time to say goodbye

All good things come to an end. And this is just one of those things.

There are a lot of good things I've watched come to an end that I never wanted to see, but it's taught me to recognize when it's time to cut the cord.

You see, when I started this blog, I was unhappy. I was in a relationship that wasn't working, I couldn't remember any of the things I liked to do, I had no direction in which to pursue my career, I hadn't written in years and I didn't know what to do. And things evolved the way they should: A breakup, which taught me everything I needed to know about myself, my strengths, my expectations of a good relationship. Months of celibacy which helped me have fun again. Peaking my interest in different directions, like charity work, acting, film-making, writing for the screen. Traveling to the four corners of the world, visiting wonderful places from San Francisco to Thailand. Finding out who I am, what I am and how I want to live.

Last year like today, I met the boy who I've come to refer to as my Parisian... and as unexpected as my falling for him was, I have to say I am a really lucky gal. I'm won't overstretch on this, otherwise he'll get a big head, but in fewer words: it's been a full year now, and I am happier than ever. Because not only am I happy in love, I can now confidently say that I know what I want from my life.

So here I am, finally setting off to be what I've always wanted to be: a writer. I have decided to take a year off, move to Paris --because what better place to write than in the city that inspired the greatest writers in the world?

And so it is time to start a new chapter of my life. I am writing the closing lines to what has been an amazing experience and I am so excited to see what is ahead.  It is all thanks to the readers I've had following me through every post, hugging me on street (I swear, it's happened), telling me that what I write means so much to them, and giving me faith in my words. And now I'm ready to put those words on real pages.

So this isn't the last you'll hear from me, that's a promise.

Rhapsodian Guest Blogger: At least the illusion of it

 I have another Rhapsodian guest blogger this week. My friend Blushing gives us a glimpse into that feeling you get when there's a build-up for that first kiss... and it just really made me want to kiss someone! The type of kiss that makes you blush. 

At least the illusion of it
[follow Blushing on her blog  www.yupthisisit.wordpress.com]

For some reason, I’m incapable of kissing on the first date. Usually not on the second or third either. And I definitely can’t kiss someone I just met at a bar. I actually find this to be a rather boring feature about myself. And it’s not because I want to be a ‘good’ girl. It’s not because I want to play hard to get, or appear a certain way. I couldn’t care less about those things.

The thing is, I like a kiss to feel a certain way. This might make me a romantic, or a kid, or warrant a: ‘you’re such a girl!’. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I want to be in a 'relationship' before I kiss someone, nor is it that I want us to be hopelessly in love. It’s just that I want that feeling. I want my heart to pound even though I know it’s only hormones and chemicals. I want to loose my breath and feel weak in the knees just for a quick moment, even though if we were to get into a discussion you’d find that I probably don’t believe in love. I want even the hand-holding to feel special, discovering each other’s fingers, skin, and how they fit. And you can infer that all these things apply to sex as well.

Let’s think about that first kiss for a moment. Yeah you never get the first kiss back, bla bla bla. Scratch all that.  You can have plenty of amazing kisses with the same person, even for years and years. But back to the kissing a new date or stranger. If you’re hanging out with people you just met and one of them is drinking a bottle of water and you’re thirsty, would you just drink out of theirs? I’m not germaphobe or anything, but I prefer to know people a bit before I share bodily secretions with them. With my close friends, we share water bottles all the time. So I’m not gonna just suck face with some guy I just met who has smoky breath and sweaty palms (no offense to anyone). I have to feel I know the guy at least a bit, have a modicum of respect for him, and find him reasonably intelligent and interesting.

So it’s not love I need, but it is an illusion of something that looks a bit like a cousin of love. When I kiss someone, I want to feel we are both really enjoying it and kinda forgetting everything around us. When we stop kissing, I like to feel a bit surprised that there are still people around us, a bit like when you walk out of an early movie screening and are surprised it’s still daylight. Most of all, I just can’t look langouresement (no word in English good enough for this) into someone’s eyes and see nothing there.

Rhapsodian guest blogger: Out of the Rathole

 For the first time on Beirut Rhapsodies, my guest blogger is a fellow Rhapsodian. Now let me put her in context for you: she's my one friend of whom I can truly say, without hesitating, is super happy in love right now. Which is why I think her advice is worthwhile. I mean, she's had her share of tears: she has cried more than anyone else I know over guys so she didn't always have it right... but she's on the other side of spectrum right now, and I thought it would be good for us to get a different perspective. 

The last couple of blogs have made me realize that my favorite Rhapsodian needs a helping hand…She has given up on love and I cannot bear seeing  this happening! So I’ve decided to share my 2-cents with her, and with all the girls out there who mumble, not too loud (so that it doesn’t come true!), but once too often, those absolutely atrocious and silly words: “’I’m gonna die alone”.

By no means am I claiming to be wise enough to become a love doctor, nor am I a Vietnam veteran to claim years of experience, but I did have enough bad experiences with a wide spectrum of rats to be able to tell from a distance if one is a plague- carrier or a pure-breed worth taming. Here is a sample of bad experiences that I’m sure are as cliché as it gets but enriching nonetheless:

So there was the first love, that endless relationship I wonder how it ever lasted so long. He was my college sweetheart. He was anything you would want in a guy when you’re 17…but after 5 years, all I wanted was freedom.  The stars must have misunderstood what I meant by freedom, because what I cashed-in instead was an egocentric brat who occasionally cheated and frequently lied and who owned the only phone ever created (I guess it was a prototype) that vanishes  and reappears at the owner’s convenience, meaning he could not always answer my texts and could never call me back.  The phone was designed in such a way that one could only text back should one need a booty call. Of course I was crazy about him because when he wasn’t busy touching his Blackberry or other girls, he would tell me the most wonderful words  that I would foolishly believe. One day he told me it was over by using the infamous “it’s not you it’s me” line, and he hurt me so much that my tears could have filled the Atlantic, back and forth 8 times… Then there was the guy whom I was never good enough for, and who destroyed what was left of my ego: “you’ve put on 300g, I’ve noticed them around your elbow”. Then came the possessive-obsessive-paranoid guy who was jealous of his own shadow…and a few other mice here and there (yes, not even qualified to be called rats) but I won’t dwell more on them…

And then the revelation. The decision. Yes this wonderful resolution we all take after a nauseous succession of plague-carrying rats: NO MORE BOYS I AM GOING TO FOCUS ON ME.

And so I did. Of course I cried sometimes, I missed the attention and the drama that came along with the boyfriends. But I used that time to finally get to know myself. I read more, I spent more time with the girls, reconnected with old friends, did Yoga, ran a marathon, worked harder, bought cooking books, started loving those extra 300g around my elbow, and slowly but surely regained my self confidence. I was finally happy.

 And one day, when I expected it the least, the most amazing charming loving kind funny cultured gentle, did I mention amazing… man came out from a hidden rathole and straight into my heart, and I hope to stay forever.  Today, when I ask myself what good wind brought him my way, I realize there were just a few things that I unconsciously had changed in my behavior that made me more attractive to that better breed of rats. So here are my 2-cents, or 8:

1)     Stop looking: a girl who is constantly hunting is a turn-off. Genuinely enjoy your single self, and one day, when you’re in your sweat pants with the almighty pimple on your left cheek,  thinking you’re looking your worst but actually looking your absolute best natural self,   he will find you.

2)    Know yourself: know what makes you happy and what you will never compromise on, and let no one stop you from getting it: If you need your yoga or your cooking or your time with the girls, make sure you get it.

3)    Know your flaws and make him love you for them: If you are the type that has 5-minute- a-month PMS bitchiness (give or take a few minutes) he should be manly enough to accept it and to love you for it. You’re never going to change, so find a man mature enough to love you “for better or for worse”.

4)    If they want, they can: so if they don’t…they don’t want. Simple equation. Read it 5 times and make it your new 1+1=2. If he wants to be with you, the things he would be willing to do for you would surprise you. So unless you see that type of behavior, don’t waste your time…

5)    Do no settle for less: and that means settle only for MORE. More attention, more care more respect. You were dad’s little princess remember? Now you have to be Rat’s little princess. Let him treat you the way you would treat him, and better, or nothing.

6)    Don’t be a nag: the weeping willow only goes one way: down. When you think nothing could go worse in your life, just switch on the news and put things in perspective. Be grateful for what you have, and someone will be grateful to have you.

7)    Forget the games: when the right guy comes along, you won’t need those “don’t text him back before 109 minutes” rules. If he wants to play, give him an X-box and bid him farewell and tell your little brother you have a pal to spare.

8)    Last but not least: Believe in yourself. You will NOT die alone. Keep this in mind: if Sarah Palin found someone to marry her once, so will you…

there are no love stories like in the movies

I have a friend who still believes in love like in the movies. She dreams of passion that would last through decades, that would survive routine and babies and boredom and age, that would awaken sparkles in her eyes even ten, twenty, fifty years down the line. She believes in the happily ever after and she doesn't want to settle for less. Afterall, she's seen it happen. In "The Notebook."

Now last week, I acted in a short film. And it was a love story --like in the movies. I met the actor who I had to fall in love with at 7am Sunday morning and by Sunday afternoon he was proposing on a beach with the sunset in the background. And the truth is when we were acting it out we kept laughing at how weird the whole situation was and how we felt like in a Mexican TV Series, but on screen it just looks like we're happy in love. I saw the footage and it looked so amazing that even I believed it for a second. And the entire film is condensed quick-shots of the evolution of a love that is born, grows, flickers and dies. It travels through time, skips through the boring parts, only shows the audience what they want to see. Think about all the moments of love you've had in you life. If you just edit them and add some amazing soundtrack and tie everything together, you've got your own film.

But there are no love stories like in the movies. In real life, love stories are only felt in glimpses, in moments captured in a sort of capsule that only last in our memories. Love is not perfect. It is not gentle, it is not kind, it is not forgiving. Love is a mess of passionate turns that leave you hanging on the edge of a cliff. It's a roller-coaster that goes up and down and sideways turns your life around and scares the shit out of you all the while giving you the greatest rush of your life.  

This year that I spent out of love was the best way for me to finally understand it. I recognize it now better than ever, and I've learned to appreciate it as what it is: discontinued and rough around the edges. Many a times, it doesn't come inside a wrapped-up package with a pretty bow. And I had a glimpse of it, I think. There's someone was in my life for years and every time I saw him my heart skipped a beat, but it was never good timing for us. And the truth is, I know deep down that if we had gone for it and tried being together, I wouldn't have been happy. But when I was with him for a glimpse of time, I know we had something special. If we had turned this glimpse into a relationship, then I'm afraid it would've spoiled it. So I chose to keep it special: Even now, I can close my eyes and always smile when I think of him, and I just appreciate it for what it is: a love story that could've been. 

last night

Last night, I went to a blues concert. I didn't really know what I was going to watch but ended up happily surprised I was really enjoying it. It was an homage to Dinah Washington, but I admit I had no clue who that was... and the songs were from the 40s and 50s. All very bluesy, very jazzy, very sexy. And most of the stories behind the songs where, of course, about love. The woman who waits for the phone to ring. The one who wonders if the guy is going to decide if they are together, or not. The other who wants her man to decide between her and getting drunk with the boys. The woman who loves a man she really isn't supposed to love. Sounds familiar?

How many times have I called my best friend to say oh my god, I have to tell you what happened last night. I met this guy and we hit off and he took my number and I'm sure he's gonna call don't you think he's going to call? Or she calls me to tell me that last night, she saw her ex, and she knows she shouldn't have but they ended up going back to his place and now she doesn't know where they're at. Oh the drama. So much fun.

Last night I met a boy and it was love at first sight. Last night he said I love you. Last night we had a fight. Last night he broke up with me. Last night I saw my ex for the first time.

Last night I was very tipsy. And I openly talked (and at one point, shouted) about my sex life with the Rats --and it's not entirely impossible that the other twelve people who were in the bar all got a very detailed report about it too.

Last night, I kissed a boy and he fell.  Literally, fell, in the middle of the street, as we were kissing, with about three dozen people watching in astonishment. I have that effect on boys sometimes.

Last night, I was with four couples. And it only felt weird for a second, when I realized I was the odd one out. But then I also realized that I didn't care at all. I felt genuinely happy for them and genuinely happy for myself. They have each other. I have my stories. For now.

love-struck-silly

While it's true that we have to go through many disappointments (ref. "lonesome cowboy") to get that one good spark, when you actually get there, it makes it seem all worth it. There aren't many moments in your life that can quite match up to the feeling of a wonderful new beginning. You know, that time when you can't seem to stop smiling, even though your jaw starts to hurt? You wake up with a smile, you fall asleep with a smile, you catch yourself giggling because you just remembered something he said, and you feel love-struck-silly and it's the best.

It's those knots in your stomach --but the good kind. It's that can't-eat, can't-sleep, can't-help-but-being-cheesy, want-to-jump-up-and-down kind of stuff. And boys and girls alike, we all love it.

My friend Rebelious had that look a couple of days ago when I saw her. To be honest, she gets that look a lot, but who can blame her? I wish it was all beginnings, all the time --without the ending part. "Not all guys are assholes," she reminded me, with that gushy smile plastered across her face. I had forgotten.

Actually, there is no such thing as an asshole or a "good guy." The same guy has been one and the other, it just depends on the girl, situation, timing, and that whole complicated cosmic effect that makes two people either feel the spark --or not. Actually, when the guy feels the spark, he can be so much cheesier than a girl! Even one of the Rats, who will not be named even by nickname because he will kill me, had that beginning-blush not so long ago every time he mentioned this girl with who nothing even happened... she's the kind that could make him drop everything and runoff to some desert island and get married. He didn't use exactly these words, but it was something along those lines. He was love-struck-silly.

In the beginning, everything seems possible. The last time I felt that, my boyfriend and I were almost ready to get hitched within a month with not a care in the world. It's like when you're tipsy: you feel so happy you can't think of anything going wrong. And then eventually, you sober up. Reason starts to come back to you. You realize that you can't runoff to a desert island and it's not true that "all you need is love." All the annoying realities of life come into perspective, work, money, family, parents, religion, social class, culture... oh, and that temper of yours that had vanished eventually crawls back, and it's all a lot more complicated.

Beginnings are just amazing... and it's too bad they only last for so long. Once you transition into the this-is-a-real-relationship mode, all you ever do is try to get back to that tipsy feeling. Actually, the reason why you continue to make an effort when it's not all pink clouds and roses, when the other person seems to have lost their way, or you don't feel quite as special anymore, it is because you remember how good it felt when it first started. And you hope that maybe, tomorrow, you'll wake up with that smile plastered across your face, with that can't-eat bunch of knots in the pit of your stomach and want-to-jump-up-and-down kind of stuff.

what's her name again?

My sister and I got my brother a funny gift for Christmas: two pillow covers, one of which says "what's her name again?" and the other "I hope he calls tomorrow." Haha.
The thing is that this "I hope he calls tomorrow" BS is really starting to get on my nerves. There is something so demeaning about us girls always waiting around to see if the guy is going to call --so basically, for him to make the call on whether or not you will see each other again. Yes, I know, there's a game, and men like the chase, and women have to seem evasive or busy or feign indifference to trigger his hunter nature and boost those hormone levels, but why is it that they have the power to decide whether or not to pursue --and all we get is the sitting around part, waiting for the red light on our phones to flash? (not that I've ever done that)
My friend Rebelious was on a date a couple of nights ago, and ended up spending half the night making out with this guy. He drops her home and says "I will call you." He takes charge, initiative, puts the ball in his court. And so she leaves him happily excited to have spent a fun night with a guy she likes. By the next day, she goes from joyful glee to waiting around for the phone to ring. And when the phone doesn't ring, let me tell you, it changes her mood. If you think you've seen a woman at her worst on PMS, then check her out when it's 9pm the day after and she's had no sign of life. Not a pretty picture.
But every rule-book out there says women must let the men do the pursuing. God forbid she should suggest to go out again, or worse, actually call before he does. Forget that she's a good looking girl, smart, funny, creative... she called. The ultimate turn off.
And what's even more unfair, is the whole rejection process. Reject a guy and he will get more excited, turned on, more interested, more hooked, in-pursuit mode. But let a girl get rejected and it's humiliation. We don't get to be the great deciders of "let's go out again and see how it goes" or "let's make out again because it was fun the first time." No, we only get to play on the guy's move. He calls, we answer. He asks you out, you decide if you'll say yes or no. But it's his move every time.
And it's a pain in the ass. It is true that women love to get chased after, just like men love to pursue. But I don't like to feel like I can't follow my instincts, break the rules or play outside the sandbox in fear of looking desperate.
I don't have a wise solution on how to actually do that without running the risk of getting the humiliating rejection. But for what it's worth, I think a guy who runs the other way just because you make a move wasn't going to stick around anyway.