I am tan.
My skin has darkened.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thank you to the sun and summer and long hours in the glaring, shining UV rays. My mother would so disapprove of my skin color and my "sun damage" and my risk of getting skin cancer. She is so afraid that I will end up like her, with holes in my forehead from endless biopsies. With the fear of something greater than lacerations. And I remember that day, dark in my heart but incredibly bright when I got that call...that word, feared unlike any other....cancer...
I've never been more pale than I was that day.
But today, I rejoice in my skin's darkness. Ironically, I rejoice because of my mom, because of my grandparents, because of my heritage. I am fiercely and proudly, an Arab. The most hated race in America and a huge part of what makes me, me. The paler I get, the farther away I appear from my Lebanese heritage, and I hate that.
So many times, I hear "But...you don't look Libanese...", slurred in some French accent by a creepy Arabic man at a party or in a club. I get that. I get what you might think, that I am Jewish or Italian or German. My hair is not super curly, my eyes are not dark, and I have the body of a Latina. I am an unidentifiable race, I could be anything, I am in-between. I have no place, but I have placed myself with the Lebanese, and happily thus.
The confusion is understandable. Those who challenge my heritage...well, that's when it becomes a pet peeve.
Since when do I have to fit into your cookie cutter to identify with my background? I don't feel like being forced into your molds or your stereotypes. I don't speak Arabic or have a very dark complexion, so I can't be Arabic. I am too outgoing and attached to my family to be a WASP. I am not mixed race, but I am mixed culture. Raised in the whitest of white suburbs, I was once asked by a 100% Cantonese girl if I counted as Asian. I have been called a terrorist multiple times, and "Wait, what are you?" is a question I get often, like I am some alien plant matter, instead of a person with a strong heritage and an identity. All of this stopped bothering me about a year ago, when I started to say :"I'm Arabic" as a fact more than a defense.
Today, it is a hot, sunshine-y day. I am scheduled to be outside for the strongest rays of the day. And, even though I want to care for my skin...today, I hope to deepen my coloring. My melanin is a reminder that I am who I am, fiercely, proudly.
I face the sun, and I absorb who I am.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Split
I really do believe, perhaps in naivete or in truth, that my greatest fear has nothing to do with death, nothing to do with loss, nothing to do with being trapped or tortured or afraid.
My biggest fear is that I could lie to myself enough to create another me, enough to become someone I can't recognize.
Not all who wander are lost, but all who have lost the ability to wonder...they might never be found.
Every day, I question myself, and I question everything around me. I'm never satisfied with what things appear to be-there's always depth to every surface appearance, especially when it comes to people who seem one dimensional. Discounting someone is the best way to hurt yourself, to hurt your chance at friendship, or love, or something wonderful.
And this is who I am, these are my greatest beliefs.
And my biggest fear is that I could somehow convince myself that I am none of these things. That any momentary lack of self confidence I might feel would become permanent, that I would morph into someone I can't understand.
But I am sure that that won't happen.
I have a friend who...he did this, to himself. His inner self, the one he rarely reveals, even to me..is wonderful. That version of J is sweet, passionate, funny, and above all, genuine. That version isn't cool, not in the least, but that version also doesn't care whatsoever.
But the other version..is what he shows to the world. A mask, a shield, a wall I could see right through, and most people never bother to examine. If you hand people a version of yourself...they will usually accept it, run with it, neglect to bother with any other part of you. I hate this version of him. Everything about me rails against every part of J's version B. He is harsh, cynical, scathing, a hotshot. I can't stand it, though I tolerate it when it must come out.
We all have a shield. We all have a front. We all deal with the overwhelm that is the world by creating an alternate self, a self that has no insides or guts, a self that is social and exciting and someone easy to love.
But...what happens when that piece becomes the whole? Is there any stepping back? Is there a chance of being who you were, or who you should be, or who you can be? Or do we become so entrenched in our preferable outer selves that returning to introspection is...impossible?
The idea really scares me. I force myself to see the dichotomy I have created for myself every day. I am one piece bubbly, fun-loving, endlessly outgoing, and loud. I am, in the other piece, quiet, extremely introspective, wise, and without drama or excitement. I can tell you that most days, I prefer the quieter side to myself. She is easier to live with. Much less maintenance. She can have mussed hair, wear sweatpants, and drink pots of tea on a rainy day. She is the one who keeps this blog. The frantic-seeker does not have the patience to write, think, breathe. She is too busy finding her next latte.
I waver between my two halves constantly, of course. I would venture to say that my "true self" is neither one nor the other, but whatever combination I choose to make. But that is only because I KNOW that there are two sides to me, know that I am always a little different, know my limits. Those who are lost don't see a split and they don't see the fusion. They don't know who they are, or how to get to their own core.
And I used to be that way.
And I never, ever want to go back.
I am vigilant, and I am determined. I know who I am. I know what I want and I know that I don't know much of anything. I know how much I rely on the people I love to keep me upright, and I know that I NEED no one but myself to be ok.
I'll keep loving caffeine, to keep me upbeat. I'll keep loving my journal, to keep me grounded. And I'll keep trying to help the lost soul of my friend. All he needs is someone to be as honest to him as I am to myself.
Oh, J. We'll find you in this mess. You "didn't used to be this way"? Forget your past, and let go of who you think you should be. You are so much more.
My biggest fear is that I could lie to myself enough to create another me, enough to become someone I can't recognize.
Not all who wander are lost, but all who have lost the ability to wonder...they might never be found.
Every day, I question myself, and I question everything around me. I'm never satisfied with what things appear to be-there's always depth to every surface appearance, especially when it comes to people who seem one dimensional. Discounting someone is the best way to hurt yourself, to hurt your chance at friendship, or love, or something wonderful.
And this is who I am, these are my greatest beliefs.
And my biggest fear is that I could somehow convince myself that I am none of these things. That any momentary lack of self confidence I might feel would become permanent, that I would morph into someone I can't understand.
But I am sure that that won't happen.
I have a friend who...he did this, to himself. His inner self, the one he rarely reveals, even to me..is wonderful. That version of J is sweet, passionate, funny, and above all, genuine. That version isn't cool, not in the least, but that version also doesn't care whatsoever.
But the other version..is what he shows to the world. A mask, a shield, a wall I could see right through, and most people never bother to examine. If you hand people a version of yourself...they will usually accept it, run with it, neglect to bother with any other part of you. I hate this version of him. Everything about me rails against every part of J's version B. He is harsh, cynical, scathing, a hotshot. I can't stand it, though I tolerate it when it must come out.
We all have a shield. We all have a front. We all deal with the overwhelm that is the world by creating an alternate self, a self that has no insides or guts, a self that is social and exciting and someone easy to love.
But...what happens when that piece becomes the whole? Is there any stepping back? Is there a chance of being who you were, or who you should be, or who you can be? Or do we become so entrenched in our preferable outer selves that returning to introspection is...impossible?
The idea really scares me. I force myself to see the dichotomy I have created for myself every day. I am one piece bubbly, fun-loving, endlessly outgoing, and loud. I am, in the other piece, quiet, extremely introspective, wise, and without drama or excitement. I can tell you that most days, I prefer the quieter side to myself. She is easier to live with. Much less maintenance. She can have mussed hair, wear sweatpants, and drink pots of tea on a rainy day. She is the one who keeps this blog. The frantic-seeker does not have the patience to write, think, breathe. She is too busy finding her next latte.
I waver between my two halves constantly, of course. I would venture to say that my "true self" is neither one nor the other, but whatever combination I choose to make. But that is only because I KNOW that there are two sides to me, know that I am always a little different, know my limits. Those who are lost don't see a split and they don't see the fusion. They don't know who they are, or how to get to their own core.
And I used to be that way.
And I never, ever want to go back.
I am vigilant, and I am determined. I know who I am. I know what I want and I know that I don't know much of anything. I know how much I rely on the people I love to keep me upright, and I know that I NEED no one but myself to be ok.
I'll keep loving caffeine, to keep me upbeat. I'll keep loving my journal, to keep me grounded. And I'll keep trying to help the lost soul of my friend. All he needs is someone to be as honest to him as I am to myself.
Oh, J. We'll find you in this mess. You "didn't used to be this way"? Forget your past, and let go of who you think you should be. You are so much more.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Mad Men
blink....blink...blinkblink...blink
Another message. Another hour, another message. It's from an unknown number this time, but it's always the same thing. My beautiful sister and her new boyfriend, at some lovely restaurant, being what can only be termed as "sweethearts". He likes her more than she knows, and he could love her in ways she can't really grasp. Love from men, healthy love, isn't something my sister will ever be able to understand.
She was so hurt, those years ago.
She still hurts.
And this wounded girl, this fallen angel, has found a kindred spirit in the unlikliest way. The suburbs are not known for socializing, and mental health groups are not known for their matchmaking.
But here she is. Looking demure, innocent, scared, and hopeful. Everything I want for her.
My hackles are up, of course. When she was hurt, so was I. So was our family. Hurt is never a one-person endeavor. Could this new boy hurt her again? She would never recover.
We would never recover.
In the back of my mind seeps uncharitable thoughts. Why can she get a boyfriend, this mentally ill woman, and I can't even get a date? Maybe I'm not the normal one at all. Maybe I must face my social failure.
Then again...it's, well. It's been an interesting few days for my nonexistent love life. My mom called to check in the other day, and conversation quickly descended into:
"Have you met any nice guys lately?"
This is code for: Have you met The Man You Want To Marry?
At this point, I've stopped noticing the question, and I make sure to vary my answers to suit. Recently, "they're all gay" has been the best response, no matter how untrue it is.
In another thread, one of my best friends is fascinated by my loveless existence. He always wants to talk about it, analyze it, then decide he needs to cheer me about it. Cheering me up usually consists of wondering at how someone as cool and smart as me could be single.
This is not helpful.
I don't lack in companionship. I don't need love or support. I'm taken care of. I'm more than fine.
All I hope, is that people can see the strength I have in my solitude.
For everything I want to have...who I am is pretty close.
Another message. Another hour, another message. It's from an unknown number this time, but it's always the same thing. My beautiful sister and her new boyfriend, at some lovely restaurant, being what can only be termed as "sweethearts". He likes her more than she knows, and he could love her in ways she can't really grasp. Love from men, healthy love, isn't something my sister will ever be able to understand.
She was so hurt, those years ago.
She still hurts.
And this wounded girl, this fallen angel, has found a kindred spirit in the unlikliest way. The suburbs are not known for socializing, and mental health groups are not known for their matchmaking.
But here she is. Looking demure, innocent, scared, and hopeful. Everything I want for her.
My hackles are up, of course. When she was hurt, so was I. So was our family. Hurt is never a one-person endeavor. Could this new boy hurt her again? She would never recover.
We would never recover.
In the back of my mind seeps uncharitable thoughts. Why can she get a boyfriend, this mentally ill woman, and I can't even get a date? Maybe I'm not the normal one at all. Maybe I must face my social failure.
Then again...it's, well. It's been an interesting few days for my nonexistent love life. My mom called to check in the other day, and conversation quickly descended into:
"Have you met any nice guys lately?"
This is code for: Have you met The Man You Want To Marry?
At this point, I've stopped noticing the question, and I make sure to vary my answers to suit. Recently, "they're all gay" has been the best response, no matter how untrue it is.
In another thread, one of my best friends is fascinated by my loveless existence. He always wants to talk about it, analyze it, then decide he needs to cheer me about it. Cheering me up usually consists of wondering at how someone as cool and smart as me could be single.
This is not helpful.
I don't lack in companionship. I don't need love or support. I'm taken care of. I'm more than fine.
All I hope, is that people can see the strength I have in my solitude.
For everything I want to have...who I am is pretty close.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Breathe
Truism: There is a first time for everything. New things, first things, are most of all frightening, and second of all-wonderful.
My newest new? My first?
Giving myself a chance.
I have this annoying habit of giving myself very little leeway to be a human being. I am restrained, strict, and hard on myself. Some people see me as critical, but the one person I am most critical of, is myself. Compliments have always been hard for me to hear, and change is made all that more difficult. Change is barely a smooth or flawless process, and any mistakes that come up-well, I've always blamed myself. It isn't the most pleasant outlook, to be sure.
Now, I'm letting myself breathe.
I'm letting myself see things in a different light. I can take compliments, and, more importantly, have the confidence to see my own strengths. That, in itself, has been beautiful enlightenment. By being able to see my real strengths, even through the eyes of people who actually CAN see them, I'm figuring out goals and career paths and my life. It's been not only eye opening, but genuinely important. It's terrible to think about how easily I could've skipped this part, and ended up chasing a dream I don't even have.
I'm also allowing myself to trust people again. I really stopped doing that for a while, after getting hurt, after building a wall. Even further than that, I am allowing second chances-both for myself, and for other people. This summer has changed me, and I have changed. It all feels like a second chance, to have the life I really want. I've never felt this...alive. It isn't always happiness (sometimes it is misery), but it IS always right and always invigorating and infuriating and powerful inspiration. I care more than I ever have, about my own creativity and about the needs of others. I CARE. Maybe too much.
And that's my third chance. I am not cool. At all. I'm not aloof, I don't withhold the love, I don't pretend nonchalance. If I'm happy to see you, I will show it. I think, for this year, I was trying to be "cool" and impersonal...to save face? to seem important? Who can know, but I am so past that. I hope that my friends can love and accept this, because enthusiasm, in a genuine way, is my thang. It'll be easier this way, guys-if I like it, you'll know. If I don't, you'll know. Easy, right?
Breathe. Easy, right?
My newest new? My first?
Giving myself a chance.
I have this annoying habit of giving myself very little leeway to be a human being. I am restrained, strict, and hard on myself. Some people see me as critical, but the one person I am most critical of, is myself. Compliments have always been hard for me to hear, and change is made all that more difficult. Change is barely a smooth or flawless process, and any mistakes that come up-well, I've always blamed myself. It isn't the most pleasant outlook, to be sure.
Now, I'm letting myself breathe.
I'm letting myself see things in a different light. I can take compliments, and, more importantly, have the confidence to see my own strengths. That, in itself, has been beautiful enlightenment. By being able to see my real strengths, even through the eyes of people who actually CAN see them, I'm figuring out goals and career paths and my life. It's been not only eye opening, but genuinely important. It's terrible to think about how easily I could've skipped this part, and ended up chasing a dream I don't even have.
I'm also allowing myself to trust people again. I really stopped doing that for a while, after getting hurt, after building a wall. Even further than that, I am allowing second chances-both for myself, and for other people. This summer has changed me, and I have changed. It all feels like a second chance, to have the life I really want. I've never felt this...alive. It isn't always happiness (sometimes it is misery), but it IS always right and always invigorating and infuriating and powerful inspiration. I care more than I ever have, about my own creativity and about the needs of others. I CARE. Maybe too much.
And that's my third chance. I am not cool. At all. I'm not aloof, I don't withhold the love, I don't pretend nonchalance. If I'm happy to see you, I will show it. I think, for this year, I was trying to be "cool" and impersonal...to save face? to seem important? Who can know, but I am so past that. I hope that my friends can love and accept this, because enthusiasm, in a genuine way, is my thang. It'll be easier this way, guys-if I like it, you'll know. If I don't, you'll know. Easy, right?
Breathe. Easy, right?
Friday, August 6, 2010
An Open Letter to Anyone Who Might Like to Crush My Dreams
Dear Potential Dream Crushers:
First off, welcome. This is my dream world. Not as ridiculous as you expected, I imagine. When I say "dream", I don't mean meaningless fluff. I dream about having normal, beautiful things in my life. Nothing crazy. You won't find an alternate universe here. Mostly, just contentment.
Feel that wind? That's motivation. Drive, if you will. It's persistent, I know. I hope it never stops pushing at me. It pushes me, pushes my dreams, and shapes my path. I'm not sure what I'd do if the air here was still.
Try not to get distracted here. i have a lot I want to accomplish, and only about 70 years left on the planet to do it, if I'm lucky. It's a lot to fit in, you can tell. It's crowded with realism here.
So, if I may have your attention.
These are my dreams. You must feel honored to be able to view them-they aren't things I readily share. You SHOULD feel honored. I'm sure your life is too big and busy to really care, but you should.
Here's the thing. The reason this place might make you a little uncomfortable, is because these are not your dreams. You've gotten a lot of those. Others were unreal from the start. You've lived a good life. These are mine.
And that's the most important part.
I know that you see all of this, alive with color and potential, and the first thing in your mind is all the reasons why these things can't happen. Sure, I have noble goals-most of these goals have nothing to do with personal gain. But, no no no. There are problems and bumps and barriers.
No.
No.
NO.
So, this is what I have to say to you. Listen closely.
Don't you DARE tell me no. This is my dream. You have no right to say no, to discourage me, to tell me to face what is real. These are not your dreams, you have no right. Do you think you ever did? You never did.
With this wind at my back, determination flares.
I can't be told that my dreams are dead in the water. I don't even know what that phrase means, besides DAMN IT.
I have dreams. So many dreams. And goals, real goals. I know that I will never be happy unless I am making others happy. I know that my dreams can be real. And life, and people, and life again, love to say no, don't be ridiculous.
Well. You know what I know for sure? If my dream to help people through creativity, communication, love, community-if those dreams are ridiculous, please, I never want to go back to whatever reality is.
Say no again
Try me.
First off, welcome. This is my dream world. Not as ridiculous as you expected, I imagine. When I say "dream", I don't mean meaningless fluff. I dream about having normal, beautiful things in my life. Nothing crazy. You won't find an alternate universe here. Mostly, just contentment.
Feel that wind? That's motivation. Drive, if you will. It's persistent, I know. I hope it never stops pushing at me. It pushes me, pushes my dreams, and shapes my path. I'm not sure what I'd do if the air here was still.
Try not to get distracted here. i have a lot I want to accomplish, and only about 70 years left on the planet to do it, if I'm lucky. It's a lot to fit in, you can tell. It's crowded with realism here.
So, if I may have your attention.
These are my dreams. You must feel honored to be able to view them-they aren't things I readily share. You SHOULD feel honored. I'm sure your life is too big and busy to really care, but you should.
Here's the thing. The reason this place might make you a little uncomfortable, is because these are not your dreams. You've gotten a lot of those. Others were unreal from the start. You've lived a good life. These are mine.
And that's the most important part.
I know that you see all of this, alive with color and potential, and the first thing in your mind is all the reasons why these things can't happen. Sure, I have noble goals-most of these goals have nothing to do with personal gain. But, no no no. There are problems and bumps and barriers.
No.
No.
NO.
So, this is what I have to say to you. Listen closely.
Don't you DARE tell me no. This is my dream. You have no right to say no, to discourage me, to tell me to face what is real. These are not your dreams, you have no right. Do you think you ever did? You never did.
With this wind at my back, determination flares.
I can't be told that my dreams are dead in the water. I don't even know what that phrase means, besides DAMN IT.
I have dreams. So many dreams. And goals, real goals. I know that I will never be happy unless I am making others happy. I know that my dreams can be real. And life, and people, and life again, love to say no, don't be ridiculous.
Well. You know what I know for sure? If my dream to help people through creativity, communication, love, community-if those dreams are ridiculous, please, I never want to go back to whatever reality is.
Say no again
Try me.
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