the next best thing

Yesterday was mother's day and for the first time in eleven years, I wasn't sad. Of course I miss my mother, like I miss her every day. But I was so much closer to her yesterday than any other year I spent curled up in my corner afraid to look at all those people buying flowers for their mothers. I always thought the only time I would ever enjoy mother's day again would be when I would become a mother. Turns out I just had to change perspectives. 

I woke up drowned in kisses from my Parisian which immediately put a smile on my face. Then I went to the spa to enjoy an hour-long facial something where they put cream after cream on your face and massage your head and all you have to do is lie there and close your eyes and enjoy it --if I can't send my mother to the spa, why don't I just treat myself to it? 

Then I called my sister, and unfortunately, she was not in the same mood as me, so I decided to take her out to lunch. There's this adorable new diner in Mar Mikhael I knew she would love and we stuffed ourselves with burgers and fries and I spotted her smile. If I can't take my mother out to lunch in a place named after the diner in Grease (one of her favorite movies) then taking my sister is the next best thing.

She then took me to a place called Karout, where you buy anything you can think of for very reasonable prices and we spent two hours there buying things for this crazy brunch I'm throwing on Sunday. It was fun because it was the kind of outing I would love to do with my mom and it just so happens that it's also great to do with my sis. When we left, we got sort of lost and had no idea where we were, got stuck in terrible traffic, and I started getting worried that we would never make it on time to visit my mother at the cemetary. And sure enough... three minutes later, we find ourselves across the street from it!

Later that day, we drove up, my brother, my sister and I, to Baadat, where my aunt lives. You see, she lost her husband about three months ago and so we decided together with her 3 daughters that we would do something special for her. We got there before she came back home and prepared a nice dinner for her, put her favorite flowers (Mimosas) all over the house, and waited to surprise her. And when she saw us, she cried of happiness. If I can't celebrate my mother and shower her with dinner and flowers, then I can do it for the only other woman who has known me my whole life and loves me unconditionally.

And now I'm sitting here and writing this and all I can do is smile because I know that through everything I did yesterday, through everything I do every day, I celebrate my mother. I don't need to be sad or cry to miss her. I can just channel it in a positive way. I can enjoy the next best thing.

Why I should write about Kony

This post has absolutely nothing to do with my usual Rhapsodies.

My cousin posted on my FB wall this morning "you should blog about Kony" and I thought "no, I shouldn't, it's not the kind of blog posts I write at all." And then I went on to read my FB Newsfeed to read half a dozen statuses linking to bloggers destroying the Kony campaign and trashing their work, whether they think its because the Invisible Children's shady financials or because they think it's too gullible to actually believe that making the general public aware of who Kony is actually going to change something. Some even think it's a whole conspiracy by the United States Government to gain enough public support to go to Uganda or Congo or Sudan and make them think it was their idea.

I think that, if nothing else, what Invisible Children have done is start a worldwide conversation between millions of people on how to change this terrifying, disgusting world we live in. It was a genius idea, perfectly executed, to get the entire world to think outside their little world where only they and a few others exist, and think about the world as a whole. Here in Lebanon, we've known wars. We've known massacres. We know what human cruelty can be like. Right next door, thousands of innocent men and women and children are being killed and no one in the world wants to get their hands dirty. They're already fighting enough wars, you see, the ones where they could potentially get monetary gain.

Who am I to talk? Well, a part from writing this ingenuous blog giving you my very wise insight about relationships and quarter life crisis, I am also a journalist. And a screenwriter. And the programs manager for a Foundation whose sole purpose is to make children happy now. How do all these things fit? Well, as a journalist and with my experience in the film industry, I know that when you go somewhere to find a story, you're not sure what to expect. When the group of young, fresh out of college filmmakers went to Uganda, I'm sure they didn't know that nine years later they would produce a film watched by 40 million people in three days. They wanted to tell a story. Most journalists, if not all, want to do that. Some of them even die for that. And they want to tell these stories because the only way to make people act or react is to tell them what is going on. Is to find a way to get them out of their own, self-absorbed lives for 30 minutes and concentrate on something else. And if using a cute blond five-year-old helps you catch their attention, so be it.

Everybody is criticizing Invisible Children because they spend so much of the money on salaries and campagning. You know it would be really nice if we could all work in NGOs for free. Most people who give their lives to humanitarian work probably would if they had other means of surviving. because let's face it: any full time job requires a pay. I work for an NGO. I know that donors would prefer if my salary went to programs for children. I would prefer that too. But if I didn't get paid, I would be obliged to get another job, and I wouldn't be able to help any of these children at all. And spending money to reach 40 million people overnight, I believe is money well spent. NGOs around the world spend millions on fundraising campaigns and the reason why they don't get criticized is because not that many people saw their campaigns... It just proves that at least Invisible Children got their money's worth.

And of course they have to simplify their course of action. Of course they realize more than any of us that it's not enough to sign a pledge and stick posters everywhere. But it's a step. It's better than doing nothing and it could lead to a lot.The Foundation I work for has had the same problem for the last year and half: we get criticized that no one understands what we do. That we do "too many programs" and that they are all over the place. It's true, we didn't pick one specific child problem (like Cancer or heart disease) we want to help any children in need, and that means there are going to be a lot of different programs. So what? We know that we're changing the lives of hundreds of children everyday... now we need to work on our communication, because when people don't understand what we do, they are less likely to donate. And then we can't help anybody. And experts tell us that in our communication, we don't have to explain every single thing we do. We should just give out the headlines. Pick out the things that are likely to resonate and stick in people's mind. Which is exactly what Invisible Children did. If you go to their website, you will see the different programs they have in place, for education and protection, the things they do on the ground to protect children. But if their campaign had been "let's educate the child soldiers" it would have never gotten the same response as it got now. Their documentary "Invisible Children" which they did in 2006 was done to show the world what was happening. Did people react? Some. Nothing like 40 million people in 3 days though.

So yeah, I should write about Kony. Everybody should write about Kony. Because it's not about Kony. It's about the idea that we live in a world where frontiers are man-made, and where no one gets to choose where they are born. And we live in an age where people figured out ways to overcome frontiers and distances, and can communicate in real time with the rest of the world. How can we not take advantage of that? 

broken machines

"Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do... Maybe it's the same with people. If you lose your purpose... it's like you're broken." Brian Selznick, The invention of Hugo Cabret

Sometimes we feel like broken machines. Except that for machines, it’s straightforward: you know exactly what a clock is supposed to do, what a car was built for, what a microwave does. Machines have a clear purpose. And when they break, we just replace the defective parts.

People, now that’s a whole other ball game. Are we supposed to just know what our purpose is? I watched a very interesting video yesterday, which was an illustration of a lecture by Professor Renata Salecl. She was talking about the overwhelming anxiety created by the endless choices we have. I’ve written about this before, in the “Paradox of Freedom” [funnily enough, Prof. Salecl's lecture is called the Paradox of Choice]. I, for one, am the first to admit that the vast amount of choices available out there is paralyzing. I don’t know what to do with myself. And the mere idea of having one purpose and finding it –now that alone can leave you anxious for a lifetime. What if you spend your whole life looking for a purpose instead of living?

There is this idea that anyone can “make it.” That we can all become that one person who is the best –or at least who is famous for being good at that something. You can now be the unbelievably smart person who decided to create a twitter account for @AngiesRightLeg and have 50-thousand people following you overnight and journalists and bloggers mentioning you in every other article. A twitter account for @AngiesRightLeg. Now that’s purpose.

I have always been a victim of choice. When I was a child, even a teenager, I wanted to be an award-winning actress. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to walk down the red-carpet. And when I watch the Oscars every year, part of me still wants to be that. I look around at the crowd gathered, the Octavia Spencers and the Jean DuJardins, who last year were considered nobodys, suddenly becoming superstars. Anyone can make it, right? But what is it we want to make? I want to do humanitarian work. But I also want to be a writer. And I want to be an actress. And, one day, I want to be a mother. I want to live in Beirut. I want all the cliché advantages of having your family and friends close by, living an easier, bubbled life. And I want to live in Rome. Far away from inquisitive family members and in a vast, open culture. And I want to live in San Francisco. And in Thailand. And in Barcelona.

But now everyone has the same choice. You’ve got self-made men and women everywhere you look. You have a Masters degree and that’s good for you but there are hundreds of thousands of other people who have the same exact degree and the same qualifications and it’s up to you to put yourself out there and find your own unique little thing that will make you shine over everyone else. Or maybe it’s just a little bit of luck.

And then we wonder why so many marriages end in divorce, so many relationships end up in the gutter. To me it makes perfect sense. How can we actually expect anyone to stay in a committed relationship when you always have the choice to be with someone else, someone prettier, someone thinner, someone richer, someone just plain different. If you always have that choice, why would you settle?

And where does that leave us? Dissatisfied.

My Parisian told me yesterday: happiness shouldn’t be in a goal you set for yourself. It shouldn’t be achieved. It should be found in the moments you have all the time. In the lines of a good book, in a glass of good wine shared with friends, in a laugh, in a kiss, in a breathtaking scenery. Otherwise, there is no purpose at all.

There’s no point in thinking “I’ll be happy when I get a promotion,” “My life will make sense when I leave this country,” or “Things will be better once we get married or have a child.” Living in the idea of a future that could make us happier is not living. It’s waiting. And then "choice" has the opposite effect of what it was meant to be: we feel trapped. Just like Oscar Wilde said: “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”