Defining friendship

More than hipster style, autotuned music, and eco-friendliness, ambiguity seems to be the biggest trend of recent years.
Nothing is black and white, well defined anymore. What is a hook up? There are as many definitions as there are kinds of juice at Trader Joe's. What about free time? Some of us don't even know what that means anymore. And "the conventional family"? Can we even attempt to define family at all? Home is no longer one place anymore, and relationships are relevant. Even our physical place is subject to interpretation, as we can easily communicate with someone who is a far away from us as the Earth is from the moon.
Certainty is no longer an option.
No wonder we are so damn anxious all the time-our own, safe bubbles are indefinable. We can't even fully comprehend our worlds, because suddenly, our worlds are boundless.
One character trait I have is that of embraced confusion. I am constantly confused, but I'm also unafraid to admit it. I'm confused about everything from school subjects to social norms to the ins and outs of American politics...and American football. A lot of this confusion stems from the fact that I don't have conventional views on many things. I'm firm on things that most people are easygoing about, and open minded about subjects that often seem to have one single viewpoint.
One thing that I am firm on?
Friendship.
There are rules. There is, of course, a difference between a friend and an acquaintance-that part is simple. But in a world full of endless possibilites, I have set down my own "box" of friendship. This stems, as do many things, from past hurt-friends, or those that I believed to be friends, have hurt me and disappointed me about 18 ways from Sunday. I grew weary of expecting things from people who could not offer them.
Let's make one thing clear. I am a great friend. You should be lucky to be counted as one of my friends, and really lucky to be a close friend. Because of past disappointments, I have been more picky in who I let into my life. So I take the friend label much more seriously than most.
So, my rules?
1. Be loyal. Sometimes, you have to choose between friends, and who you choose is a reflection of your desires. Not choosing is a choice as well.
2. Care. Seems simple, but it isn't. Be considerate enough to ask about the other person, and be ready to listen, actually listen, to what they have to say. Don't text in the middle of my synopsis. Don't gaze off into the distance the moment I speak.Try to listen.
3. Be available when it's actually important. This isn't a needy demand for you to drop everything and rush to my aid. This is a request that you pick up the phone when I call. Then, follow #2 after answering.
4. Be interesting. I know this seems a little strange, but hear me out. I can't relate to someone unless they care about something. It can be your dog, it can be your family history, it can be the future of the AIDS vaccine. I'm not particular. Just care about something so that we can talk about it and so I can learn from you.
5. Make some effort. If I call you 30 times, and you send me one text, I feel rejected, and no we aren't friends, just phone-tag buddies. Date book relationship.
That's it, really. These seem like really solid, really basic things to me, but I have found that these are very hard to find in someone else. You can't be a jerk, ignore me for two weeks, then expect a hug to smooth it all over. You can't make awful jokes but expect me to understand the humor. You can't pick and choose when we will be friends, depending on your scheduling convenience.
Figure yourself out, and then we can muddle through life together.

Close

I miss so many things right now.
Like, my bed at home. My puppy's little belly. Real Arabic food.
The thing I am wistful for most right now, though, and for the past few weeks: physical closeness. I really miss the feeling of being enveloped, being touched gently, feeling pressure and that flutter within. I'm not completely without being touched, of course, but the touches I get these days are brief acknowledgments of my presence and my form. And they are fine, acceptable, pleasant for what they are.
But they are not enough.
I want to be acknowledged for my gender, for my physical presence. Everything I am is from the inside, but it is expressed fully on the outside.

I like being touched. Babies die without being touched. Why? Because it is our most basic form of showing love, caring, even just a lack of disgust with someone else. We've been touching since the dawn of human forms. The easiest way to send a chill or a thrill through me is through the lightest of touches, of an expression of...something. It can express so much-affection, excitement, anger, hate, lust, love.
Everything is in what we do, more so than what we say. A touch is a bottom line.

And I miss it. I miss the romantic parts of touch, the excitement that I am there in physical presence. I miss being held. I miss it.

Snap

Sassiness. Being sassy. A trademark of who I am is that I am witty, or sarcastic, or funny, but whatever it is exactly, it can all be boiled down to one simple word: sassy. My sense of humor can be biting at times, but people seem to love it, and what I am finding now is an interesting phenomenon: I'm getting that sassy given back to me. Now that it's summer, my friends have fallen into one of two camps: Women's Center ladies, and my guy friends. Yesterday was a day spent solely with the opposite sex, which generally suits me, as I can be as sassy as I want without the risk of hurting anyone's feelings. What always takes me be surprise is how quickly guys start giving it back to me, even after I've known them for...not long at all. Sometimes I fear that this is my undue influence, but I actually think that most intelligent men are naturally witty with a biting edge. Guys are raised to be the "funny ones", to entertain women, but they are never nice to each other. When they find a girl who can joke around like one of the boys, they are pretty quick to embrace that, and I love my friendships for what they are. I love being able to joke around and being one of them, instead of being treated like some fragile object, as many boys will act towards girls. I HATE being treated differently than any other friend, even though gender differences are often unavoidable.

I'm rambling. Here's my point. I've always wondered why so many guys I know feel so comfortable in biting, witty humor towards me after 10 minutes of knowing me. A friend says it simply like this: "We are just testing our boundaries, how far you will let us go with you." I've experienced a lot of wit in the past few weeks from new friends and even co workers, and I certainly don't mind it, even if it might be often unexpected. The ability to have a quick wit is a great mark of intelligence, in my opinion, and I am always excited when someone can keep up with me.

Did you follow? Don't hurt yourself ;)

Life is better with a wink thrown in.

Adulting

It's been about a week of adulthood (read: full time job and living in an apartment), and everything that could have gone wrong, has. It's been sweltering hot, then rainy, and this apartment has basically no climate control. I was sold bad chicken, I blew a fuse, and I have cut multiple fingers both at home and at work. Paper cuts are a job hazard of working in an archive, I suppose. Work is fun, but can get tedious, and it is NOT social. This is the most alone time I have had...ever, and I must say that I wish it bothered me, but it actually doesn't bother me one bit. I really like being by myself and having utter freedom to do as I please, which generally consists of cooking and reading. Try not to be astounded by how exciting I am.

All in all, I am enjoying it, and what still feels like a detox from the year. I think, at heart, I am very much a hermit, or at least, antisocial. It's a very strange thing, to realize in the middle of your college career that you'd often rather be alone than meeting people. This is supposed to be when you are making 1000 different friends and many more acquaintances, making all of your mistakes in front of an audience, and always have people around. This was my life 24/7 my first two years, and I started to pull away from all of that as I changed how I lived my academic and extracurricular life. I'm happier now, by far, but I also can see and feel the change, and the constraints of normalcy are something I constantly ruminate upon. Is the life I have chosen, normal? One with fewer friends and more filling? Does it matter, in the end, of the world's normal versus my normal?

Not at all.

Lady

How can I sum up my past two weeks? They've been exhilarating, and exhausting. I've spent a lot of time by myself, in really crowded and beautiful cities. I learned something important about myself: it's not that I often choose to be by myself in order to escape tiresome company or to detox from a social day, but merely because I really just enjoy solitude and the companionship of no one. I get to do whatever I want when I am on my own, without fear of judgement or the pull of the obligations of others. There are very few friends that I can honestly say provide me with that kind of perfect company, so being on my own is often a place I find a different kind of comfort and freedom. Most people know that my freedom is one of my most treasured possessions and values-I even want a tattoo of flying birds to symbolize how important it is to me. Not that I will get the ink, because I am a lady....

Which brings me to what I want to write about. I have been traveling and seeing people, and that has been perfect and wonderful, but I don't feel any compulsion to complain about the fact that I had to take 6 flights in the space of 5 days, or to wax poetic on the values of DC, Manhattan, Brooklyn, Boston, and LA. They were wonderful and I gained a few pounds in each city, and it's hard for me to express what love I felt in the hospitality of my hosts. But my subject this week? It's on being a lady.

This is a pretty loaded topic for yours truly. Since I was a very little girl, I have been trained to have impeccable manners and depthless class. Being polite isn't just a formality, it is a complex mindset that dictates that you must make all others feel comfortable and at ease above yourself. I have learned that manners are a type of selflessness, but that manners are not the only aspect of being polite and of being a lady. Class is not something that can be learned late in life-you either learned it young, or you didn't. I miss wide spread gentility; I know that I am a feminist, but I also believe that men should open doors for women, that one should actually care when you ask "How are you?", and that how you dress really does tell the world what you think of yourself. I believe please and thank you should be said with eye contact and sincerity, and that compliments should be given only when you truly want to give them, so that they may be genuine.

My manners training has never led me astray-I am only in trouble when I get tired or impatient, and I let my polite upbringing fall to the wayside in favor of swear words and bad posture. Do I think rules such as "Sip your soup away from your mouth" or "You may never carry more weight than will be a light strain" are a little ridiculous? Of course-I'm fiercely independent and something of a boy at times, and following rules such as these often seem superfluous at best. Each person should be allowed to be whoever they want to be, but having years of being taught the ways of polite company has always given me a background to fall back on that I really treasure. Formal events and small talk are never awkward for me. I know how to use a complex place setting, and I know how to avoid judgment in the upper eschelons, just by how I dress. I'm told that I have perfect posture and can articulate better than some politicians, and I owe these attributes to my "training".

Being a "lady" in these modern times is not easy. Women facing unbelievable pressures to be everyone and everything, and do it all without breaking a sweat. We are supposed to be sexy, but never trashy. Intelligent, but not outspoken. Independent, but within the boundaries of social norms. Polite, but never stiff. How complex could our lives possibly be, just by the virtue of existing?? It's enough to drive a girl crazy. I muddle through, hoping my efforts at class are received well. Honestly, I know that I am better received by adults than by people my age, and part of my being a lady is that I prefer not to talk about personal matters to a public audience. I don't kiss and tell to just anyone.

I've noticed that I've been dressing more like fashion icons Jackie O and Audrey Hepburn as of late. I've forgone boys' clothes in favor of dressing in a more ladylike, sweet way-it suits me, I must say. After 2 years of college, I moved on from trying to be funky, and I've embraced my own style of being clean-cut, sometimes androgynous and sometimes saccharine, but always classy and hopefully, a kind of everyday elegance. I'm growing up, but bringing my breeding with me. Out dated and old fashioned as I might seem, I'm not going to change. I just have to believe that the "formality" and politeness is appreciated, sooner or later.

And remember! "A lady never crosses her legs at the knee." Ankle cross and tuck, people!

No Surprises

Currently listening/falling in love with: No Surprises, Radiohead cover by Regina Spektor.

Last night, I was dealt the hand of disappointment. Nothing shocking, though it was surprising enough to make my heart leap completely out of my chest for a moment. I sit here, still in bed, on the gray morning right after my pain first leapt upon me....I should be upset. I should feel like an anvil is sitting on my chest, and getting up is the most difficult task. I should be Emily Dickinson, if she actually lived out her poetic life.

But I'm fine. No ellipses. I am actually ok...I woke up, expecting to get kicked all over again with the daylight shining harshly on my reality, but...nothing. I guess what I have been saying this past month, that I have become so sure of myself and independent in the best way, has survived the real test. I know exactly who I am, and I love that person deeply. I'm not asking what's wrong with me, like I normally would, and I'm not trying to change who I am, another charming thing I used to do. I woke up, though wow slap in the face, then went back to the filing system and realized that overnight, my disappointment had moved himself to being a friend. The potential for beautiful friendship still remains. He can be my Louie instead of my Ilsa, if I may once again place myself in Humphrey Bogart's role in Casablanca (so incredible, so parallel. Except for the war thing.)

In it's own way, the rain and dappled light and frantic birdsong of today is it's own kind of beauty. Being kicked in the heart and realizing that I'm completely okay with it? That's beautiful too.

A Magical Dress

The things I lost tonight include the belt to my coat, the comfort in my feet, and my sense of security that I had made peace with my upbringing.

Tonight, me and the magical dress I borrowed from my beautiful friend made our way to the three main parties one will come across in their college career: the cocktail soiree, the dinner celebration, and the apartment shindig. Of course, since it is my life, the cocktail party was strange, the dinner party was bittersweet and also strange, and the apartment party was just..beery. And this beautiful dress, that makes me feel like a movie star from long ago, was with me for the whole ride.

Dinners and apartments are a part of college on a weekly basis-nothing to even blink at. The cocktail party was something else entirely, however. A rented suite in the Ritz Carlton, formal attire required? Am I 20 or 45? Or maybe....14 all over again. I grew up in a wealthy family, with "functions" such as weddings, dinners, and baptisms all requiring a new dress and the squelching of individual thought. Formality was the term, in every single sense of the word. You see, at these social events, you must expect to be judged like a championship race horse in all matters-grooming, dress, family status, behavior, education...elitism to its very essence, thriving in its true home. There is an "expectation" of presence, "expectation" of appearance, "expectation" of behavior...though these events only comprised part of my childhood, it's no wonder that my oddball core was so inherently ready to rebel against them. To be completely honest, being well to do isn't all its cracked up to be sometimes. I am so grateful for every blessing I have gotten, but the shallow and emotionless socialization that has gone with it had always left me searching for more. It doesn't help one bit that I am someone who craves deep connections and lasting, genuine relationships; working only upon the surface is not just against my style, it makes me want to run screaming in the opposite direction until I find someone real to curl up into.

So that's what I grew up around, at least sometimes. I never relished the exposure to the events, though I recognize the valuable lessons I learned through the years about impeccable manners, being an excellent host, and the idea that manners aren't just being polite, they are putting others above yourself and not even letting them notice that they are coming first in your priorities. It was a different way to grow up than most kids, one that makes you grow faster and mature faster in a lot of ways. The sense of entitlement...well, that's up to you. I left that behind, thankfully enough.

The judgment, with strong undercurrents of a readiness towards distaste, was always the hardest thing for me to bear. I have always been an awkward child, battling weight problems and early onset acne. That overweight little Sarah still lives within me today, and...well...she came out a bit at this cocktail party tonight. It was small, maybe 20 people, and entirely too nice for some college kids. It was intimate in a way that I have not been exposed to for years, and the combination of memories long stored and sleep deprivation gave my psyche discomfort that I did not handle to the best of my ability. I pride myself in that I can handle some very tricky social situations with grace (the easy ones, not so much), and tonight...I fell short. I said "classy" entirely too many times, and I did not mingle with the greatest of ease. I let my wonderings about the boy I am smitten with overtake my ability to focus on light conversation and being the bubbly girl I usually am. I would not have made Miss Manners proud, except for the fact that I looked perfect (and more appropriate than any other girl there), and that my exit was more graceful than the Russian ballet. 12 year old Sarah was overwrought with anxiety, and 20 year old Sarah was not ready to deal her a new hand.

I was split, and I was unaware. Such intense confusion, such discombobulation, was out of the ordinary for me-I am typically quite comfortable in my own skin, and I always know who I am. This blindsighted me, and threw my night completely off. In every other way, this should have been a perfect night, but I feel like I threw myself through a complex social loop, completely my fault.

And... it makes me want to cry. Because I don't know where to put myself at all. At. All. And it's ridiculous because I have totally done this to myself but I am just so tired of being a mess! I am happy, happier than I have ever been, but I am also still confused as to where I "fit" (read:nowhere)

One place where I fit? In this dress. This beautiful, perfect dress that fits like it was made for me. It makes me feel like magic, and it has transformed me into a 1940s movie star for one evening. This dress has been through all of my turmoil with me tonight-applause, dress, applause. With all the catcalls and the flirting and the once-overs of the past couple of weeks, I have rebelled against it all and finally become confident in my own beauty, one that stems completely from the inside. I feel most beautiful without a mirror. I feel most beautiful when I am me-and I am going to be me once I shake this formality. And I will bounce back, thank you muchly.