to eat or not to eat

I've been trying to write a post since yesterday, talking to friends about different topics and trying to put together something for this week, but nothing came together. So now I'm sitting here trying to figure out what would inspire me, what I feel like talking about, what is something that I'm going through. And unsurprisingly, the thing that comes to mind is food. You see I didn't have breakfast this morning because I decided to start a diet and I didn't know what I could eat. So I skipped the food and went straight to work [after my usual cup of coffee of course] and here I find myself sitting at my desk where I have two different diet books, and my two [adorable] colleagues who are such experts I don't even need the books. But I always do that --I see the book, think I'm gonna lose 10 kg just by looking at its cover... and then it sits on my desk for years.

Anyway... This morning I put on my favorite pair of jeans --we all have that one pair that we can wear any day of the year and it'll save us from feeling horribly fat. And what do you know: it almost didn't close. Needless to say I didn't even dare get on the scale [because sometimes you just can't face these things]  and I avoid the full length mirror too [why torture myself?].

I came to work determined that today will really be a good dieting day. Not like yesterday where I started off great, almost broke it at 5pm when hunger pangs screamed for chocolate, and then actually did break it at dinner when I had the choice between a healthy salad and a steak-sandwich and I made the obvious choice.

It's one of our daily struggles, I think, as women, to resist temptation --and make an effort to go to the gym. Ah, the gym. We force ourselves to hit the cardio machine 3 times a week for 45 minutes to burn that fat and when I'm there and I'm looking at all the women around me working it on their treadmill or elliptical machines like there's no tomorrow, and I know all they're thinking is: please let me burn that fat so I can stop coming here. Of course once you leave the gym you feel absolutely amazing and you wonder why it was so hard for you to come in the first place --but it's just as hard the next time.

Food is one of the greatest pleasures we have. In a lot of books (yes, I read some of them) they mention how much over-eating is linked to an emotional imbalance. Already, women are known to be emotional. And when they're PMSing, nothing (or almost nothing) can stop them from devouring that box of chocolate. And when they're pregnant --well now that has made for some pretty crazy/funny cravings stories. And in everyday life, there are countless moments where she is overcome by emotions and her easy, quick-fix-feel-good solution is to eat something --and feel dreadfully guilty about it three seconds later. Everything is an excuse: You didn't get that promotion so you eat a Snickers or two. That guy you met last night hasn't called all day so you're gonna empty that bag of chips. Your boyfriend tells you you gained weight and should hit the gym so you throw a fit and then stick your head in the fridge to see what food is gonna make you feel a little better. And then it makes you feel worse.

Today I decided to be healthy and eat wisely and not let my PMS do the eating. And drinks lots of water. And green tea. And check on those other anti-oxidant something that supposedly help flush the fat away. But today is Friday. There's the weekend, and I'm invited for lunch tomorrow and then am I really gonna spend Saturday night without drinking any alcohol? Maybe if I start Monday, it would be better.

Blue Valentine

So I failed one of my "writer's block" challenges. I said I would give something to someone on Valentine's Day and I didn't.

I'm not big on the whole V-Day thing. Not in a "Oh My God I HATE Valentine's day it's such a HALLMARK holiday it's so stupid... but I wish someone would send me flowers anyway!" kind of way... More in a "Oh, it's Valentine's Day? Hmm cool. Love you!" I think the most romantic gift I ever gave for VDay (and the most effort I put into it) was, ladies and gents, when I was 11 years old. I cut a heart shape out of red cardboard and glued heart-shaped pasta on it. Then I called the boy I was in love with on the phone to tell him "You'll have a gift tomorrow at school" and hung up straight away because I was mortified and embarrassed and red up to my ears. And the next day, I ran to him during recess and just gave it to him. And ran away after, of course. Back then, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, why put myself through the embarrassment when I knew I wasn't getting anything back? Sometimes, things don't make sense right away. It may seem stupid, but this is a gift that he never forgot. And I am happy to say that 15 years later, on Monday, he invited me for lunch, and he said and I quote: "for that heart-shaped cardboard with pasta on it."

So what happened yesterday, across the globe, with people I know? Well, one of my friends who lives in Munich woke up to a message on her fridge from her three-months boyfriend saying "Je t'aime." It was the first time he ever said it to her. Some friends in Beirut when to a speed-dating event at my favorite bar in the city, Dictateur, and had a great time. My sister had a girls-night-in because her new boyfriend who is a doctor-thank-you-very-much, was on-call... In Montreal, my best-friend went to a Zumba Class because that's what she does on Tuesdays. And Facebook of course was a swarming platform of love, with some really cool links, like people around the world remembering their first loves and my ultimate favorite, the Valentine Cards of Ben Kling.

And what did I do? I met Blue. Blue is a Belgian Shepherd Groenendael. She's a beautiful, black dog and when you hug her, it feels like you're hugging a huge stuffed animal. Except that she is real and she can hug you right back. And the way she loves her master is so genuine and so unselfish, it makes you feel like it's the best kind of love: uncomplicated, forgiving, and unconditional, with no expectations other than its love to be returned.

And I guess the fact that I didn't give anyone anything on Valentine's Day isn't entirely true. I gave a kiss to someone very special. And I got one back.

do something for cancer [World Cancer Day]

It's World Cancer Day today. February 4th.

A day where the whole world should think about Cancer. Raise awareness. Because it's a leading cause of death worldwide.

This year alone, four of my friends lost a parent to cancer. My aunt lost her husband to lung cancer last month. My friend's 22 year-old brother is bravely fighting a rare form of non-hodgkin's lymphoma. My sister's best-friend is fighting Hodgkin's disease. And two days ago another friend lost her father to one of the hundreds of complications brought on by cancer treatments, that leave you weak and vulnerable. And Lebanon lost a great man. That's just this year. That's just people I personally know.

Immagine the millions. I know it's a statistic: 7.6 million deaths a year. It sounds like a lot, but in the end it's just a number. But when we take a look at the number of people we know who are affected by this disease right now, it feels a lot more real. And that's not counting how many other millions are living with the disease, dying of the disease.

I don't know why I feel compelled to write about this. Cancer is tied to my life, somehow. When I was 12 years old, I wrote a book. It was called "I Believe in Angels." It was the story of a 16-year-old girl who's best friend gets Cancer. A disease I knew nothing about back then. When I was 21, we published this book, some 5,000 copies, and all the proceeds went the St Jude Children Cancer Center in Lebanon. I knew nothing about Cancer back then, but now, people call me when someone they know has the disease, because they feel like I know how to deal with it. Nobody really does though.

The problem with Cancer is that it comes with no warning. When my mom was diagnosed, they said she had 2 weeks to live. Her lung-cancer had metastasized to her head and the tumor was pressing against her brain and it's only that pain (a massive headache) that took her to the hospital to check it out. We were lucky enough to get someone in Belgium to operate on the tumor and reduce it enough to give her another year. Sometimes Cancers go undiagnosed or misdiagnosed for months, years even. It is important that everyone is aware of the danger and how common it is, and gets regular checkup, no matter what your age is.

Some people get screened early enough to really beat it. Others beat it against the odds. But we will all get a greater chance if we stay aware of the risks and take precautions.

Here is what the World Health Organization says about reducing cancer:

More than 30% of cancer deaths could be prevented by modifying or avoiding key risk factors, including:

• tobacco use
• being overweight or obese
• unhealthy diet with low fruit and vegetable intake
• lack of physical activity
• alcohol use
• sexually transmitted HPV-infection
• urban air pollution
• indoor smoke from household use of solid fuels.

Tobacco use is the single most important risk factor for cancer causing 22% of global cancer deaths and 71% of global lung cancer deaths. In many low-income countries, up to 20% of cancer deaths are due to infection by HBV and HPV.

So what am I gonna do today? I'm going to stop smoking. I've tried it before, I will try it again until it sticks. 

Cancer doesn't just happen to the person who gets it. Of course, for that person, facing the possibility of death is worse than anything we can imagine. But everyone who loves that person gets it too. When you love someone who is diagnosed, who is going through treatment, it's like there's a tumor growing inside of you. It eats at you everyday. The fear, the sadness of being helpless in front os the one you love. The anxiety that you don't want to show them. The smile you put up to force away your tears. And the loneliness of not being able to share your feelings with them. I won't even start to talk about their loneliness, because I have no idea what it feels like and I wont pretend I do.

But I know this disease is real. More real than anything else I've known. The leading cause of death in people I know, that's for sure. So for that reason alone, I have to say something on World Cancer Day. For them. In their memory. For their fights. This isn't some far away disease on another corner of the planet. This is personal. So do something. 

This is for my mom, Rima. This is for Judo Husni, Teta Farida, May Louise, and Joe. This is for Lara's father, Rana's mother, Fadi's father, Joumana's father. May they rest in Peace. This is for Jamal, and Claudine, and Bana and Nabil and Lara who fought and won. This is for Naim and Farid who are still fighting.

so, I called in sick

I wanted to get started on my list of things to do to get over writer's block [see looking for my mojo]. Not really sure how these particular challenges are going to get the juices flowing, but I'm trying. It's not like I have anything else to write about.

So, I called in sick. Seemed like the easiest, most convenient one to start with. Mostly because I had barely slept all night and was dead tired anyway. I woke up at noon, took an hour to actually get ready to leave the house. Left the house deciding to do things I've been putting off for months. Drove to the optician to get new eye-glasses because I broke mine back in June and still haven't gotten a replacement. There was no parking space so I left.  Drove to the jewelry shop to shorten the ring my aunt gave me for Christmas in 2010. There was no parking space, so I left.  Drove to the Nail Salon, to the Stationer's shop, to the shop that's been bombarding me with SMSs because it's 70% off, but no parking. So I left. I drove back home, after an hour of aimless driving, ready to have lunch. But there was no place to park.


Basically, nothing happened that day. If anything, it got me even more depressed about the fact that nothing interesting is happening anymore and it's all boring routines, traffic jams and unproductive days. I went to bed angry. 


Then the next day, I was really sick. Woke up feeling nauseous and unable to move. Slept it off and woke up feeling much better three hours later. Meanwhile, I had called in sick, obviously. So I got on my feet and walked around, even though it was pouring rain. I hit the bank, did my nails, paid my credit card bill, paid my rent. Went to my studio, which is supposed to be my writing haven and which I haven't really used properly since I've been suffering from writer's block... But my roomy and I decided to do a huge cleanup, fixed it around, and when I finally sat down in front of my computer, something magical happened: I got an idea. 


Unfortunately, I can't share that idea with you yet, because then I might jinx it and I'll be right back where I started. But the point is, it kind of worked. 


Then, later last night, I was at a friend's, and I was talking about wanting to go somewhere for inspiration. Traveling, somewhere, anywhere, just to see something new. Different experiences always inspire. So he made me play a game: there was a map of the world on his wall, and a flechette [one of those small arrows you throw]. Anyway, after about ten failed attempts for the flechette to actually stick, and my friend patiently telling me exactly how to throw it, it finally landed on South Africa. I was in Cape Town and Johannesburg in June 2010, for the World Cup. It was the last trip my ex-boyfriend and I took together, a couple of months before we broke up. I had fallen in love with Cape Town. I remember thinking that I could just buy a cottage on the beach and stay there forever. It was so beautiful, so vibrant, so colorful. We stayed at the most amazing hotel I've ever been, the Cape Heritage, and we had an amazing time, with the world-cup fury and all. But something was off during that trip. Although we spent two weeks together, alone, and we had a lot of fun, something was going sour. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but I see it clearly now. We weren't the same "us" anymore. And when the flechette landed on South Africa, I realized I had to let it go. Close my eyes and remember the sea-shore, and Table Mountain, and the unbelievable rush of watching a football game with tens of thousands of people. Remember the good memories, let go of what hurts. Because when I meet someone else, I can't be so scared of getting attached that I forget to enjoy it. I can keep the thrill of riding the helicopter, but let go of the fear. 


I threw the flechette again. It landed on Costa Rica. Might seem random but the crazy thing is my best-friend and I are planning to go to Costa Rica in April. It's the "greenest" country in the world. The goal is to go spend ten days in wildlife settings and going back to our sources. Forget our chi-chi make-up bags and heels at home, and dig our hands in the soil. Literarily. Remove all the layers we put on all year long: the brave hand-shake at a work meeting, the flirtatious smile on a night out, the mask we put on when we're feeling blue, the hello-how-are-yous we don't really care about. We want to stay away from the things we do because it's the right thing to do, or because we have to do it, or because that's what we're expected to do. In the end we don't know what is real and what isn't, what we really want and who we really are. So we want to go to a place where there is nothing but plants and trees and creatures we've never seen before. Where no one will judge the size of our hips or the things we say. Somewhere we don't speak the language, know no one and want nothing.


I threw it a third time. It landed right in the dead sea, between Jordan and Egypt. It struck me as odd at first, and then I remembered: the dead sea was where we went for our last vacation with my mother. We went to Aqaba in Jordan and on the last day, we went to the dead sea and had the funnest time floating around and putting mud all over our bodies because it's "good for the skin." During that vacation, I saw my mother dance, water-ski, laugh, run around and put mud all over everyone's face. She had such positive energy even though she was months away from dying. And I realized yesterday that this is the place I need to go to, in my mind, when I'm lost. The place that reminds me of her strength, her joie de vivre, and these amazing yet fleeting moments that get lost in the spectrum of time. When I remember the sand grabbing onto my feet and the water standing still, it grounds me. She grounds me. 


The Dead Sea in French is called la "Mer Morte." La Mere [Mother] Morte. 


So, I called in sick.  Went for a trip around the world. And brought some of my mojo back.