without you even realizing it. Yesterday I learnt that even though life can take away every function in your body, it can't take away your spirit.
And don't think it stops here. Even though she's been in Chicago working her ass off for the last two months, this cheeky little girl is back with dates lined up with two different guys.
We've got a lot to learn.

Casanovas, Batmans and Assholes

When I wrote about my first love at the beginning of the week, two of my friends wrote some 30 emails back and forth complaining about the fact that I don't write about them. They even came to the conclusion that they should create their own blog, but ended up fighting on who gets to be the main character. One wants to be Casanova, self described as the "great lover from the land of Arabia." The other wants to be Batman, a "successful, generous man, a sexual machine, and a great lover." And now they might both kill me.
The reason I bring it up, is because I was thinking of the kind of men women want. We've already established that in most cases, men love bitches. But I don't think there is an equivalent generality that applies for women. Women are so emotionally unstable (let's face it...) that we can like one type of guy one day and his exact opposite the next. Yesterday a guy told me "what is it about women and assholes?" For a minute I thought "yeah, what is it about women and assholes...?" but then I realized: actually, it's women and every type of man imaginable. You'll always find a girl who digs some type of a guy.
Let's start with Casanova, for example. Some women love his player type, the guy who hits on all the ladies --but makes them feel like they're different from the others, more special. The man can sweet talk his way into any girl's heart and make her think she is so much better than all the other hundreds of girls he's hit on before. And that lasts for about a night, until she wakes up the next morning and realizes she's just another number on the list.
Then there's the Batman kind. Looks good in formal clothes, makes a lot of money, spoils a girl rotten. He makes her feel protected --he is Batman after all. Or so he thinks. But it's all about what seems to be with this guy, not what actually is.
Some women like the jealous, possessive type. they complain about it all the time, but secretly adore the fact that their man is so in love with them that he goes insane if she even talks to another guy. Other women fall for the lost artist... the one who acts like no one really understands him, writes a poem that no one is allowed to read, or spends days locked up in a room to find inspiration... The girl's instinct is to become his muse, inspire the artist so he can never let her go.
There's also the i'm-not-over-my-childhood-trauma one, who hooks the girl when he finally "opens up" because she thinks he's never opened up like that to anyone before and that must mean she's special and now she's the only one in the world who can save him...
Even the nerdy one can get attention, if he has that slightly awkward I've never been with a girl but also the I'm too hot to be a nerd thing going for him. There will always be a girl who will want to unleash the sexy beast hiding in his nerdy shell.
And then there's the asshole. The one who acts all tough --but girls somehow manage to see his "sensitive side." And she feels special because she knows about that sensitive side that no one else can see. And she takes his assholic B.S. because when, once in a blue moon, when he decides to be nice, it feels so special she forgets all about everything else.
Basically, it's about what type of man will make a girl feel like she is special. Like she is different. Like he needs her. Types that take us girls to a different dimension, where we see ourselves as unique, and we can imagine the princess and castle happy ending we were always promised as little girls.
So I don't think the question is "what is about women and assholes?"
I think it's just "what is it about women?"

measured love

I remember my first love.

I was eight, he was nine. We didn't need to talk, communicate, or even pretend like we knew each other to be in love. At that time, you could just pick. Point to a boy in class and decide you were in love with him. And when I was eight, I picked out the boy I would decide to love for the next couple of years. He once sent me a Pepsi Can with a messenger during recess, who told me it was a "gift from someone." I only found out it was from him because his mom told my mom that her son bought me something at school. And I once made him a Valentine's card with paper glue and heart-shaped pasta. It was that cute. But from age 8 to age 11, we never actually spoke to each other. After that it was a little more okay to say hello when passing each other. Then we started having boy/girl parties and it was okay to expect the boy to ask you to dance... and maybe it would be a normal dance where you kind of move from side to side in front of each other, and maybe it would be a slow dance... and maybe the arms would be left at arms length, and maybe we would do the unthinkable and actually slow dance with our arms wrapped around each other. That was how we measured love. 

My first love ended up being my first slow dance, my first kiss, my first boyfriend --and my first heartbreaker. It's okay, I have forgiven him since then.

But after the simple times of no communication and arms-length slow dancing, things started to get a little more complicated. Boys and girls started "going out." The boy would ask the girl, "will you go out with me?" and it was decided that they would be a couple. You could've never spoken to the boy before in your life, but he could still ask you out and if you said yes the minute after you were considered his girlfriend. Maybe not very romantic, but actually very practical: the terms were very clear from start to finish, there was no grey area. Will you go out with me? Yes. I'm breaking up with you. Okay. All black and white, no confusion. Simpler times.

And now... Well, now we're at point where you can kiss someone without knowing their first name, have sex with someone you met twenty minutes ago, kiss and have sex on a regular basis without actually being a couple, or be a couple without actually kissing or having sex.

Kind of makes the "will you go out with me?" seem a lot more romantic. 

Some couples are married, live in the same house, have children together --but sleep in different rooms, only greet each other out of politeness, and become virtual strangers. There are no more Pepsi cans being delivered, or heart-shaped pasta carefully glued. Slow dancing is replaced by heat dancing, with bodies being rubbed against each other most likely under the influence of Vodka. People spend so much time trying to pick out someone who they are attracted to physically, intellectually, emotionally... and nine out of ten times, they get it wrong. 

The chances were better when we were eight and picked at random. Because my first love turned out to be one of the greatest men I know, one of my closest friends, and quite a catch. 

to know or not to know?

I had a debate with a couple of Rats yesterday which I thought I'd share here. I'll pass on how many times I begged for the conversation to change from "does masturbating before sleeping wake you up or help you sleep" and dive right into the slightly more interesting part.
The issue was whether or not we would rather know if our ex is seen with someone else, has someone else in their life, etc... It's actually an interesting question because I've seen many different schools of thought on the topic. Now my friend the Masochist immediately said he wants to know everything, all the grim little details, and he wants to hurt as much as he is supposed to. Why? Because he believes you can't get over someone unless you hit rock bottom. He would rather get rid of every possible bad feeling, so that there are no more surprises later on. I thought he had a point --if you like to make yourself suffer, which obviously, as his name indicates, he does.
Some think that finding out your ex is with someone else will make them realize whether or not they want them back. I had a friend who broke up with his girlfriend, was moving on and living his life just fine, until one day he found out that she's dating some dude. He went crazy. He literarily couldn't stop thinking about her anymore, decided he was ready to do anything to get her back, felt like he was willing to sacrifice all the things he never even thought of before. And it lasted about a month, until she was willing to give it another go and he suddenly didn't want to anymore --again. What happened? He didn't realize that the whole can't-sleep-can't-eat process he went through was just an ego-bruise. And this tends to happen when you're the one who leaves your partner, believing they love you more than anything, and turn around to see them moving on with someone else. It's not your heart that hurts at that moment --it's that arrogant ego of ours that just cannot believe she could move on from the Extraordinary Moi. But in the heat of the moment, it's confusing, it makes us act irrational, and usually makes us do something we end up regretting --like hurting the other person again and again.
Now I'm from the school of thought that says "what you don't know can't hurt you." It may seem weak and cowardly, but honestly, I don't want to be hurt --so I don't want to know. Caporal said he agreed with me, but we usually end up knowing sooner or later, so we might as well take the hit. I disagree. I would rather know later, when I'm a lot more emotionally stable to handle it. Some of us think we can avoid getting hurt by never dealing with it. Others believe taking the blow and feeling the pain will make it go once and for all. I guess it all depends on who we are.

being your own, great self

After my last post, a lot of people asked me if I was going to stop writing the blog. It wasn't my intention to have you think that I don't want to write anymore until I "live something to write about." I was just trying to make a point that we're young, we don't know it all, and it's important to try new things, make mistakes, get up and try again.
Now that being said, I need to live up to my own expectations. Challenge myself to get up and try again, even if I'm scared. There is no hard and fast rule that will guarantee the path to happiness. And when it comes to relationships, as much as we may want to try to figure out the rules of the game, at the end of the day, it's a different game every time. You just have to play and learn as you go. But I think it's important to play your cards right, and not gamble your heart away. My friend told me something pretty wise a couple of days ago: "Two people can't be happy together if they're not happy with themselves first." Being with someone isn't about complying with their lives, their friends, their hobbies, their lifestyles. Every one of us needs to find their own path, and hold on to things that make us who we are. They say "opposites attract." I guess it's because two people who are completely different can find balance in how they complete each other.
Women tend to bend over backwards for the man they're with. They forget their own lives and dreams and hobbies, put them on hold like they don't matter, and start living a life that is not their own. And they do it even though it doesn't make them happy, because they think they want to make a relationship work no matter what.
In my last relationship, I lost myself. I forgot who I was and where I was going, I couldn't remember my goals, I didn't know what made me happy anymore. It's hard to admit, but it's only once I came out of it that I was able to realize how much of myself I lost. And I swore I would never let it happen again. If we lose ourselves along the way, then we're just living an illusion.
It's important to take a step back and realize how much we can be on our own. Not everything has to be an "us." A man cannot be the focus of our lives. We must be the focus of our own lives, and that's the only way it can truly work.
A friend of mine had a very hard relationship to get over. She tried to make it work, but in the end, she realized that what she needed would completely change the other person --and doesn't that defy the point? If you want the person you're with to change, or if you change for the person you're with, then you're only postponing the inevitable. The truth is, it's okay to disagree. It's okay to enjoy different things, and it's okay to do those things on your own. It's actually better, more interesting, and more realistic. Being a couple doesn't mean you have to become one and the same person. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, first learn to be yourself...  because only then can you be yourself with someone else.

stand up, and live

"How vain it is to sit down and write, when you have not stood up to live." Henry David Thoreau

Someone quoted this to me yesterday, and it made me pause.
Maybe it is vain of me to sit down twice a week and pretend like I can figure all this out, when I've barely lived a quarter of my life. When I started this blog, I wanted to give myself motivation to write. I always wanted to be a writer, but I can never seem to get passed page one. When I was younger, I could do it, easily... I wrote an entire novel when by the time I was 13, about a teenager with cancer. What did I know about cancer? Absolutely nothing. But I guess I was vain enough to write about it. And then I spent the next 10 years learning about it. When I re-read what I wrote, after actually getting to know cancer first hand, I realized how naive, innocent, unrealistic my writing was.
This is probably going to happen again ten years from now, when I re-read my blog posts. Although I am trying to stick to topics I have been through, tested, seen happen around me, it still feels like I haven't lived through enough to preach.
At this age, in this society, we've barely scrapped the surface of what pain is, and yet we already try to barricade ourselves. It's like when you first learn that putting your finger on fire will burn. You try not to do it again. So we try to protect our hearts, pretend like we can control our lives, hoping we'll keep the hurt away. But then we just end up over-thinking everything, letting fear consume us.
So what if we make mistakes along the way? That's how we'll end up learning. So what if we get hurt, scream, feel lonely, get depressed, break-up, cheat, get cheated on, hurt someone, get divorced, cry ourselves to sleep... that's all part of living, right? That's how you know you stood up to live --not hiding behind your words, letting others do the living, and living vicariously through them. If we never cry, we'd never laugh.

I want to be writer --but first, I need to live something to write about.