the better story

In films and in books and in romance in general, love at first sight is a big thing. Two people see each other in a crowd, their eyes meet, and they both immediately know that they are meant to be. And I've heard about stories like that in real life. My dad always says he knew the minute he saw my mother outside his high-school that she would be his wife someday. And the other night, my aunt's friend was telling the story of how she met her husband: they were in Paris, she was taking a seminar and he was teaching it. She dropped her pen on the floor and he picked it up for her, and their eyes met. She immediately told her friend "I have the strangest feeling this man is the man of my life." And they've been married twenty-years or so now. 

These stories are great. They make us all dream and smile, and hope for the kind of love that you see in "The Notebook" which makes every girl cry her eyes out. 

What's funny though is that many a times, these words have been said and things did not work out --so they're quickly forgotten. If things had worked out, the story would be told on every rooftop. My friend Rebelious got engaged 6 months after meeting her boyfriend, because "they just knew." They were married another 6 months later and at their wedding, he told the story of how the night they met, he told his friend that this is the girl he was going to marry. And he did marry her. But then they got divorced two years later. So much for a romantic story.

I'm not trying to poke holes into wonderful romance. I love these stories. I just think they trap us in these little boxes and make us feel like that's what we should look for, someone we're just going to look at and know within minutes that he's the one. I don't believe that anymore.

I think I was in love once or twice before. And each of these times, I had decided that I was "in love" almost instantly. In love with someone I didn't even know. Now I am convinced this comes from watching too much Cinderella and the Little Mermaid as a child, because how someone can love a person they know nothing about now seems completely absurd to me. You're in love with someone first and then you get to know them? And you find out what they're like and you have to accept them with all their faults because you already decided you love them. You love what, exactly? 

Love at first sight now seems  like a recipe for disaster. You meet someone, fall in love, have a picture of them in your mind and what happens next, in most cases, is that they keep disappointing you --they don't live up to that image. They are not want you wanted them to be, and once the infatuation wears off and you realize it, it only goes downhill from there.

And then you meet someone one day, and you don't expect anything. He makes you laugh maybe, something peeks your interest, but wedding bells aren't ringing in your ears, and you haven't pictured what your three children are going to look like within an hour of meeting him. You just meet him. And spending time with him is what makes you want to spend more time with him. And suddenly you find yourself surprised by the way he is. Good surprised. You didn't build-up an image, he builds it for your, little by little. You discover each other and the more you learn the more you like. And I think that's a better story.

growin' up

My brother is 18 years old today and this is for him.

When he was born, I was 8 and we had just moved back from Paris to Beirut. It was 1993, still a city covered in the rust of war. We lived at my grandmother's, my little sister and me, and my mom couldn't leave the house because she was nine months pregnant and if the electricity cut off she'd have to walk up three floors.We'd pick up the phone and we'd have to wait patiently for the line to come; the only milk available was powdered Nido and I couldn't even stand the smell of it; and the only thing on TV were the local channels and "Mini Studio" was the only watchable show.

I remember when my mom taught me how to change his diapers and how he peed on her while we were changing him. I remember when she let a flock of his hair grow long at the back of his head. I remember when he was four years old and we teased him on how he had a big penis and he ran all over the house screaming and crying that no, no, he didn't have a big penis. I remember him in his superman costume that he'd wear as pajamas. It was a time when we had a full house, and we'd wake up Sunday morning, my sister, my brother and me and prepare breakfast for our parents. There was still five of us back then, coffee for two, pancakes for all.

Everything is different now. It's like we're on another planet living in a different dimension. The world changed for this little boy when he was seven years old and he lost his mother, but watching him changes my perspective of the world everyday. When she was no longer around, I would put him to bed every night and tell him stories about her so that he would never forget. We'd talk about all sorts of things before he'd go to sleep and once he told me "sometimes my penis wakes up before me" --and I thought it was the cutest and funniest way anyone has ever put it. It was at that time that we came up with Papadopoulos together, an inside joke that only a few will get. When I left for New York, he was still a little boy. Over the phone I would hear his voice change and barely recognized him when he picked up, and every time I would visit, I'd find him taller, with little hair starting to grow on his face. By the time I came back he was a fully grown teenager. He'd receive dozens of texts a day from a dozen different girls, all crazy in love with him. He is that guy, you see, the ones all the girls are in love with.

And today he's almost a man. The world he was born into --it doesn't exist anymore. What we've learnt along the way is that nothing is predictable and anything can happen. But what always remains, throughout, is the love that you can only share with your siblings. And when your brother tells you you're "the woman of my life," you know you've done something right.

when did we get to that age?

Summer used to be about the beach. It used to be about the sun and the sea and the fact that we didn't have anything to do for three months except sun-tan and have a good time. It used to be about a week in Faqra in August, a trip by boat every once in a while, beach parties at night. But somewhere along the way, summers have come and gone merging into the other seasons, ending before we realize they've begun. I have to consciously stop and look at my calendar, and tell myself that it's July 14 and I haven't been to the beach yet. Not once.

But then again, there is one thing that also reminds me we're in summer: the white flowers hanging on every other door, the invitation cards flooding the entrance table, the harmonious beeping of car convoys... the names changing from double to triple on Facebook (I like this trend women have of keeping their maiden names, so modern-chic), pictures of the big day flooding everyone's walls, the honeymoons in the Maldives or San Francisco.

So when did we get to that age again? Because I think I missed the memo. Just yesterday we were sixteen and we would beg our parents to let us out until 2am and we would sneak out in the middle of the night, have sleepovers, play truth or dare, get drunk and spend the rest of the night throwing up in the guest bathroom of a friend's chalet in Faraya. Now I log on to Facebook with my morning coffee in one hand and my jaw drops as everyday I discover that a friend who I played barbies with when I was 10 years old now has a baby. And bless her heart, she's the cutest thing in the world and I'm so happy for her, but again --when did we reach that age? I log in again this morning and I see another one who is pregnant. I go out for drinks with my friends, and all everyone talks about is that dress she bought for thingy's wedding and the shoes she bought for the other wedding, and there's a wedding on Friday and two on Saturday and the engagement party and the bachelorette and if I hear these words one more time I think I'm going to scream.

There's never been a truer moment for me to say time flies. The last three years have gone by so fast I haven't had the time to pause and catch my breath. Next thing I know I'll be the one adding a name to my name and parading pictures of my belly. Maybe. And suddenly that whole Peter Pan story has a whole new meaning.

seasons of change

Summer is peaking out its nose.
It's been a long winter and we are all craving lazying by the pool, showing off tanned faces, drinking on rooftop bars and acting like we're on vacation even when we're not. There is a feeling that comes together with the change of seasons... something about renewal, feeling happier, rejuvenated, more alive. And after months of gray skies and cold nights, the sun is something to look forward to.

I was speaking to a friend this morning, and we realized that all our friends had broken up at some point during this winter, including the both of us. All long, serious relationships that came to their end, each for their own reasons, each in their own way. We each try to overcome it as best we can, we each have our own process, but it's not easy for anyone. It's crazy how one person missing in your life can create such damage, such change.

For weeks at a time, everything can seem fine. And then someone tells you he saw your ex kissing another girl. Or you spot that girl on Facebook that seems to "like" everything he does. Or something really great just happened to you, and your first instinct is to share it with her --and then you remember you can't. Most days you've moved on. He doesn't even cross your mind, until you see his car parked in front of you. You see her best-friend walk out of a shop, and you wonder if she's close by. You open a random folder on your laptop, and you stumble on dozens of pictures of the both of you. And then the wound bleeds a little.

Sometimes it's a song. A movie. The other day, it was a book. I read a passage that gave me the chills, as I felt I was reading the exact scene of my breakup. It was kind of creepy actually.

But then the stings get more and more rare. One day you see the car and you forget it was his. Her picture still evokes a memory, but doesn't hurt as much. You meet someone else that makes you smile and feel special, and suddenly it doesn't feel as hard anymore.

They say time heals all things. That as seasons change, things that seemed to have died come back to life. Right now, there are rays of sun one day and gray clouds the next. It's 30 degrees in the shade, and then all of a sudden, it starts to rain. Summer is peaking out its nose. And we're not there just yet; but we're close.