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!
