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.

one year of rhapsodies

Last year like today I wrote my first blog post, venting out my frustrations over 21st century relationships and how hard they were becoming. This is how started my year of rhapsodies. Three weeks after the first post, my boyfriend told me he realized that he would probably be happier without me. How ironic for me who was trying to "solve" the enigma of serious relationships, not realizing that if my relationship was going sour it was probably time to breakup. I'm glad he noticed though. Because otherwise I wouldn't have had the wonderful amazing life changing year that I did have from that moment on. Yes I started by crying every tear in my body, analyzed and over-analyzed every second of the previous six months to understand what I did wrong, how I could've saved it, blaming myself for letting him take me for granted, for not loosing weight, for getting too comfortable, until I finally realized that it wasn't just me who didn't make him happy anymore, that I too had been miserable for months. And that realization saved me. So I stopped with the blame game and finally moved on to the next level which was to focus on myself and what I wanted, for me. Yes I had a pile a self-help books before that and the pile tripled over the course of the next few months, because that's what I do, I read books and they make me feel like I'm going to change my life. The good news is, it worked.

I started the blog, friends began to read and share it, debate it around drinks, Rats inspired me to wiesel them in, I was motivated to write again --something I hadn't done in years. Then there was the Breakup, the depression phase, the best-friend moving to Canada, the constant hammering of the Rats for their help on how to get over it, the hours on the phone with Classy who was going through the same thing, the going through about seven dozen used and confused boxes of tissues. Went to Yoga class, took Italian lessons, traveled to Istanbul with friends. Fell in love with a city full of life and history and beauty and rhythm, realized the world was a lot bigger than me and that the possibilities were endless, started smiling again, had the best massage on the face of the earth and it felt better than sex. Reconnected with my childhood friend Rebellious, whom I hadn't seen a lot in the last few years, enjoyed going out again, enjoyed drinking, enjoyed my friends' company more. Wrote a blog-post about my parents which got 900 views. Liked a guy, flirted, kissed him, felt good to be in the "beginning" phase again. Liked other guys, enjoyed being hit on, piled up stories that the Rats laughed about and fed my blog. Went skiing for the first time in four years. Organized a cooking competition that lasted all winter, came in last place but had lots of fun getting there. Made a new friend, a girl, which is very unlikely of me. Asked a friend if I could act in her new TV series [Beirut, I love you] just for the fun of it, spent a day on set, fell in love with everyone, wanted to come back, started helping with anything and everything, spent every weekend on set and many evenings brainstorming scripts, did the makeup, helped with anything I could, made some amazing new friends, felt like I was 19 again, drank beers on the street sitting on the hood of a car, kissed a guy who fell, got obsessed with the shoots, was passionate again. Realized my oldest dream had come true. Marked the ten-year anniversary of my mother's death. Saw my ex for the first time since we broke-up, realized that I wasn't angry anymore and that I didn't miss him even though it was awkward and weird but how could it not be. Turned 26 in Los Angeles, walked into the Kodak Theater where the Oscars take place, went to Vegas and then San Francisco with my best friend, ate the best brunch in the world --felt like I cheated on New York. Took part in the 48hr film project in Beirut and won Best Film, felt like we had just won Cannes, smiled from ear to ear jumped up and down was overly excited. Saw my ex kiss his new girlfriend felt like throwing up in my mouth a litte but then finally felt free. Had the most overwhelming kiss of my life. Read 17 books, took an acting class, jumped from a rock 3 meters high into the sea, went camping, saw the Cedars, got a tattoo, acted a main part in a short film, discovered "The Healing Code" (everyone should read it by the way), cried of laughter until my abs were killing me and I almost couldn't breathe and got the best compliment of my life from a gay friend of mine who said to me: "Women like you make me wish I was straight."

Nothing about this year was as expected. Three-hundred and sixty-five days ago, I lived in a safe routine that I didn't realize was killing every ounce of creativity and passion I had. When writing scripts, we always look for a "catalyst," something that pushes the protagonist forward. This blog was my catalyst. I thought it would help me write a book --and I still hope it will. But now I know that I needed this time to really discover myself, and this is what got the ball rolling. This year I felt alive.

So thanks. To everyone who played a part in this snowball effect of amazingly random events. And to all of you who have been reading Beirut Rhapsodies, inspiring and motivating me.

the paradox of freedom

"Better a mistress than a wife." Coco Chanel


Anyone who's ever watched an episode of Mad Men would probably agree. Being the wife was so boring --sitting at home tumbling her thumbs, smoking cigarette after cigarette until her husband came home from work. And every husband had a mistress, or five. For the mistress, the husband would cut work in the middle of the day; he would actually communicate, share his thoughts, connect. For the mistress, the husband would unleash the passion. But for the wife... well, she got the sleepy, tired husband, who made her feel like coming home was like walking into a cage. Well, that's what I got from Mad Men anyway.

Then I watched "Coco," the movie, a couple of nights ago, and the man Coco Chanel is in love with is set to marry someone else. He says marriage is like a business deal, has nothing to do with love. And she says "better a mistress than a wife." Made me think. The wife represents the commitment, the settled life, the family. Boring. And the mistress is forbidden excitement, a daily escape, the adventure. All those words that seem to define men's needs.

So at the beginning of the 20th century, marriage was a social contract and love was to be found in the form of an extra-curricular activity. By the 60s, marriage was halfway between love and financial statements, and passionate sex was to be found in a variety of mistresses. And now there's a new century in the works and it's a little harder to define the terms. Maybe it's because now, we want it all: we want it to be love at first sight, passionate and enticing, but we also want it to be a calculated connection, with a check-list of culture, education, social class, religion and nationality. We want the love to be so strong we could live on bread and water, but we also want to ensure that chalet in Faqra or those trips to Paris twice a year for fashion week. We want the picture-perfect family, with the dog and the back-yard, but we also want the constant adventure and excitement and freedom of taking off with no strings attached. In today's world, we've become demanding, unforgiving, and uncompromising. If we don't get what we want, we bail, because we only live once and we want it all.

I guess that's the paradox of freedom. People paid with their lives for the choices we get to make today, and although freedom is a beautiful thing, it is also exhausting. How do you make the right choice? Do you go with rational, or do you go with instinct? Do you play it safe or take a chance?

Can you be the wife and the mistress?

shared happiness

This weekend, my friend had a down that completely resonated with me. "I need a change" she said. And I knew exactly what she meant. Sometimes we really feel like we need a change --if only we knew what it was. The problem is that for most of us women, we get caught up in collective-living and completely forget to live for ourselves. So once we are left alone to embrace the freedom and joy of being utterly selfish, independent, and free to be whoever we want to be... we have no idea what to do.
I could be wrong, but it feels like men have a better grip on being themselves. Whether they are single or attached, they pretty much live their lives the way they want to, following that job in Costa Rica if that's what their career calls for, or climbing the seven summits if that's what their heart calls for.
Women do that too, but to a lesser extend... and with a lot more difficulty when they are attached. We tend to prioritize our relationship, because we think, after all, what is more important? To get that amazing job, or to be with the person you love? For my part, I tend to put more value on relationships (not just romantic) because I think at the end of the day, if I die tomorrow, it won't matter that I won an oscar or made the bestseller list --the only thing that will matter is what the people I love remember me for.
But I also think we need balance. Because we only live once, and life is short, we should enjoy it and do as many things we like as possible. And the truth is, even with all the love in the world, it's not smart to put all your eggs in one basket. Mothers who live for nothing but their children often feel useless and completely lonely once the kids are all grown up and have a life of their own. Women who spend their time making sure they are the perfect wife, get dumped, or their spouse dies, and suddenly they end up all alone. People you love are what is most important, but you need to love yourself as well, and we tend to forget that. We make sure everyone else get what they want but we neglect our own needs. And soon enough, we forget what those are.
My friend and I want to go on a great adventure. We want to do something we've never done before, be far away from everything we know, take a leap of faith and see where we land. It'll be good for us, and we won't be neglecting anyone in the process. Waiting for change will do nothing, we need to make change happen. There's an inspiring story called "Eat, Pray, Love" (read the book, don't see the movie) where a woman decides she needs a change, and embarks on a year of travel to rediscover herself. She lived the last few years of her life in a bad marriage where she totally lost her passion for life, and she needed to find it again. She goes to Italy to do nothing but enjoy the pleasures of food, then she goes to India to meditate and connect with her spirituality, and finally she ends the year in Bali, where she falls in love. I love that story because I relate to her completely. Waking up and realizing you have no passion is scary. Passion makes you feel alive, and that's how I want to feel.
But in that search, there is one thing we should always remember: "happiness is only worth it, if shared." (Christopher McCandless)