It's a peculiar world out there, for those of us single gals and guys. I've been in the dating world in and out for the past fifteen years, and believe me when I tell you, the times are now different.
Forget the friend of a friend you might accidentally meet on a night out and hit it off. By thirty, you've met practically all of your friends' friends. And their new friends are all married couples, so of course there's no potential there.
Forget the seeing a cute guy sitting at the bar and asking him for a lighter to catch his attention. The last time I did that, it turned out I approached a total loser/creep/psycho who spent the rest of the night stalking me, sitting (alone) on the table next to ours staring at me for more than an hour, not taking no (many, many nos) for an answer.
Forget making eye contact with a complete stranger at ladies night (a trendy Dubai thing to do mid-week, where ladies can basically get very drunk for free), followed by the smile to invite him to talk to you. I fell completely under his charm for a good hour; until his friend told my friend that he is actually engaged and getting married in 6 months.
No, now it's all about the apps. How much you know of technology and how good you are at it. Flirting on social media, that's a thing. There's a wave on Instagram I recently experienced: one follows, you check out his pictures, maybe follow back. You get a like, you give a like. A person can look through your pictures and decide they like your personality (or at least, your Instapersonality) they may take the leap and send you a private message. You may even answer.
Then of course there are the actual dating apps. Or sex apps, still unclear who uses them for what. Apparently Tinder is now passé, kind of trashy. Happn is the newer, more classy version I hear. I'm yet to try it out, though I feel like I'm all app-ed out. I'm guessing the principle is the same. You basically get hundreds of guys putting their best pictures forward (the topless one, the petting a large animal one, the holding nephews and nieces one) or those who try to remain mysterious by only sharing a faraway picture so that you can't see much more than a silhouette... you swipe left and right (left a lot more than right) and strike up a conversation (as dry and textbook as they come) and you try your best to find some kind of connection even though the entire setup doesn't help you out at all --it's a lot of work and a lot of energy, for not much return. Sometimes they'll call you "baby" after a two sentence exchange and you wonder what on earth you've done wrong in your life to be in that position at that moment.
And then... then: There's the odd time when one of those many encounters materializes into an actual date. A real live date, a drink or a dinner, a face to face with a stranger usually subdued by one or four drinks, to help you through that awkward hour where you're trying to get to know a stranger. And it can be bad. Or even worse, it can be okay. He's nice enough that even though he took you to the completely wrong place, can't tell you an interesting story to save his life or make you feel anything but awkward politeness, you hang in there. And then you have to spend the next 3 weeks trying to politely, awkwardly, reject every other attempt he makes at asking you out again, until he finally gets the hint.
So the other night, I was talking about this to... my dad. Last person on earth I would ever talk to about my dating life. Because knowing my dad, he'll try to set me up with every eligible bachelor he comes across. And then I thought for a minute, that it might not be such a bad idea after all. I am, it seems, pretty old-school about the whole "how to meet someone" thing. And yes, I choose organically above technology any day. And having my father set me up is the one thing I haven't tried yet. So... I wonder how that will go.
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Saturday, February 13
Monday, November 18
how technology is changing the way we date
And I thought the time of MIRC was rough. That awful year in 1999 when I'd wait for dial-up internet connection (we all knew the sound it made by heart) and join these chat rooms with weird names like "blue flower" and ask people "asl" because that was the "new" language, the internet language --asl standing for "age, sex, location" in case you forgot.
It was supposed to be cool. I remember I was 13, but always pretended I was 16, because that's how old the girls were in that movie "Clueless" and those girl were super cool.
But in those days --it was the easy stuff. Nothing like 2013. I can't even count the number of methods you have for tracking someone down now... Monitor their whereabouts, through Facebook pictures and trip-advisor reviews. Read what they read from what they share on twitter or their newsfeed. Listen to the same music through Spotify and FB, of course (basically with Facebook you can do everything but appear on their screen and jump them...) But not just that... You can actually tell the number of hours they waste in the day by tracking their "last seen on" update on whatsapp. Now how creepy is that?
So, to sum it up --not only are you supposed to watch your behavior when you're out on a date or on the occasional phone call, but you also have to watch yourself when you're talking to friends on Whatsapp (what if you don't want him to know you're awake? No seriously?) or when you're liking something because FB will record the exact time you did it (why? who cares if I liked it a 1:46PM?)... And you now have to make sure every picture everyone has ever taken of you looks amazing because you never know what will end up on Facebook... It's just so much to think about! I mean, there was this guy who liked every Instagram picture anyone I knew ever posted, and we all thought "boy this guy has a lot of time on his hands" --so yeah, I'd say people notice and judge you for your social-network behavior too. Funny, no?
What is crazier? The other day I got a Facebook inbox-message from a guy I was newly seeing and imagine my surprise when at the top of that message, there appeared a message I wrote, wait for it... on March 27th 2007, at 8:22pm --basically when I was 22 years old and still living in Manhattan, I apparently had wrote him a message that went unanswered. Did I remember ever writing that? No. Did he remember ever reading it? No! Yet Facebook did a great job reminding us, and sort of helping him get points 6 years later... Do you know how embarrassing it is to re-read something you wrote 6 years ago?
But then there are the good thing about all this technology. Like how easier it makes it for my two friends who are crazy about each other but living in different countries --at least, they have Viber. And Skype. And Facetime. They can send each other videos and audio-notes on Whatsapp. They can somehow manage to share their days with each other, as much as technology permits them to.
In 1949, my grandparents met at a summer hotel in Lebanon. But after the summer, my grandfather returned to Cairo and my grandmother to Beirut. For seven years, they exchanged letters. Sometimes, they would go months without any news from each other. Months. Not minutes or hours like we count them now. They had to wait for the mailman. How amazing is that? If my grandmother was here now, I'd love to ask her how she thinks all this technology would have affected her long-distance relationship with my grandfather.
Of course, whether we like it or not, it's happening. This new way of dating, of connecting with other human beings, there is nothing we can do to change it. Yet I feel lucky I had the chance of knowing a bit of both worlds. I'll have to remind myself to write my children letters one day, so they get to experience it too.
It was supposed to be cool. I remember I was 13, but always pretended I was 16, because that's how old the girls were in that movie "Clueless" and those girl were super cool.
But in those days --it was the easy stuff. Nothing like 2013. I can't even count the number of methods you have for tracking someone down now... Monitor their whereabouts, through Facebook pictures and trip-advisor reviews. Read what they read from what they share on twitter or their newsfeed. Listen to the same music through Spotify and FB, of course (basically with Facebook you can do everything but appear on their screen and jump them...) But not just that... You can actually tell the number of hours they waste in the day by tracking their "last seen on" update on whatsapp. Now how creepy is that?
So, to sum it up --not only are you supposed to watch your behavior when you're out on a date or on the occasional phone call, but you also have to watch yourself when you're talking to friends on Whatsapp (what if you don't want him to know you're awake? No seriously?) or when you're liking something because FB will record the exact time you did it (why? who cares if I liked it a 1:46PM?)... And you now have to make sure every picture everyone has ever taken of you looks amazing because you never know what will end up on Facebook... It's just so much to think about! I mean, there was this guy who liked every Instagram picture anyone I knew ever posted, and we all thought "boy this guy has a lot of time on his hands" --so yeah, I'd say people notice and judge you for your social-network behavior too. Funny, no?
What is crazier? The other day I got a Facebook inbox-message from a guy I was newly seeing and imagine my surprise when at the top of that message, there appeared a message I wrote, wait for it... on March 27th 2007, at 8:22pm --basically when I was 22 years old and still living in Manhattan, I apparently had wrote him a message that went unanswered. Did I remember ever writing that? No. Did he remember ever reading it? No! Yet Facebook did a great job reminding us, and sort of helping him get points 6 years later... Do you know how embarrassing it is to re-read something you wrote 6 years ago?
But then there are the good thing about all this technology. Like how easier it makes it for my two friends who are crazy about each other but living in different countries --at least, they have Viber. And Skype. And Facetime. They can send each other videos and audio-notes on Whatsapp. They can somehow manage to share their days with each other, as much as technology permits them to.
In 1949, my grandparents met at a summer hotel in Lebanon. But after the summer, my grandfather returned to Cairo and my grandmother to Beirut. For seven years, they exchanged letters. Sometimes, they would go months without any news from each other. Months. Not minutes or hours like we count them now. They had to wait for the mailman. How amazing is that? If my grandmother was here now, I'd love to ask her how she thinks all this technology would have affected her long-distance relationship with my grandfather.
Of course, whether we like it or not, it's happening. This new way of dating, of connecting with other human beings, there is nothing we can do to change it. Yet I feel lucky I had the chance of knowing a bit of both worlds. I'll have to remind myself to write my children letters one day, so they get to experience it too.
Thursday, November 14
the "nice" girl syndrome
I have been repeatedly accused of being a nice girl.
You would think that it's a good thing, to be considered nice, but of course it's not. It's like the worst thing you can be called. Like when you ask about someone and the answer is "she's nice", you know there's not that much else to say.
Except that I know for a fact that there is more to me than the whole nice girl aura. But as soon as there is too much niceness, people wont see much else anymore. I've studied the freakin' rule book by heart: men love the chase, yes, it's been written countless times and proven and said by so many men and women that I've lost track. God forbid you should ever let your guard down and not challenge a man for ten minutes.
In long term relationships, it translates as the girlfriend who is too convenient, too caring, too available. A man can love you, worship you, want to spend the rest of his life with you and suddenly, because you're having a bad time and you are unable to hold up the whole "I'm a mysterious woman who can leave you at any second" role, he can just let you go because --well, it's just not exciting anymore. I'm guilty as charged, I'll admit it. I have a hard time following the bitch-persona because it's just not who I am. I've tried and failed. And then I think about all these successful relationships around me and wonder, do all these women have an ability which I obviously lack, or do I just date men who require an unreasonable level of "challenge"?
In the dating world, the nice girl appears as the girl who is too agreeable, too "into him", and again, too available. A man can find you hot, smart, interesting, yet you can turn him off just by sending one too many messages that just make him feel too comfortable about having you right where he wants you. How boring.
Now while a man is having this permanent need to be challenged, the woman is supposed to satiate his needs by being perfect: the perfect amount of presence and the perfect amount of indifference; the perfect amount of sexiness and the perfect amount of working-woman; the perfect amount of nights out with friends versus the perfect amount of nights spent together. We should just all write down the list and stick it on our refrigerators, pencil in the perfect amount depending on the guy we're dating and refreshing it every month as the relationship evolves. You know, just to be sure we're not missing anything.
Maybe I've got this all wrong --I wouldn't be surprised. After all, I have been dumped countless times for the same reason (yes, too nice is a reason for men to break up with you) and so I'm obviously not very good at learning from my mistakes. Unless of course, I switch perspectives. What if I'm a nice girl --with myself?
I grew up in a house where taking care of others was a pre-requisite. And it somehow settled in my DNA. When my mother died I was 16 years old --but my sister was 11, and my brother was 7. I've read somewhere that people who grow up taking care of others develop this thing called "the need to be needed." I catch myself doing it sometimes, with my friends, with my siblings who are adults now and can take care of themselves, and of course, with men in my life. And the constant advice I receive, is that if I was just as "nice" to myself as I am to others, then maybe I can finally beat this thing.
So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to make a list of things I'd like to do for myself before the year ends, and will document it, here on Beirut Rhapsodies. And we'll see how well that works out.
You would think that it's a good thing, to be considered nice, but of course it's not. It's like the worst thing you can be called. Like when you ask about someone and the answer is "she's nice", you know there's not that much else to say.
Except that I know for a fact that there is more to me than the whole nice girl aura. But as soon as there is too much niceness, people wont see much else anymore. I've studied the freakin' rule book by heart: men love the chase, yes, it's been written countless times and proven and said by so many men and women that I've lost track. God forbid you should ever let your guard down and not challenge a man for ten minutes.
In long term relationships, it translates as the girlfriend who is too convenient, too caring, too available. A man can love you, worship you, want to spend the rest of his life with you and suddenly, because you're having a bad time and you are unable to hold up the whole "I'm a mysterious woman who can leave you at any second" role, he can just let you go because --well, it's just not exciting anymore. I'm guilty as charged, I'll admit it. I have a hard time following the bitch-persona because it's just not who I am. I've tried and failed. And then I think about all these successful relationships around me and wonder, do all these women have an ability which I obviously lack, or do I just date men who require an unreasonable level of "challenge"?
In the dating world, the nice girl appears as the girl who is too agreeable, too "into him", and again, too available. A man can find you hot, smart, interesting, yet you can turn him off just by sending one too many messages that just make him feel too comfortable about having you right where he wants you. How boring.
Now while a man is having this permanent need to be challenged, the woman is supposed to satiate his needs by being perfect: the perfect amount of presence and the perfect amount of indifference; the perfect amount of sexiness and the perfect amount of working-woman; the perfect amount of nights out with friends versus the perfect amount of nights spent together. We should just all write down the list and stick it on our refrigerators, pencil in the perfect amount depending on the guy we're dating and refreshing it every month as the relationship evolves. You know, just to be sure we're not missing anything.
Maybe I've got this all wrong --I wouldn't be surprised. After all, I have been dumped countless times for the same reason (yes, too nice is a reason for men to break up with you) and so I'm obviously not very good at learning from my mistakes. Unless of course, I switch perspectives. What if I'm a nice girl --with myself?
I grew up in a house where taking care of others was a pre-requisite. And it somehow settled in my DNA. When my mother died I was 16 years old --but my sister was 11, and my brother was 7. I've read somewhere that people who grow up taking care of others develop this thing called "the need to be needed." I catch myself doing it sometimes, with my friends, with my siblings who are adults now and can take care of themselves, and of course, with men in my life. And the constant advice I receive, is that if I was just as "nice" to myself as I am to others, then maybe I can finally beat this thing.
So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to make a list of things I'd like to do for myself before the year ends, and will document it, here on Beirut Rhapsodies. And we'll see how well that works out.
Friday, August 17
no such thing as perfect
I realized something today. Well actually I realized it many times before but as I've been trying to come up with a smart blogpost everyday for the past week and still haven't come up with anything, I asked myself what exactly I was trying to write about anyway.
I mean, every day I browse dozens of articles on Huffington Post (they have sections on women, weddings, divorce...) I read blog posts from different people of different ages and different places, and I have at least 8 or 9 books at home also on the very same topic; in recent weeks, I've interviewed couples on the realities of marriage and I talk about this with anyone who cares to to hear different perspectives and different takes and try to boil it down to something concrete. Something useful. I'm talking about the recipe for a good relationship, of course.
And am I better girlfriend for it? I don't think so. You see what I noticed is that everyone has their own kind of relationship and you know what? There's just no labeling it. The other day I read a post on open relationships and although in some way it seems like a smart solution to the modern couple, it is also impossible for me to actually imagine having it. But then again, when a gay friend of mine explains to me that wanting and having sexual intercourse with men other than his boyfriend has absolutely nothing to do with his love for him and their relationship, I understand it. I even accept it. Although I would never accept it for me. And all these questions we try to find answers to: should we move in together? I mean statistically is that better or worse for your couple on the long run? Because I read an article that confused the hell out of me and all I got from it is that it works for some people and doesn't work for others... Big surprise. Well what about marriage? How soon is too soon? Can we have a baby without getting married? Look at Angelina and Brad --it took 6 kids from 4 different countries before she agreed to wear a ring. But then again if you do that in Lebanon than your child will be registered as a bastard and society as a whole will "frown upon" you.
I look around and see the people surrounding me and I honestly can't compare my relationship to any of theirs. Although the patterns are similar and the feelings are similar, it's never like 2+2. So what's the point, right? If none of us have the same story and if advice doesn't apply to everyone, then why read books and why write this blog? I think that by sharing, we learn more about ourselves. We take the things that do apply and adapt them the way we see fit. Trial and error and tears, and maybe you'll end up with your own recipe. Just note that you'll probably have to change it with the next person in your life.
I mean, every day I browse dozens of articles on Huffington Post (they have sections on women, weddings, divorce...) I read blog posts from different people of different ages and different places, and I have at least 8 or 9 books at home also on the very same topic; in recent weeks, I've interviewed couples on the realities of marriage and I talk about this with anyone who cares to to hear different perspectives and different takes and try to boil it down to something concrete. Something useful. I'm talking about the recipe for a good relationship, of course.
And am I better girlfriend for it? I don't think so. You see what I noticed is that everyone has their own kind of relationship and you know what? There's just no labeling it. The other day I read a post on open relationships and although in some way it seems like a smart solution to the modern couple, it is also impossible for me to actually imagine having it. But then again, when a gay friend of mine explains to me that wanting and having sexual intercourse with men other than his boyfriend has absolutely nothing to do with his love for him and their relationship, I understand it. I even accept it. Although I would never accept it for me. And all these questions we try to find answers to: should we move in together? I mean statistically is that better or worse for your couple on the long run? Because I read an article that confused the hell out of me and all I got from it is that it works for some people and doesn't work for others... Big surprise. Well what about marriage? How soon is too soon? Can we have a baby without getting married? Look at Angelina and Brad --it took 6 kids from 4 different countries before she agreed to wear a ring. But then again if you do that in Lebanon than your child will be registered as a bastard and society as a whole will "frown upon" you.
I look around and see the people surrounding me and I honestly can't compare my relationship to any of theirs. Although the patterns are similar and the feelings are similar, it's never like 2+2. So what's the point, right? If none of us have the same story and if advice doesn't apply to everyone, then why read books and why write this blog? I think that by sharing, we learn more about ourselves. We take the things that do apply and adapt them the way we see fit. Trial and error and tears, and maybe you'll end up with your own recipe. Just note that you'll probably have to change it with the next person in your life.
Wednesday, September 21
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.
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.
Monday, September 12
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.
Wednesday, July 6
Beirut RATsodies: dating beyond borders
Lebanese live abroad, work abroad, date abroad. I asked one of the guys to talk about his experience of dating a non-Lebanese. This is the RATsody of the month!
Dating beyond borders
Lebanese men seem to have become accustomed to the concept of dating foreign girls. We hear of the Lebanese who moved in with his French girlfriend in their 15 m2 apartment; the friend who got married to an Italian girl he met 6 months ago, only to divorce 6 months later; the colleague who is dating an American blonde who seems to come straight out of a Hollywood teenager movie.
When you leave home to settle in another country, dating a foreign girl becomes an adventure that follows very specific stages. You start by hanging out with other Lebanese and feel awkward about approaching locals. Then, you’re puzzled about the idea. You think it would help your integration. You’re excited. You can’t resist her blond hair and blue eyes. You make a move and you intend to test the claim that French girls are great in bed. It generally doesn’t really work the first 2 or 3 times. Then you find the perfect match, get to know each other, discover a new culture, move in together and feel that you finally belong.
That’s until the moment of truth arrives, when you invite her to come spend a week in Lebanon… Because no matter how much you prepared her for the ride, or how many times you asked your parents and friends to be nice and always speak English, things unfortunately never turn out as easy as you thought: excitement is replaced with awkwardness, discussions about your parents turn into conflicts, English turns into Arabic. Then you realize what “lost in translation” feels like, and that the same jokes are actually not that funny in German.
Being part of a family that has a significant number of unsuccessful experiences in the topic, I knew I would be facing issues introducing my foreign (now ex-) girlfriend to my family. Initially, my mother didn’t like the idea of us living together – not to mention the fact that we shared our apartment with her huge dog, that she was 2 years older than me and spoke a local dialect that often required a quick search on Google translate. Less than a week after introducing her to my entourage, annoying questions started popping up: why is she dressed like that? Doesn’t she wear any make-up? Are you really planning on marrying someone who doesn’t understand our culture? Before I knew it, they were already trying to introduce me to their friend’s daughters or sisters. I wondered if only they could learn a little from our politicians who seem to know how to please their foreign counterparts even more than the local people who elected them.
Don’t get me wrong, the experience obviously has lots of upside: teaching her swear words in Arabic, taking her to Baalbek and realizing it’s the first time you actually go there, or being proud to show her how many good friends you have at home. When I was away from Lebanon, I loved how simple our relationship was, the fact that we didn’t have to deal with her parents every day, that issues such as religion and age difference were not that big of a deal. I also appreciated not having 50 friends in common with her and not meeting her ex every time we went clubbing, which seemed to be very common experiences for my friends back home.
So how can you make it through without the hassle and the conflicts? First, prepare yourself mentally to face the challenge and the criticism; Prepare your partner to the test that she is about to face and help her get through it: buy your mother a gift on her behalf, remind her to call your dad on his birthday, help her find common interests with your best friend. At the same time, show your entourage how much she means to you and remind them that she truly makes you happy.
Most importantly, make sure to explain to your partner that in Lebanon, dating beyond borders means she’ll be in a relationship with your parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, culture and origin!
Monday, April 25
Cigar Sunday
Nothing like a Sunday afternoon spent with the Rats on their traditional "Cigar Sunday" to give me material for a post. Especially when guest-rats, who were visiting for Easter Weekend, were added to the pack. I could barely keep up with the stories.
It was kind of the "kick-off" for the Spring/Summer season, which in terms of dating is especially fun. Like Wiserat says, in winter, you just want to have someone you can curl up with and watch a movie under the covers. But when the sun is shinning and every other girl in town is showing off her legs and her cleavage, the Rats want come out to play. My friend the Masochist, who missed his plane a couple of days ago and was stuck overnight in a shitty hotel in Egypt, made friends with another unfortunate passenger, and to pass the time, she started telling him her life story. Including this particularly interesting breakup: her ex-boyfriend tells her one day "You know honey, I really love you... but it's summer now." Kind of says it all, doesn't it?
It is difficult to describe Cigar Sunday into words that would do it justice. At 5pm, it was three cigars, three Rats, and a couple of Almaza bottles at a corner table in Torino Express. By 7pm, three dozen shots of Tequila Gold had passed around, one round of AK47s, glasses of Arak, Jim Beam and vodka were spread on two tables and half the bar, as the party of three turned into a gathering of 15. My friend the Swiss, who is wired to flirt 24/7 no matter what, announced that he was currently dating an eighteen-year-old who is still in high-school. "I have the same conversations with her as with every other girl I dated who were my age," he said, defending her level of maturity. Tells you a lot about the girls he likes to date. He also managed to tell us, in the same sentence, that he "loved" his 18-year-old girlfriend, and that he had scored some girl the night before at three in the morning. Three shots later, there was talk about condoms and the tricks they play in order to get away with not wearing one. Educated men justifying the fact that if a girl asks you to wear a condom, to them that means it's pretty safe to do it without one. There was lusting over a gorgeous girl who walked in with her fiance. And, last but not least, there was a rating of girls in terms of how many drinks they need to have before they can "bang her." Like the Masochist says: "There are no ugly women. Just not enough alcohol."
There is no real morale to this post. Just maybe, I'd say, that although not all men are Rats, there is a Rat in every man.
It was kind of the "kick-off" for the Spring/Summer season, which in terms of dating is especially fun. Like Wiserat says, in winter, you just want to have someone you can curl up with and watch a movie under the covers. But when the sun is shinning and every other girl in town is showing off her legs and her cleavage, the Rats want come out to play. My friend the Masochist, who missed his plane a couple of days ago and was stuck overnight in a shitty hotel in Egypt, made friends with another unfortunate passenger, and to pass the time, she started telling him her life story. Including this particularly interesting breakup: her ex-boyfriend tells her one day "You know honey, I really love you... but it's summer now." Kind of says it all, doesn't it?
It is difficult to describe Cigar Sunday into words that would do it justice. At 5pm, it was three cigars, three Rats, and a couple of Almaza bottles at a corner table in Torino Express. By 7pm, three dozen shots of Tequila Gold had passed around, one round of AK47s, glasses of Arak, Jim Beam and vodka were spread on two tables and half the bar, as the party of three turned into a gathering of 15. My friend the Swiss, who is wired to flirt 24/7 no matter what, announced that he was currently dating an eighteen-year-old who is still in high-school. "I have the same conversations with her as with every other girl I dated who were my age," he said, defending her level of maturity. Tells you a lot about the girls he likes to date. He also managed to tell us, in the same sentence, that he "loved" his 18-year-old girlfriend, and that he had scored some girl the night before at three in the morning. Three shots later, there was talk about condoms and the tricks they play in order to get away with not wearing one. Educated men justifying the fact that if a girl asks you to wear a condom, to them that means it's pretty safe to do it without one. There was lusting over a gorgeous girl who walked in with her fiance. And, last but not least, there was a rating of girls in terms of how many drinks they need to have before they can "bang her." Like the Masochist says: "There are no ugly women. Just not enough alcohol."
There is no real morale to this post. Just maybe, I'd say, that although not all men are Rats, there is a Rat in every man.
Friday, January 14
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.
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.
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