The Female Time Bomb

It must have happened overnight. Sometime between last February and last night, I aged. The memo must have gotten lost in the mail, the same way many packages I've been sending from work have been getting misplaced. If I had more time, I'd give the Post Master a piece of my mind. But I'm too busy running around trying to freeze this so called aging process that I've unknowingly become a victim of. Luckily, the Shiseido products I've been using for the past three years have a densely anti-aging focused ingredient. Yay to that!

Three years ago, just a mere 1,095 days ago, word on the street was that I was just an infant. A toddler in the eyes of society. Shunned for just the thought of uniting my life with that of another. I still had a "whole life ahead of" me. I still had to travel to Europe [because apparently there is something in the air over there dedicated only to singles that would be greatly missed if I met prince charming]. I still had to encounter "stuff" that I could never do after saying I do [still dying to know what that "stuff" is]. This same street must have undergone the same amounts of renovations that every street in the OC is currently enduring, because word on the street is quite different now. Suddenly getting married is a race, a necessary perquisite to be eligible for oxygen. And if, dare a female Arab state her desire for otherwise, watch the backlash and disapproval begin.

She pulled me aside and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Dania, I have to tell you, this new thing, it's not good for you." That was how she began the conversation and I couldn't help but feel a bit confused in the middle of a bridal shower. What thing could she be referring to? The first red lipstick I ever decided to buy just three hours prior to the party? Regardless of the rampage of compliments I was receiving for that risk? Or was it the reduced fat plate I poured myself regardless of the three tables of well decorated pink desserts just to stick to the successful diet?

My thoughts were far from reality as she began the "M" discussion. "I've recommended a few great men already to your family and I still have quite a few others, but I'm not getting good feedback from you." I shook my head, laughing, as I prepared to end the conversation. "Sweetie, listen, thanks for your concern but you don't have to worry about me. My family and I are quite content with the way my life, and our life, is going right now. The last thing I really want is to ruin it with marriage." She distorted her face at my words. Why? I don't know. Not long ago she and her friends were bombarding me with threats about the error of marriage. What changed? Had their reality settled in?

I was starting to enjoy life on my own, with my family of origin, having no strings attached, no baggage. Watching the way they were presenting motherhood as yet another torturous aspect of life (after accepting life with a traditional male role husband) was scaring me farther and farther away from the desire to reproduce and closer to articles about tube tying. [Although I honestly believe child rearing all comes down to TIME MANAGEMENT - something our current ummah truly lacks.] I was beginning to finally indulge in the "I" that was forgotten for a while, and now that suddenly became wrong.

"They're jealous," a friend was telling me, after I had finished my story. I looked at her a bit worried. Could she be right? That they were envious? Was it a regretful decision that they only learned of after experiencing it? Is that why they were warning me previously and then suddenly thought, "Hmmm, why prevent her from falling? She should experience what the true role of a woman is!" because now they've surrendered to the belief that this is what a woman's true role is? My friend nodded and I thought about it. They did start to increase their sick jokes about how I'd find myself handcuffed to a kitchen once I say I do. How I'd probably get knocked up within six months of marriage as karma for saying no thank you to that idea. They stated that marriage without kids is boring after a year. I laughed. Only in our culture is marriage without kids boring. But I have seen couples, and not to seriously quote television but having seen a few somewhat realistic sitcoms (The King of Queens is quite enjoyable and funny) I realize that in the American culture, the one that I feel most in tune with being born and raised as such, they do see marriage as a bond between two great friends. Something to cherish with numerous alone time before children become part of the picture.

He didn't pick her because she has wide enough hips to reproduce well. Because rumor has it she is the best chef in the world. Or because she doesn't have enough education to make it out on her own and will probably consume her time with (1) shopping, (2) child producing/rearing, (3) house cleaning, and (4) consistent get togethers and parties with friends. He chose her because he loved her, enjoyed sharing a mature conversation with her, loves sharing time with her and doesn't see her as the reproduction machine he can't wait to get started.

After meeting a few men from my culture/community and comparing those experiences (and please, try not to take the word "experiences" the wrong way that you have to give me a list of tsk tsk items - you meet people and have mediocre conversations at all the family dinner parties and that is experience enough to cross off 99% of the guys here) with the connections I made in graduate school. Polar opposites! I mean laugh out loud shocking opposite. As I get asked by the Arab man how on earth I made it through life without cooking, the guy sitting beside me in class shrugs that fact off his shoulder like a worthless fruit fly, and says, "I like it. Wish I had more time for it." As the Arab man shudders at the thought that I could possibly work or...wait for it...make a higher income than him, the study buddy in the student union acknowledges my intellect. Appreciates the idea I just proposed. The hour I dedicated to tutoring. The drive I have to learn and make a difference in the world. The accomplishments I've made so far. The Arab man sees my accomplishments as being too liberal and extreme; not what a prim and proper "Yes, dear!" woman should do. Even this blog or my poetry or my books. Shame! But why? Why can't a woman be seen as the best friend he can't wait to enjoy life with? Someone he can support in her endeavors and dreams? Laughable concepts? Really? Am I trying too hard here? Okay.

And if that is the life these poor women are confined to, then maybe envy is right? I don't know. I've disconnected myself from that click because it becomes suffocating to hear what Tupperware is now on sale, what new recipe is in, and how annoying or adorable this child was because he/she did blah blah blah. But apparently these are the studies I must excel in, because what I spent years studying previously is nothing. Useless. Because I'm just going to marry and have kids. [And I've heard parents and older women state that very nonchalantly and matter of factly, "Oh it doesn't matter. She's just going to marry, have kids, and she doesn't have to use it.] I mean after all, how will I utilize the graduate school knowledge when making fajitas, wiping the bathroom mirrors, ironing his shirt, changing a diaper? Let's see, Public Policy could be implemented in the type of material used in this diaper and whether or not it is bio-degradable and whether or not that recycling company takes it and so I should switch to this brand so that the City Planner doesn't have diapers piling up on the street!

Exaggeration. Yes, but then again, not so much. It's quite tiring to hear the whiplash of comments people have to give a single girl. Three weddings in three months and one has to be bombarded with pitiful wishes of, "Your turn next deary don't worry." Whoever said I was worrying? "He'll appear darling. Don't fear. God is just hiding him from you for now." They wink and walk away. Gag? Please don't wish that on me because it isn't the life I want to be trapped in. It isn't fair or happy. But I guess I have no choice as age begins to make its presence upon my aura.

After she distorted her face at my words during the loud and ecstatic bridal shower, she got a bit agitated. "Marriage is not awful!" I rolled my eyes. "Prove it!" I wanted to say but bit my tongue instead. "Look the truth is I'm worried about you. Because well, see girls, honestly, they only have a short window of opportunity before it's too late. And you're reaching the edge." Now I didn't mind laughing. Letting my deep red lips extend from ear to ear as I bent over and laughed at her remark. "A window of opportunity? Like my biological clock or something?" She nodded in confusion to my laughter. "Dude have you forgotten destiny? Fate? God?!?!" A puzzled look was still on her face as I walked back over and sat beside her, slowly collecting myself for the next portion of the conversation that I knew needed to be a serious and deep finale. "Okay, you supposedly believe in God. And if so, then you believe in fate/destiny, naseeb in Arabic. And if God has written down that my naseeb will not arrive till I am 42, then that is when my freakin window will be unlocked and open. And if God has written that I get a man ten minutes after I walk out of this party, I will. So how can you honestly tell me that I have a window of opportunity that is slowly ticking away."

The Female Time Bomb, that is all women are now correlated with. Whether it was kids, the sex drive, wrinkles, strength I really can't tell. There are far too many theories out there telling human beings (actually, women) what is the right kind of life to live and what isn't. It's so tiring and quite too irritating when it comes from your peers. I guess I am deaf to the ticking of this internal time bomb I am unaware of. And when it explodes it will be too late as my insides and outsides distort and I am no longer able to marry an (Arab) man. Good news, there may be others? The ones who don't view me as the future: maid, sleep with partner, chef, nanny, homemaker that must look hot 24/7 in order to push away any competition he could run into at work or in the street [yes, also complaints I am hearing from the women]. I just don't get how you can agree to marrying a man who would value you for those things AND make you worry about the latter!

Life is tough. No need to preach, we all live the difficulties. And marriage is no picnic I know, but it should have many more moments that are better than the world around me advertises it, so I won't settle. I won't fear the race time has supposedly put me in, accept a horrifically unequal life, and marry someone who begins the conversation with, "So, you are citizen of U.S. and know how to make chai? Good!" An unnecessary battle we don't have to fight. Why make life worse by putting a deadline to everything? Why not put a deadline to other things like how late we're going to be to this meeting, how much we are going to slack off on this project or this educational journey. And forget about trying to control aspects of life we can't...or at least the aspects of OTHER people's lives.

For now I'm briskly walking at my own pace. My biological clock is off. I took the batteries out a while ago. Found that there is no use to wear them out in times like these, when there isn't someone worth ticking for. When this dry spout/phenomena changes, I'll probably throw out that clock and enjoy living to my own tune with the man that decides to value who I am rather than what I "should" be.

Peace without Peace?

Paramore ends up being my best friend on days like these. Wouldn't it be nice to wake up and find that a memo was sent to your inbox to let you know that today would be the day of the week that holds all the drama? Just like a warning notice? To know that you should get a double shot of espresso in your cappuccino? But it doesn't happen, and at the end of day, as Paramore remains on repeat, and you're stuck wearing your nerdy glasses instead of contacts because your eyes are so tired of being strained and crying, and you try and focus on your errands, you pray that you held that patience you promised God you'd have after Ramadan ended.

And when I looked at myself in the mirror, through those square red glasses, I realized for once just two tear drops fell for someone who wasn't worthy of them. And the anger that boils blood was reduced to a mere simmer until it disappeared. And slowly everything was back to normal. The tidal wave had hit and returned back to its oceanic source, leaving you wet and tumbled up, but back on solid ground.

What's wrong with humanity? Where did this horrid hatefulness stem from? It amazes me how we dare request and demand peace everywhere else in the world, when we cannot give it to each other within our own communities. We are just as abusive and evil - really we are. And if you haven't seen it, well I'm sorry to say that you've probably been in hiding because it's a cancer that is rapidly growing. Just think of Spiderman 3 and that black goo that attaches to him and instigates this evil hate; it's here! Landed on just the fingertips and managed to seep through...all the way through.

Now we can't look at others without judging them. We don't know how to live without lying. Cheating. Being plain old evil. Stupid. Immature. And the cycle is repeated. These same people already have kids...and they spend their days on Facebook attacking statuses of those who have an opinion that differs from theirs. Suddenly it became illegal to express your own opinions (or maybe it's just me? Maybe there's a label across my forehead that says, "Attack me because I'm lacking drama and my self-esteem is way too high. Please crush it!").

The Arabs in the Middle East wanted freedom to speak and democracy, but the Arabs here don't let each other speak their own opinions without being shut down. Irony? We've adopted this "with me or against me" mentality and it makes no sense. I believe in my opinions just as much as you believe in yours; so why can't you respect mine the way I respect yours? Why does my difference make me an enemy? What ever happened to diversity? And when did it evolve into racism? I'm already in preparation for the attack to this blog that many are conjuring up in those minds of theirs. The minds that act before thinking. Ha. What a concept. A mind is for thinking, before acting, yet we skip that first step. Thinking would reduce liars. Thinking would reduce abusers. Thinking would reduce a lot. It's amazing when most cultures and faiths do emphasize the importance of logical thinking and the usage of the mind.

What sparked yet another angry post? The better question would be what didn't? It's the betrayal and the two faces I found individuals carried. Finding out that three people I thought I knew pretty well, or at least respected as fellow community members, were playing quite intriguing games. One was a liar who lived a double life and I was asked to join without knowing. The second was a friend I recently entrusted (after 3 years of connection) with a personal situation, only to discover acting was the best skill they carried. But not as award worthy as person #3. Ah person #3. What a delight indeed it is to see them pretending to be something, and then being the complete opposite when no witnesses but myself exist.

Forget person #1, 2, & 3 ... but why? Why have we belittled the worth of life to such horrid things? And for what? So that really makes me wonder how we can bash so many other countries around the world for doing such hate, when here we are, in America, doing worse to each other. There is a verse in the Quran that describes "fitna" (or suffering/torture) as being much worse than death. I totally get it! Don't we say that all the time? "I wish I were dead rather than enduring this?" Yet we expose each other, from the same communities, ethnic/religious groups, and sometimes even families, to this unnecessary hate?

Each time I try to remind myself to never trust...NEVER. But how can you live life without trust? It's come to the point where I fear meeting new people. And as a safety precaution I have to place an invisible neon light to flash above their heads with warnings to keep me away. That may sound extreme or stereotypical, but is it really when a few weeks/months/years later, they prove me right? Because whether I like it or not I subconsciously start to slowly let my guard down and trust that friend, and right when I start to believe this time it's loyalty, I laugh at the outcome just to prevent anymore tears. But having a 3-in-1 discovery today was pretty hard.

It's a sad world and I just wanted to express that. Why you may ask? Probably because it's time that the proper dirty laundry was aired out to instigate a necessary change. But I'm finding that many don't want a change. They enjoy living their two faced lives, in the comfort they've always been used to. To each his/her own. At least I can accept that. Try accepting that one too! And try remembering that golden rule too ... treat people the way you want to be treated. Sadly after being scarred many times that rule has become skewed in my eyes and I can't help but feel that one day I just may treat these people the way they've done because obviously that is how THEY want to be treated. Is it not? But when I try it just doesn't come out of me =/ ...

Nice guys finish last indeed ... but at least when we finish (and we do) we have the stab marks and the foot prints you left on us to show the real obstacles we faced. *Sigh to the people*

29 days of WHAT?

Every year I made a promise I hoped to keep. And as I closed the Quran this year on the final day of Ramadan, after finishing my x # of "khitam" [complete reading of Quran] reluctantly saying goodbye (for now), I made a promise to try my best and implement verse #156 of chapter #2: "Those [the patient ones], who, when disaster strikes them, say, "We belong to Allah, and to Him we will return.'" I just never expected God to give me the chance to prove it the very next day, the day of holiday after Ramadan. But He did. And I managed to catch myself before falling prey to anger and impatience, and as I drove home alone, in my mother's car, as she rushed off to take care of one of the many disasters of the day, I repeated that very same phrase over and over and over.

I spent the remainder of the day alone, but celebrating indeed. A sense of pride did come over that I managed to control myself, that Ramadan's practice of self control and will power came through the very next day and I prayed that it would last for the next 12 months. Until it was Ramadan once again. But as I sat home alone, cleaning the left dishes, munching on cucumbers [I started a diet in Ramadan and I wasn't ready to crash just because it was a party day], I contemplated all the drama that had happened that morning. Remembering the conversations people were sharing. Hearing their complaining voices repeating in my head. Shivering at the immature situations that arose. And I kept pinching myself that morning trying not to wince obviously at their words. Maybe I had been so distanced from social networking that I had forgotten what people were like? Forgotten what I typically saw and read across that disgusting Home Page Facebook has created for us? But the scarier part was that...IT DIDN'T CHANGE.

It made me wonder, what kind of medication was Ramadan for our Ummah exactly? Antibiotics or NyQuil? Was it fast acting or did it take time to break down into our bloodstreams (hearts and minds) before the full effect takes place? Because for 29 days I prayed day and night for the change we desperately needed, and I looked forward to seeing a brand new spirit amongst us , especially on Eid, and then BAM! We collapsed on day one.

Girls were talking about Eid outfits being a total calamity, when Eid outfits were supposed to just be a blessing to have in the first place. People were throwing away food right and left when that same very freaking month African nations were and still are suffering from the worst hunger situation ever. And many were complaining about how "lame and boring" Eid had become since they grew up because it was no longer as fun an enticing as it was in childhood years. My jaw dropped on the floor! Seriously? The entire purpose of our holiday in Islam is to rip away from the materialism of this world and enjoy the spiritual reward we earned after days of worship. Don't you feel proud that you fasted all those days? That you read more Quran than usual? That instead of sleeping you awoke to ask God for something meaningful? I thought that that was what Eid was all about? Surprisingly this was the least of the problems for that day.

There were three women that I ran into that couldn't help but come back to the imminent topic of relationships. All three had given up ... on men. For once I was sort of glad that I met some that actually shared my view of the situation without carrying that supper bubbly silver lining of, "Oh I hate all men...but I know there's just one good one out there for me!" It's like we're on the same track, then her train ricochets off to another track from the speed of her thoughts. Cool, to each his/her own. But I hate when reality is denied. Although, to most humanity that knows me, to them my opinions are not reality, just targets to shoot down...hard.

I can honestly say that ALL men are great men...until they put that ring on your finger. (Or until Ramadan ends?). I don't get it. If a man out there can explain, please do. Though I doubt that there can be any sensible justification out there for the way these men are treating their wives. Throwing all of the work on her. Hurting her. Abusing her. Trashing her. Cheating on her. You hear that the husband badly wants children and you wonder why? Is being father these days just referring to being a sperm donor? Because after that baby is born what does the "dad" do? He can't even take his dish to the sink.

Verse #34 of chapter #4 in the Quran is the most widely mentioned and abused verse in this world. Men themselves have manipulated its message to yield its power to them. And this is something I think women need to start standing up for. The verse begins with an exclamation that men are the ones responsible for the women with what God has given them [i.e. take care of them and their needs], and that men must be financially responsible and spend on their wives the basic needs and necessities of life. It in no manner expresses a theme of male dominance but rather highlights the massive significance many are blind to these days, that a husband has been given a vast deal of greater responsibilities in this life and he needs to fulfill them. Not throw the load on his wife and exercise the macho attitude and threaten her with, "God put me in charge of you woman! So listen to me or else..." yet somehow that's what we're getting.

Sure I'm constantly bashing the males, but God, every time I begin to think a shed of light has started to illuminate the dark tunnel of manlessness I am proven wrong once again. It's come to the point where many wonder what is the purpose of marriage these days anymore? And how can you know this person is real or right? Yeah, he proposed. He says he loves you. He emails you his heart and more. Then what? When I say yes, and I get whatever symbolic ring that sits upon my finger, what happens? Do you start getting agitated that I'm working at a better position? Do you get annoyed that my degree is higher? Do you want me to stay at home and never go out? Am I to remain some unpolished trophy wife with scratches people can't see beneath all that dust? And five, ten, twenty years down the line, am I going to threaten other single girls and tell them to "Stay away from marriage" in a raspy regretful voice and repeatedly exclaim how much I wish I could have done my life in a differently? That is the saddest thing to hear from the married youngens, actually ALL the married ones really.

I've heard it. I've been warned. I've seen it firsthand. A beautiful smart woman was left in the dust because her husband got bored. A woman gained five more pounds thanks to the three children he wanted, and he got disgusted and found the secretary much more appealing [real story - no exaggeration]. Really babe? Did you not look in the mirror? You've grown too love but I didn't run off with Bryan the bag boy at Albertson's, who asks me how I'm doing more often than you! [ok that part's not a real story, but you get the gist]. These women tolerate, and the man runs off and plays his games. But here's the sicker part!!!

In turn, these women don't realize how the hell they are raising their kids! You find she babies the boys, and the girls are forced into at-home slavery. She tells her son when he's of marriage age he deserve the most beautiful woman who can cook almost as good as she, but tells her daughter to stop being naive and shallow and say yes to the doctor/lawyer/engineer. And if he turns out to be a @$$#0!& she better suck it up and be a "good wife" because that's her duty. Why not train your daughter to be strong and independent? To go ahead and get a really good education and a job and marry a man who appreciates that. And that if down the line he doesn't appreciate her, she always had and will have a life of her own to stand up on. To be proud of. To be a human being.

This is such elementary information for such an advanced for world yet here we are living it. There's no reason for us to be surprised why the world has such a terrible view of Islam and Muslims. And how can we expect any kind of peace around this world from others, when we cannot give each other any peace here? Amongst our spouses, our siblings, our friends, our community members? Irony that kills really.

At the end of the day, if we only all realized that to God we truly belong and that one day we will be physically six feet under, and our soul will return to Him, things could go a smidge smoother. What's so worthy about hurting others with our actions and our words and our behaviors? Why have we found it so hard to take the time to empathize with others, especially those close to us? To give them something back? To understand they have different eyes and different needs, and that if we truly love them (husband, wife, brother, sister, friend, community member) we don't have to hate and hurt them. We can mature and sober up to reality. There seriously ARE bigger fish to fry, yet we are too busy frying those damn useless tater tots that taste gross!!!

Let's get to the halibut baby and make a difference in this world, that God knows, truly needs a CHANGE!

The Cupcake Chronicles

Who knew that a dozen strawberry cupcakes would lead me down a somewhat enlightening path? For those of you who know me, you know that the kitchen is the last place I'd be. I'm what you say, the one who can't stand the heat and most definitely stays out of the kitchen. I can already see the Arabs shaking their heads in dissatisfaction at this disability of mine. Sigh - I will never be a perfect wife - wait, scratch that - I will never be able to be a wife. Period. I get it. I accept it. And I prefer it. I mean who wants to marry someone who bases my worth on how I compare to Rachel Ray ... or even worse, HIS MOTHER!

Nonetheless, it was a mere few years ago, thanks to a stressful incident I found myself in the kitchen. I never liked it, but I found myself there often in the sidelines watching my mother dish out her own magic. It never intrigued but I enjoyed sharing moments with her and doing the basics - table setting, stirring, butter melting. But when I was home alone for almost four weeks I craved sweets that were unique and tasty - nothing from an instant mix box. Those were always taboo in the household and I gladly agreed to that policy. Making things from scratch was a tradition to keep alive.

So I pondered my sweet tooth cravings in search of a new flavor - no more chocolate, vanilla or lemon. I considered everything and anything to get my mind off the current drama when I was taken back to my friend's 8th birthday party.

Nervously I walked into her house, my mother pushing me in behind. Something about her house, her family, scared me and I remember the water that filled my eyes as my mother waved goodbye. Every other child dashed past her mother and straight into the jumping castle blown up in the backyard. But not me. I sat back and observed, watched the loud scream filled laughter. The tiny start of cat fights. The diva litter bugs who threw out items from their goody bags one by one like flower girls at a wedding. Then came the call, "Cake time!" Suddenly a tornado of pink and turquoise and orange migrated across the yard and back towards me - inside the house.

Because I was already in, I received the honor of front row seats to watching the infamous "wish upon the candles" ceremony and the cutting of the first slice. And I'll never forget the cake that took my eight-year-old breath away. It came in almost a slow motion manner. A pink and rigid ring of beauty. Above it lay the most unique candles I have ever seen. On each tiny hill of that bundt cake sat a colorful plastic animal candle. Every animal was connected to each other by a plastic rope that linked to a large blue umbrella that covered the entire cake, making it a mock carousel. A perfect carnival at my fingertips.

I received the third slice (the first and second going to the birthday girl and her sister) and I found that the taste was just as magical as its appearance. And that magic remained with me for many more years after. So I drove Google crazy trying to find a strawberry cake that did not involve an insta-mix ingredient, until finally I found a few that I merged and modified in the perfect recipe. And so the mission began. It started with eggs, sugar, butter, mixing bowls, strawberries, and much more. Although the anticipation of the results was enticing, being in the kitchen was still a torturous procedure. The plus side was washing those dishes. Yeah, call me for those anytime!

I found that I fell in love with these creations, first from the aroma, and then from the taste. So I decided to capitalize and kill two birds with one stone: (1) share it with the world and (2) help promote my book with them. It's a well known fact that people are magnetized to to food. Just add the word "Refreshments" to any invitation and watch the world magically appear. So every chance I got to place a booth for my cupcakes, I suffered long hours in the kitchen. One person told me not to just hand them out for free, but rather charge a decent price so that I make somewhat of a gain. I chose a simple twenty-five cents ... a mere quarter. And that's when I met the cheapest of people.

Okay, so I get it, people don't want to pay $20 (actually $19.91) for a hardback poetry book that cost a lot more to make (financially and emotionally). But a quarter, a damn quarter, for a decent sized cupcake with high class frosting and sprinkles? That was too much? It made me laugh since I knew half, if not 75% were people addicted to Newport Beach's Sprinkles Cupcakery. I let it go the first four times. But the fifth time I was invited to a college campus in the O.C. to sell my books and I thought that if I didn't at least sell a good number of books (pretending that students like to read ... ha!) I'd sell out on cupcakes. I made 75 and came back with 60. Five I solicited for sale. Ten no longer fit in the cartons (because I used one for something else during the event) and so I handed them out to the gentlemen that helped me load and unload my books and cupcakes. I refused to offer any to those people who shriveled their faces in a frown when they read the matching pink sign that read "Strawberry Cupcakes - 25 cents." But there was one guy there that absolutely made my day.

So let me retract my statement then - I sold four solicited desperate cupcakes and one joyous accomplishment. See, to make something and believe in it only to watch it fall apart before your eyes is hard. And time after time, event after event, it's been like that for my poetry book. The people I expected to be first in line on the release date never showed...till today. But I'll leave that topic for another time (maybe). Respect and support are rare qualities to find today. But to see friends or fellow community members snarl at a measly quarter was disappointing. I mean no offense, I wasn't in some third world country asking for sales. I was in the O.C. The O.C.! You know the county with its own show? Where most of these attendees drove up in their pimped up Lexus or Mercedes or BMW?

Anyway, amidst this disappointment this guy appeared as the silver lining to that cloudy day. He was somewhere in his early 20's wearing his ragged jeans, white t-shirt, and red and blue beanie. He approached my pink and red table with a smile that grew even more when he read the sign. A quick glance at my book before he said, "I'll have a cupcake please," and easily pulled out a quarter from his jeans pocket and placed it gently on the table. I smiled with excitement at the refreshing change and was amazed at how much it boosted my mood. I got him a cupcake ready and perfected and handed it over. He thanked me and walked away. Even his thank you felt like it carried more weight than typical thank you's do.

I turned around and began packing realizing that he may just be the only refreshing wave of good for the day when I noticed him walking back towards my table, holding his half bitten cupcake. Panic filled me as I worried that he found a bug or a hair (although I baked in my scarf that day) or if he hated it. I stood up nervously and tried to keep a smile on my face when I said, "Hey?" He swallowed the remaining cupcake bit in his mouth before he said, "I just wanted to let you know ... [eternally feeling pause] ... that this is the BEST cupcake I have ever had in my life!" I didn't think he could do it, but he did. He brought yet another wave of relief to me that day - and that one was a tsunami that just washed away the crap of all the rest (especially the ones from those I knew so well). I couldn't help the big smile and laugh that came from me as I thanked him for those words that were worth much more than a quarter. I wanted to give him another cupcake and crown him Cupcake King and I found myself regretting not doing the first option when I dragged home 60 perfectly pink cupcakes.

Okay, so it appears over the top, possibly a dramatic touch crowning him the king, and go ahead call me emotional or sensitive, whatever it may be, but the magical touch of a kind word exceeds everything else - especially on a day like that. It's rare to find someone these days to understand the weight words carry - good or bad - and this college student showed class that the Mercedes Benz driver couldn't demonstrate.

It doesn't hurt to start empathizing - and if you can't attain that - sympathy doesn't kill either!

A Short Story-Like Metaphorical Vent

Once the "Out of Business" sign goes up, suddenly everyone craves it. So when the heart puts up that sign, the same thing happens. But why did no one want it or the love it had to offer when it was open? When it was available? When it was happy, healthy, and all in one piece? It wasn't desperate. It wasn't outside dancing in a chicken suit with a large lit up arrow. It was raw, honest, real, loving, caring, giving and living its daily life in anticipating of a customer. But waiting becomes harder when things come along. Bad investors. Customers who cheat. New business endeavors.

But it's not just love that takes this twisted path of irony. You decide to wait in the short line only to find that the longer one on the right sped on by because eight people in front of you is the person causing a delay. You decide not to wear a jacket only to discover that it was going to be the coldest day of the year (happens to me with my damn boots all the time). What is it about the opposite that gets to us?

Back to love. Why is it that the one we want finds it so easy to use, abuse and refuse us? And the one we know we could never want won't stop texting? E-mailing? Facebooking? They say opposites attract, and studies claim that people are more intrigued by that which they could never have. But what let's us know that we could never have him/her in the first place? You meet someone. You hit it off. You start the situation. And then you watch it fall apart. Not every relationship or situation resembles a James Dean film/character with the clear cut label of "Steer Clear - Hot Danger!"

With all that, what makes it wrong to be temporarily "Out of Business?" Why is everyone suddenly pounding on your door to open up? Either calling out in regretful sorrow or angrily exclaiming the error of this disappearance? Or is that people love to do the opposite of what some specific ones do? Life always makes me laugh - even in the midst of such irony - I find humor. Why not? Sitting in the back and counting the remaining funds while reviewing inventory one last time as I hear those reckless calls has its laughs. All while playing Incubus on nonstop repeat and just wondering what tomorrow could look like.

Who knows what it will look like - probably the opposite of what I anticipate it to be. So let me not anticipate for once. I shall not anticipate for once.

Countdown to Deactivation?

Three lifeless bodies lay there on my floor before me. They almost deserved a white chalk outline, but a part of me envied their status. A part of me wanted to lay there right beside them without a single worry. My cell phone was overheated and began to slow down again and I knew then that it was time to turn it off, take out the battery, and let it sit for a few hours. And so it lay there, with the battery and back cover beside it - dead. How lucky they were to just be off and not simply on standby or sleep mode. But we humans, can't ever be off in life. Because even when we sleep, the wheels in our minds never stop rolling. Sometimes we even wake up from a thought that came to us in a dream. We wake up because we were sleeping so lightly due to anticipation for or from something. Distracted from sadness, fear, happiness, excitement, nerves. It never ends. And I blame a large part to technology - especially with the invention of these smart phones. It only adds to the nervous anticipation as we now carry access to our e-mails and Facebook accounts in our pockets. And we sit there, checking and rechecking (even though there ARE notification lights and tones to let us know) our accounts to see if we received anything. And now, for the first time, it has really gotten to me. Sickened me to a point where I am debating disconnection - from most of the useless accounts.

I know I will sound like a psychotic girl from a romantic comedy describing how she is going to decide on whether a guy is right or not when I say that I am even working on the list of pros and cons about this deactivation process; but I am. After watching The Social Network a bigger jolt hit me than the one that had before about Facebook and its purpose and uses. And since then I've been going through the mental debate of deactivation. But after an even more recent event (long personal story) I have put action to this thought.

It began last year, when I left town for almost half a year. Staying in an area that didn't have strong internet access for five months taught me a few things. I was able to recover from the withdrawal I faced of not accessing Gmail and Facebook twenty-seven times a day. Then I learned that I could go days without even desiring to check my e-mails. Then I learned something even more meaningful. It all became easier because I was never receiving anything in the first place. And that is when it hit me. After the invention of so many technological gadgets and networks, humanity has evolved to a very scary and shallow mentality in which we measure our worth based on internet-made connections. And I will sadly but honestly claim that at one point I reached this level until that trip, where I learned how to rip myself from these connections as easily as Velcro. Slowly it became easier and more relaxing.

But taking the final step of deactivation was hard; hence the need for time and a list. From experience I know how painful the withdrawal of merely deleting someone from Facebook can feel; but how would it feel to delete myself? Every connection I've built? Then again, WHAT are these connections? Over 550 friends ... friends? Facebook must modify that term to acquaintances. It may make the process simpler and the actual Facebook environment more realistic.

And let's take a moment to review this environment that Facebook has created. The perfect metaphor for it would definitely be a clothesline and humanity can no longer resist. Everyone has the desperate need to air every piece of laundry they have - dirty, extremely dirty, possibly clean. Why? The metamorphosis we have undergone is beyond ridiculous and eerie. No one can take a photo without the thought in the back of the mind of, "Oh I hope it's good enough to be my new profile picture." We spend petty moments CONTEMPLATING a status message. Wording and rewording until we get it right - just right to hook every passerby to WANT to comment, "Like" or something. We cannot survive three days if a red flag does not appear in our notification space. We start to wonder, "Why am I not attracting anyone anymore?" "Why am I forgotten?" So you post. Update the status. Change the profile photo. Scroll down that agitating home page to find something to leave your fingerprints on in hopes of leading them back to you.

The breadcrumbs of desperation were once in my hands until I analyzed all of this. Did I need to seduce friendships and solicit attention from the worthy ones? Is that what I've succumbed to? The original reason and purpose for the activation of my Facebook account goes all the way back to my junior year in undergrad. One girl - one good friend - explained her eagerness to want to keep in touch and how Facebook would be the best. Back then I had an anti-social network attitude. After seeing the MySpace scandals and reputations, I steered clear of it all. But I explored Facebook (back before you were no longer allowed to skim through people and tour it) and found that it could be a possibility. One month later I was signed up.

There I was. Like a kid given $50 at a cheap candy store I went crazy. Uploaded photos. Kept the status fresh on every hour. Searching for "People I May Know" on a daily religious basis to extend that friend list. I floored it until the first wake up call let me slam the brakes on the insanity. A true story about a hacker and virus that happened to someone I knew; and the discovery that EVERY FILE (pix/dox) uploaded to the internet, EVEN IF DELETED, will remain in the world wide web data base eternally. It let me realize how much of a Facebook junkie I became and slowly I began deleting albums, deleting historic posts and comments, and trying to take a step back. "What was the purpose of Facebook for me?" I asked myself.

For the longest time I had no purpose for it; that was until my first official poetry book was published. The excitement ran through me as I held that book in my hand and found it available on top websites like Amazon and Barnes & Nobles and once again the Facebook bug bit me - but it was a smidge more sensible. I created the 91 at 19 group, uploaded photos of every poetry event created/attended and blasted the site everywhere I could. My intent was to advertise like crazy to boost sales and for a while I thought it was working. Until I realized that two years later, only three sales stemmed from the Facebook advertising. So was my excuse of "it's for my poetry" viable all this time? Tonight it didn't seem to be. Not when I looked back and found that Facebook brought me more drama than happiness - both on and offline!

But that devilish fear remained. The one that threatened me of how much connection I would eternally lose if I hit the deactivate button. No more ability to create and invite "friends" to events. Better yet, no more ability to RECEIVE invites (because for some odd reason we've all forgotten the usage of e-mails or REGULAR MAIL). No more ability to advertise blog, book, basic info. And the one most deceiving and tempting - no more ability to connect with all those people who tell you they miss you, want to see you, etc. but forget you if you lose internet access.

It was a scary thought as I recalled some of the rare but wonderful and memorable connections I've made on Facebook, but it was a painful enough reminder of how many weren't. I looked back at those lifeless bodies on my floor and laughed as I thought of the ridiculous irony that would be after I post this on my Facebook profile and somewhat anticipate people's feedback. But I guess that's one pro, that when I post and re-post and again re-post things as a reminder (because sometimes it takes people that long to notice), on my profile, people become somewhat aware about: My blog, my book, or an upcoming event related to the book. But then again, how many were benefiting from this info and was it worth keeping a Facebook account open?

The back and forth thoughts were making the already existing migraine worse. The idea that soon enough I would go into sleep mode myself, and the fact that I wasn't going to make the "To deactivate or not to deactivate" decision at the moment, were a relief. But as the night went on, I felt that deactivation was right; and that there had to be another way to advertise people's work. All I could remember now were quotes from the film The Social Network and they were angering. The deception. The scandals. The way we humans are so easily seduced and deceived without a care. We don't realize how quickly we slip into a mindset. And every time I think of this I remember my first and (hopefully) last trip to the Apple Store.

The way mankind evolved into some other species terrified me greatly as I waited in line to fix the Mac I regretted purchasing a year ago. The staff appeared to be born with an iPad glued to their left hands and an iPod in the right. Their trance like focus on the technology before them and the way their eyes widened as they scrolled down whatever page they were reviewing. And that's just the beginning. As I watched the consumers (perfect term here, as they consume the hypnosis of the producers), I felt the inhumanity. Each person hugging their Apple item like it were their child. Almost in tears at the potential idea of losing their iPhone 4. Carefully caressing the iPad. And I realized every one in line, including myself, had items that were fairly recent. And I wanted to slap myself for falling into the Apple mentality with a lapse in judgment as I bought this laptop. Apple was so clearly fooling us into buying their merchandise when it was flawed purposely so we could return and pay for repairs and parts. It made sense as I remembered that the CD port in my laptop broke two weeks after I purchased it. As I heard the man in tears standing before me, holding his brand new but defaulted iPod 4 like a dead pigeon in his hands. As I saw the mother and daughter carrying in the brand new box of their Apple touch computer and wondering what went wrong upon arrival. It was pathetic how inhumane we have let technology make us.

It's beyond true and I will leave you with two points of proof - in my opinion anyway:
Although technology MAY save us SOME things, like time (e.g. washing machine, typing vs. writing, etc.) it allows us to lose MANY things. Take note of how you do in a course when you type up the lecture notes during class versus writing them down by hand. It was always easier to go into an exam without massive studying when I wrote down the notes by hand; whereas the classes I typed in I found I had a harder time studying.

Lastly, I will never forget something a friend told me she learned from a speaker who discussed technological disadvantages. He wanted to prove how the dependency people have on technology actually retards them (and I mean that term in the proper sense, as in holds us back and ruins us). He took out a PDA/smart phone and a paper monthly planner. To check his appointments for June on the PDA/smart phone he had to (1) input the password to unlock it, click on menu, scroll to find tools, then scroll to find calendar, scroll to the month of June (if it wasn't June), and lastly click on each day to see what appointments were scheduled.

To check his appointments in the paper monthly planner, he opened to the month of June and saw all appointments listed clearly across one page. It was so simple but it got to me. I cannot believe how inhumane we have let ourselves become as we enslaved our functioning minds and hearts to the most shallow and tangible of things in this world. Just look at how much we freak out if someone doesn't respond to our texts/calls instantly! Yes, benefits can be born, but I cannot tell if they outweigh the problems they bring. Only the completed list I create will let me know!

Circus of Broken Hearts

It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that
If you’re not up for the challenge,
turn right back
My heart will never be whole,
no matter how much one will try
So take caution before embarking on this ride
Welcome to the Circus of Broken Hearts
Where I am the Ring Leader,
your guide across the field of mystical arts
Prepare to swallow your pride and breathe in fire
As my words burn with a flame,
fueled by the mistrust of many liars
Master the secrets of magic if you wish to survive
Because I’m chained beneath years of heavy waters in a glass box,
and I’m depending on your tricks to come back to life
Tolerate the cold of blades slicing you in two
I’m known for making men want to split,
and at moments you may wish so too
Train your mind in its psychic abilities
For now I require someone with the effort and intelligence,
to understand every inch of me with ease
Strengthen your body and get ready for the walk on glass
Did I forget to mention those were the pieces of my shattered heart
that, to get to me, you’ll need to pass?
How else will I know you’re willing to do it all?
Without these flaming hoops and obstacles,
we may as well brace ourselves for the fall
From high above with the acrobats, walking across the rope of fear
No safety net below us,
to keep it real
Even if I tried I couldn’t get myself to apologize
This is who I am now,
and I am beyond tired of jagged goodbyes
I’m giving it to you clear from the very start
No fine print hidden along the circus’s ad,
a disclaimer and a prevention of anything to fall apart
It’s a take it or leave it situation
And the bad does come with the good,
for your information
Broken and specific, thanks to history, can still be sweet
Listen to me recite words of love as the sun sets upon our tent,
and you’ll know about the passions you never thought you could meet
Inhale the sugar filled fragrances lingering in the air
As we sit in each other's arms,
enjoying the evenings with funnel cakes to share
Look at the worry in my eyes as you face death-defying stunts
Don’t underestimate my emotions,
they’re always on the hunt
And watch my smile heal day after day
A healing I never expected to find,
but your inner clown gave to me anyway

Growing Old

It never occurred to me how scary it was to grow old until last week. As I innocently waited at the red traffic light to change, I suddenly felt a heavy push against my car from behind. The loud thud of metal pang together made me realize a car just hit me. Immediately I looked in the rear view mirror to better acquaint with the reality of it and all I could see was white smoke rising in the air from a silver car whose hood was now even more visible with its newly formed dent. The screeching tires and the smell of burning rubber made the situation even more surreal and I just couldn’t get myself to step out of the car until the man in the truck in front me tapped on my window.

I got out shaking and just in shock unsure of what to say or do. First accident. First experience. First time. The man handed me a small white piece of notebook paper with the name Scott written across it and a phone number below. He looked at me and merely said, “If you need anything, I was here.” I smiled with appreciation and he walked back to his truck and drove off. Many eyes were starting to make their way towards the incident as I started walking towards the car behind me. As I approached the vehicle with massive hood damage I came closer to realize it was an old man—a very old man in his nineties who still had not moved a single muscle following the hit. His hands were shivering violently as they held on tightly to the steering wheel, almost like he was afraid of letting go. He faced forward and kept looking ahead like he was in denial. I felt my heart drop so hard at just the sight of him. A rush of pity came over me and it was so suffocating that I could barely hear his nurse apologize to me and explain the situation. I was caught in a trance staring at this old man’s trance. But I knew I had to snap out of it when the police car arrived and I found myself catching a few of the nurse’s words. “I told him don’t drive, don’t. But he wouldn’t listen. He just wouldn’t listen. He got his license last week and he wanted to drive. And then I screamed brake! Brake! And before I knew it we hit.”

The officer walked over confidently and checked quickly to see if anyone was injured. When he saw that we were all fine, he told us to “mount up” and go to the nearest parking lot to sort out the situation. A ton of remorse was starting to settle on top of my chest and the entire incident was not my fault, but I felt heartbroken at the sight of this man. The bumper of my mother’s SUV was the buzz kill to his high. His nurse opened his door and asked him to move out to the passenger side so she could drive it to the lot. I led the way for the two cars behind me as I maneuvered on over to the McDonald’s parking lot by my house. I parked. Then she. Then the officer. I opened my door and quickly began frantically searching for every piece of insurance information in my mom’s car. I made a mess but managed to find everything the officer asked for.

I kept looking over at that poor man. He could barely move; and even after he calmly collected himself, he seemed so fragile and tender that I wondered how on earth he was taking it all in. Every time we made eye contact I smiled. I wanted so badly to reassure him that not only was I safe, I was fine and happy. Yeah, I was not jumping for joy at the thought of my mom’s car in a mess; but I wasn’t some horrible preppy girl who was going to give him trouble. I answered the officer’s questions and waited silently in my car as he finished questioning the man and his nurse. “So sir, please explain to me what happened.” With a quivering hand the old man began gesturing to describe what had occurred. At the sight of an approaching red light, the man attempted to slam the brakes but instead slammed the gas pedal. And only after it was too late did he floor the brakes. That explained the outrageously loud screeching tires and horrific image of white smoke and burning rubber scent. And it all started to dawn on me—the fearful tragedy of getting too old.

It was hard enough to understand that your body grows tired, but your skills? Your secondhand nature abilities? Just imagine being told that what you were once passionate about you are no longer allowed to do because either your mind or your body is deteriorating? Imagine knowing that one day you can no longer go the restroom privately or shower alone because one day you won’t be able to. And what about the fearful thought of losing your memory? Every experience you saved inside of your heart and mind will vanish? It’s scary and unstoppable.

I was even more glad at that moment that he hit me and not someone else who couldn’t appreciate the fact that this man lived his life and was, well, nearing the end—as we all are with each passing day. I don’t know who he is or what he’s done, but I saw the look in his eyes. The fear that he hurt me. The fear he expressed about the financial stress this was going to bring him. The fear that maybe, he realized, the DMV (no matter what) could never issue him his youth back once again the way they simply issued him a California Driver’s License. And that part killed me. Realizing that all this man attempted to do last week, when applying for that square laminated ticket, was experience the control, the life, the whim of youth-hood just once more before the end. And I, a youth, a 22-year-old “youth” had to be his reality crash wake-up call at 9:00am on a Friday morning. To let him know that that was not going to work out.

From our childhood years to our adolescent years we strive so earnestly to grow up not realizing what burdens it brings. I was one of those. But I know that what I eagerly wanted was respect; which is what we often lack to give to the younger generation. But something we have to instill in our minds is to enjoy and take advantage of all these youthful and healthy years we have in our lives. Because with each passing day we are growing just a bit older. And rewind is possibly just an option with some of the wrinkle-target skin care today!

High Maintenance?

Let's give the boys a break. Gloat in the moment as I begin a post about the females.

I never had a sister and I never had the desire for one. Living with two brothers felt perfectly fine for me and I was glad with everything I had. When I watched the way many sisters interacted throughout their years, I didn't see the desperate attraction for one. There was intense rivalry, jealousy beyond belief, hidden secrets and much more. It made me wonder if my personality would have been different and I realized that, along with life, definitely would have been. A lot of girls are too high maintenance these days, but I've found that today the phrase "high maintenance" has become misconstrued. It's applied to anyone who simply likes to put the perfect touch on all that they do, even if it affects no one around them.

That is NOT high maintenance, but the following is:

I've heard/met men that had the hardest time finding their life partners because of the ridiculously high requests the women and/or their families were demanding. Three-month salary wedding rings. Five-thousand square footage houses from a 20-something-year-old young man. The same man who had to most definitely be a doctor, lawyer or engineer. When he couldn't afford it and was heartbroken, I wondered why. Why would he want to be married to someone so shallow with their material requests? One piece of advice I heard was whatever you don't like before marriage, only gets worse after marriage. Imagine what more those women and/or their families would have put them through later on?

That demanding, obsessive and shallow attitude is more than annoying. It's obnoxious from both males and females. It's just a painful buildup that will surely lead to an unwanted explosion in the end. Unfortunately however, it seems that these nags tend to come more often from women than from men, because often men don't notice the details. I guess sometimes that can be relaxing. What is most likely the best solution is balancing out between the two. Finding the middle ground between caring way too much and not caring at all.

Here's a situation I've seen numerous times and it frustrates me before it frustrates the men. The woman is at home all day with the kids, and I know what she's gone through, about to pull her hair out from the stress at home, and so the moment the husband comes home she unloads...everything. I've also seen the opposite scenario: the husband comes home and the wife's exhausted from her day (be it at home or from work) and he's instantly demanding to be fed or pampered like a sultan.

Everybody needs to calm down. I have implemented this rule with my family because I know that every single human desires to walk into his/her home and just take five to ten minutes to themselves to just unwind in peace. Since in the Arab culture, women aren't out and about working but more often at home, this is usually a rule I try to encourage more women to try.

Men (and women) are exhausted from their days, but if you've been at home, even if stressed and exhausted from the day's toll, it's a lot different to be out and just thirsty for the taste and scent of your own home.

I was once sitting and talking with a couple. The husband, a kind man who actually loves her very much (a rare species these days), begins discussing a particular lecture we all recently attended and suddenly the peaceful calm begins to resemble the calm before the storm. His wife begins badgering him about his opinion and it goes back and forth for a few minutes and the wife seems utterly oblivious to the fact that he was over that petty point, so she didn't stop. He tolerated it for the first few minutes before his voice started to rise and my fear started to rise with it as well.

With another couple I visited, I saw a slightly pushy wife, who tried to control her husband. Now when I say control, I don't mean major crazy mind control, but things like, "Honey, eat now." "Baby, go do this now." I got annoyed after the first 30 minutes when I heard 460,967 different orders she gave him. Why is that the super polite amazing guys have wives that I just want to strangle? Then, on the other hand, the really sweet girl that knows how to treat her husband properly ends up with a guy who cannot appreciate or love her?

Once upon a time a friend of mine tried to set me up with a guy and the reason she supported this setup was because, "He is so slow and takes his time to do everything just like you. You know, high maintenance." Besides the backhanded compliment she slapped me with, I wondered why being an individual who takes her time to do things well means being high maintenance, unlike her, who constantly dictated every single human being's life around her?

I met the guy and he was slow, and by slow, I mean S-L-O-W. Boring, lazy, uninteresting and incapable of making any efforts or initiatives. I left the night realizing how misconstrued that phrase has gotten. If someone likes doing things by the book, not leaving what can be done today for tomorrow, how is that high maintenance? I never ask my brothers or even the men I was getting to know (1) who texted him, (2) where they went, (3) who they were with, (4) why they were late, (5) why they didn't call, etc. I have relatives like that. I think I am gray in the head because of them!

The biggest problem with this personality type is that it is one that rarely, if ever, listens to/accepts advice; and I am speaking from experience. My advice to one of these women (though she has not yet implemented it) is to try for at least week training herself to not immediately unleash an interview like auction style questionnaire to her husband when he comes home from work. To try and just enjoy the embrace that they share in each others' arms and maybe even relax on the couch for a few minutes. And if there are kids, train them to do the same. Invite them to join you guys for the group hug. In a study I read during my years obtaining my Sociology degree, it stated that in order for a human to feel fulfilled and relaxed, he/she needs an average of about 7-10 human touches a day. So a kiss, a hug, a warm hand to hold, all those instill a sense of relief and happiness to loved ones, and that's what every member of the family needs.

Don't ask your spouse when coming home from work, "How was work? What did you do today?" He/she just spent the entire day there. The last thing they want to do is relive it. If they want to vent, they will vent. I know that from experience too. Sometimes the best step is to just give them a bit of space to breathe and unwind. I'm not saying don't talk. I'm saying don't nag. It gets on everyone's nerves.

It's just a notice for those who really have a man in their life. Someone surprisingly treating them with wonderful care and devotion.

If you have a treasure like that, then treasure it. Don't trash it. Many people, male and female, are finding that a rare staple in life.

My Opinions Are Not Facebook Statuses ... so don't feel the need to always leave a comment.

Really. It's like there's this invisible comment bar that floats out with everything I say. Seducing everyone to go ahead and comment and DIS-like. And once they do, they manage to click so fiercely on the metaphoric POST!!! Not a day goes by without someone, somewhere, somehow needing, desperately, to explain why I should or should not feel, think, want, need, not want, not need, not feel something. Why? Has Facebook evolved the human desire to talk a little too much? Once upon a time it was the trait of old ladies, of our parents' generations, of those "wise-men" to criticize and evaluate our insides with phony psychoanalysis. I tolerated the words of elderly and smiled in silence with occasional nods as they pleaded to change me.

But after a certain point, be it puberty, be it early graduation from high school, be it post-publication, or be it post-graduate school, I felt that enough was enough. Why does there need to be a comment left behind after every word I say? I understand the rules and regulations of a conversation. It involves give and take, occasionally some debates, maybe arguments if things get heated, and they should (should) end with a respectful understanding that people differ. Diversity exists. But for some reason, when it comes to me, it does not. Instead I must be told of the flaws that others see in my ideas, my thoughts, my feelings. Yes, humans are all flawed, but what shines above my head like a halo so brightly that attracts that destructive criticizers so intensely? AND IF I DARE, do what I am doing now, venting in a blog, venting at all about it, the roof caves in above me with yet more criticizers telling me that it is just a method in which people demonstrate their "care" and "understanding" and "fear" for me in my life.

I am blessed with two parents who are alive and well thank you very much. Once I find that their utmost care and advising has worn thin and reached utter emptiness, I will gladly solicit advice when needed. And sometimes even in these situations, I find that I possibly dig my own grave. When I do turn to others for opinions, maybe something even pettier, just mere conversational delights of a specific topic or issue, oh dear, I find that I enter the point of no return. For they don't merely enter it as a fruitful conversation between two people about life, but rather as an attack on why "you think of it like this, when it is really like this." I know what is concrete and what is not. Never will I approach a mathematician nor an idiot and say, "Hey, 1 + 1 = 11 man!" So get off my case!

When I sat and wondered, what made me so different than my peers, because I watched the way the ladies of my mother's generation approached them and the way they approached me. Call it the self-fulfilling prophecy or whatever other sociological and psychological jargon you'd like (and I enjoy it all for I too am a sociologist - but apparently different) ... but they do manage to treat me differently than most. [I say most because I have decided to work on my generalization disability, so instead of ALL I will now try the term MOST. Thank you and have a nice day!].

Scenario #1: You Must be 18 or older to call!!!
What is the topic that never seems to remain buried? Even after I buried it so well in my own life? You guessed it, relationships! Once upon a time I hoped and dreamed and anticipated to marry. Hope drowned and dreams didn't come true. [It's fine. I'm fine. Stop worrying.] So in the past, when conversations of marriage erupted within a group of girls somehow the disaster landed on my shoulders. Maybe I never learned the fine art of fitting in, but hey, why would I want to? Drama is much more fun, no? These groups usually consist of a diverse mixture of girls - single, engaged, married, or me. Yes, yes, a varying species I am indeed. As the married girls spoke, and the engaged ones boasted, we singletons listened eagerly; intrigued to hear about this mystifying life we believed was our future destiny. When silence took over, in those younger years of mine, I spoke and praised the supposed life I thought the married ones enjoyed. "Ah you're lucky. You've found your soul mate and I just hope mine appears soon enough." Right then the horror music should have played, as the eyes of shock focused upon me. "What?!?! No! You are too young. What the heck are you talking about. No. Go live your life. Go travel. [BY THE WAY, LAMEST ORDER I HAVE EVER BEEN REPEATEDLY GIVEN.] Be yourself and be free. You're going to tie yourself down and miss out on so much. Don't get married now. Wait a while. A long while." And it went on and on and on.

I never understood what these poor women felt deprived of post-marriage, but the life I was raised into, the religious aspect and cultural aspect and social aspect of it all, when I think about it, NOTHING would change drastically if I were to have married someone. I would live in a new house. But I could still speak my opinions (because I don't plan on marrying a suppressor). I could still work out to Britney Spears and Najwa Karam, visit my family and friends (crossing fingers that he ends up being a local yocal), and enjoy listening to my eclectic music and writing my poetry. "Traveling to India" was never on my to do list, like it was on Paul Rudd's to do list pre-marriage in Knocked Up so I won't feel like I missed out and ruined my free life with marriage.

Don't think I didn't ask these ladies what it is that they regretted so deeply for losing once they said I do. I did and NOT ONE could give me a straight answer. I still am oblivious to it. Now my problem isn't what was lost or found, it's why can't I want what I want and why does it have to be their way or the highway? They also managed to sprinkle on, every time, that this desire to marry was just a stupid girly phase I would soon get over. They were wrong. It was never a phase. It WAS me ... until I found that breakage is a pattern un-fixable, unchangeable, and that giving up and letting go is what I need to do. Which brings in scenario #2.

Scenario #2: DON'T YOU KNOW THAT MARRIAGE IS YOUR ONLY FATE?
We sat there in the room. Somewhat cozy. A mixture of conversations going on. Their heads turned to me as they asked about my winter trip with the family. I spoke about the weather, the relatives, the shopping, the air, the atmosphere, the beauty and the yearning I had for the country I visited. NOT ONCE DID I MENTION MARRIAGE. "Soooo, did you meet anyone there?" she asked winking consistently it almost resembled a twitch. Really? Really? Did she just bring that damn subject up? It had been a few years now and I had dropped it ... hard. No more discussions of men or marriage. NO MORE "M" WORDS!!! But she did it and she put me on the spot. Maybe it's the way I present myself, or maybe it's because I don't think like them, who knows, but my answer was far from what they wanted.

"No, no. I didn't meet anyone. That's not why I went there anyway. I'm not looking for marriage now and I'm not interested. I really am happy with the way life is now and I love graduate school and time with my family. So that's just how it is now." Her wide smile started getting weaker and morphing into a frown, with a hint of disgust. It made me laugh because it looked like a cartoonish move. "Wait, so what are you saying? You don't want to get married?" she asked with a bit of impatience and confusion. I shook my head. "No, not for a while really. Not welcoming anyone and not thinking of anyone." She got frazzled, got up and fixed her posture and rearranged the couch pillows to adjust it perfectly for the attack. "What do you mean? You can't NOT get married. That's not right. It's not what a girl like you should say. How dare you close the door on this idea. There are perfectly great men out there and if one comes to you, you better not shut the door in his face or else you're gona regret it. I once had a friend who rejected a suitor. He was a doctor and ...." she continued on in her rave and I had to work so hard at suppressing both anger and laughter. "And now she is almost 30 and she regrets it so badly. Like she wants ANYONE now. Don't do that!!!"

Her story was banter. Babel and banter. But I had to bear it, because I apply the law of silence. Maybe there's the key to my downfall. I believe that silence is golden. But society believes that silence is weakness. A sign of stupidity. I always remember the movie Rush Hour when it comes to this. The way Chan remained silent up until the point of necessity. And the whole time Tucker thought that he was stupid and ignorant. But the reality is, when you're silent, you see and learn lots more than when you grab the mic and limelight and lecture the world around you. And I find it my strength, but the world finds it my weakness.

She finished. Her face was the color of a cherry tomato and I smiled. The sensation of anger faded as I thought of all the above during her rant. I thought, I am NOT her 30 year old friend who rejected some random doctor and now regrets it. And so I began my response. It resembled some official debate, where one side screamed with anger their point, and the other side remained calm and collected, so diligently creating a response in the mental atmosphere of silence. "In Islam, there is "naseeb" right?" I asked her. [Naseeb means destiny/fate. Usually the term referred to when explaining the man or woman one ends up with, the job one lands, the house one buys, etc.]. She nodded and I smiled. So far so good. "And I do too. So if now I choose to be single and enjoy the moments that I can savor, the way you and your clan begged me to years prior, I have chosen this naseeb for me. And IF, if, God has planned for me a man next week, he will arrive because he is my naseeb. And if, I reject some doctor or engineer or lawyer or garbage man that comes my way because I believe I don't want to marry now, then HE is obviously not the ONE that is chosen for me. So never in my life will I feel a sense of regret for him. And never will I look back at him and his wife and envy her for taking him when I didn't. They were meant for each other, and he, whoever the heck he is, was not meant for me."

She shook her head. She discredited everything and focused on ONE thing only. And I quote, "So if now I choose to be single and enjoy the moments that I can savor, the way you and your clan begged me to years prior, I have chosen this naseeb for me." She denied ever telling me to remain unmarried, when she was just as guilty as the rest of them. I shrugged. I accepted, after YEARS of this, that the world around me will never actually LISTEN to what I have to say, but they will loudly claim they heard me out. I shall gladly give them the benefit of that doubt only. But for everything else, I just wonder why I remain silent in person. Why I listen to every word people say. Why I nod and respectfully tell them, "Yes, continue," even if I disagree. I don't HAVE to agree, but out of respect I must listen to my peers, my elders, my friends, my community. I never shut anyone out even if I don't like what they have to say. And more importantly, I don't ALWAYS follow up people's words and opinions and thoughts and beliefs with a comment of critical sort the way I find my words are. I tell myself, "Maybe he/she just wanted to vent? So just listen. Just listen."

Scenario #3: Silly Rabbit! Trix are for kids! REMIX [Final Scenario]
For three years I heard the rumors and I didn't reject or accept them. The teachers all said that high school would be the most memorable four years of my life. So I waited to see if they were right. They weren't. After one good year, and one not so good year, I decided I had to get out. It felt suffocating and redundant. From the atmosphere to the work to the system. And by June of my sophomore year I found my great escape. My ticket to freedom. They called it the CHSPE (pronounced chi`spee lol) and the angels sang hallelujah above its name when it appeared as a shining yellow title on GOOGLE. So I filled out the application for this proficiency exam, did all the research, conducted a cost-benefit analysis, and then walked into a large frightening college classroom and began the examination procedure. Before I knew it, my GED arrived in the mail. At only 16, I walked into my very first semester of community college, burned my tongue on a bitter cup of coffee, and attended my first ever pol sci lecture in an auditorium. I was proud and excited. Three years later the man handed me a fancy folder that held within it my Bachelor's Degree and I was ecstatic.

Now it all sounds so blissful. Like the beginning of a horror movie. Where everything plays out perfectly until BAM! The death of it all. Well within these fabulous flashbacks, I omitted the reality that the world let me live. Not only did people work hard at trying to keep me in high school (from "You'll never survive and surely fail!" to "You need high school so you have the chance to screw up BADLY and survive!" - all from adults by the way); but many turned to threats about ... wait for it ... yes, my marital future. "You think a man is going to want a woman so highly educated at such a young age? No!" I shrugged my shoulders and merely wiped their words off like dandruff on a black sweatered shoulder. "Do you think I want a man that doesn't want an educated and youthful woman?" That was my rhetorical response to their crap at 17. But it kept coming and much worse things were said. And I kept wondering why. "You're going to get a minor as well??? Why? You're not living your life at all. It's not fair to your adolescence!" No. What's unfair to my adolescence and childhood was the abuse of these people's words. I hate that I cannot look back at any decision or moment of supposed triumph in my history without always remembering someone who wanted to step on it. I won't even begin on the decision to pursue the publication of my poetry!

And people dare ask me why I am not "confident" ... not rocket science really. Crush a mature child that wants to take the world by storm and do something productive, and watch her grow up with a bit of a tilt. Like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I made it, but the remains of history will lie upon me forever. And that's fine. One day appreciation may come?

If only the taunts of this final scenario ended with reception of my Masters degree. It still continues till today. My 22nd birthday is just around the corner and yet so many tell me what a bad choice I, and my parents, have made at moving forward. Yup, so terrible. I would have been much better off suffering for two more years in a high school that I really didn't like, going crazy over SAT preparations, massive worries over university applications and then finally getting a Bachelor's at 22 INSTEAD of a Masters. Slap on the head!

To each his/her own. Why does the world not comprehend that concept?
Or silence is golden?
Or "Say a good word or say nothing at all"?
The list goes on.

I get it. For those who have that desperate urge to supposedly try and make everyone feel better. But often times people are forgetting that sometimes not saying anything feels a lot better to the other person. And honestly, I must make clear, that NOT everyone even knows how to offer criticism or advice, EVEN if it is "well-intended." In these situations it often makes matters worse and I have heard and experienced a fair share of those disasters. And really I have become tired of it and tired of constantly hearing the defense that these comments are all "honest and heartfelt." My professor used to always repeat the statement, "We have TWO ears and ONE mouth for a reason. We have to listen twice as much as we speak." Somehow though, I feel like I do all the listening while everyone speaks over me, on me, about me and through me.

I do not intend to offend anyone. I am merely narrating what is seriously going on. I don't always need your two cents. Because if I really got two pennies for every time I heard that Bill Gates would retire from the status of Billionaire, along with Zuckerberg. And I think that excessive (and even unexcessive) comments should be left to that petty blue bar that resides below every status, picture, event, link and THING on Facebook. Sometimes all people look for is someone or some people to LISTEN to them.

Can you hear me now?
Good!

To Love or Be In Love?

Maybe this is the question Shakespeare should have asked long ago. It just may have saved us all. What is the difference between loving and being in love? The answer—a lot. The mere fact that a person can “fall in” love only presents the fact that they can “fall out” of it as well. But when you love, the deep love, past the romance and excitement, you experience an emotion that becomes an everlasting imprint upon your heart. And this is the love that seems to last the longest.

This is the love that exists in the heart of the mother to her three week old embryo. This is the love that settles in the heart of families and best friends. This is the love that lives in memories of great times—ones that bring that smile each time. So maybe this is the love that we should truly search for when looking for The One? Not the spark that may turn into a flame—but the welcoming comfort that will turn into an entrance to lifelong commitment. Sparks and flames are not everlasting—a gust of wind can turn off a lot. And in this world, everyone seems to live in windy towns. I hear many talk about that “love” not being there anymore, the love fading away, and the disappearance of what they once had. Maybe it was the wrong love all along?

Couples today want to fall in love and hope the free-fall lasts forever. Physics states what comes up must always come down. History proves every ruler that managed to get up high, always came back down, hard. Why is falling in love any different? Gravity has control of everything on Earth. Maybe if you find that love that is so amazing it sends you to the moon, you two may have quite a chance—but good luck on that one! For the rest of us, glued to Earth, we have to find the “down to Earth” love that won’t make us trip and fall. The love that will bring us towards the happiness worth arguing and fighting for any day.

When I was younger, I use to ask a lot about relationships and marriage. I became more and more aware of the way Muslims could marry. It never made sense to me how falling in love was not even on the list of marriage prerequisites, not until I began fully researching it. Now it is the only thing that makes sense. How can falling in love be a prerequisite when there is a big chance of falling out of it? Shouldn’t the marriage be based on a sturdy foundation, in order to create an everlasting relationship? “So if you can’t date and it’s not based on falling in love, how do you meet a man to marry?” The most commonly asked question after people discover the truth about our relationships.

In the Islamic ways, the focus of a relationship is the mentality and personality of the people. So there are no physical relations until after the wedding. This obviously means that there is no relationship unless there is the intention of marriage from the start—this helps to avoid a lot of drama, regret and a long recorded past. However, it becomes difficult awaiting love and not falling.

And sometimes this is the reason, the hope that one grasps on to when they want to get through a chance that failed. It’s this thought that keeps one’s sanity and brings about that 1% of joy that this potential chance broke because this is one less opportunity of a loveless marriage. It could have been much worse had we said “I do.” So I keep this playing in my mind until slowly it becomes the believable reality. And when I am finally through the tunnel, I look back and see the past and realize the incompatibility. That is when I feel thankful for not loving, but merely falling. At least with a fall, you can always get back up again.

Fantasy Land?

Ever noticed how Hollywood portrays things to be so perfect constantly that often times we find ourselves stuck in between reality and fantasy? How can we blame ourselves though? We’ve been bombarded by this since childhood. Power Rangers, Superman, Batman, Cinderella, Belle, Jasmine…Happily Ever After. Has anyone ever wondered what happened to them AFTER happily ever after? Did Cinderella and Mr. Charming ever fight? Did his mom step into the picture and drive Cinderella insane? What about Jasmine? Is she really happy with Aladdin and his consistent carpet rides? Especially when he’s riding with some other princess?

As children, often we cannot differentiate between real and fake, and so it becomes something that is a part of us. Something we might not be able to get rid of till later. What about as adults? It may possibly be the same. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days…well she gets him back doesn’t she? But me (living in Reality-Wood)…if I lost him, oh honey he’d never come back. Sometimes I wish that maybe that cute sweet actor himself would get caught up in his fantasy role and maintain that loving perfection status, and treat the current girlfriend just right. Maybe then their marriage would last longer than say…three years? Then we wouldn’t have to stand in the supermarket lines and read the headlines of another billion-dollar divorce.

What is it about fantasy that attracts us so greatly? The change? Have we just become so consumed with the wrong priorities in our own lives that we look for any freedom that resembles nothing we live in at the moment? Maybe that’s just it. We need a break, a vacation. And that’s why when Hollywood decides to bring in some reality we reject it. You know those films that end unhappily? We leave the movie feeling so distraught and irritable and for days we wonder why it ended this way. And what about the way we feel when an actor or actress presented in the film is not a picture perfect hottie? We somehow manage to say, “Out of all the people out there, they had to choose them?”

Maybe that is what entertaining media is for: Providing us a break from daily reality. The problem is we’ve overdosed and suffer from a withdrawal when presented with reality. So how do we find a correct balance of both? How do we avoid getting carried away into the depths of that amazing film? Book? Dream? When we are in need of help at the bottom of the pit, don’t we yearn for that hero to lift us up? However, we often end up pulling up ourselves.

That may just be the technique necessary to balance between fantasy and reality: An extra dosage of realism (finding no hero, no happily ever after, no prince charming) and discovering that fantasy does not always come to your rescue—but you yourself do. You bring your own happily ever after. My mother never stops saying, “You are the controller of your own happiness. No one can make you happy or make you sad except you.” It took me years to believe my mother’s statement, but it has finally made sense.
Think about it. If you experience something, who is in control of how long it upsets you? The actual experience itself does not last too long—it is temporary, and so is your mood. However, two different masters control both of those things: Fate and yourself. Since you cannot control fate, why not control what you can, yourself?