A Syrian
and an Egyptian walk into a bar. It’s 12:45 a.m.…
Sounds
like such a strange statement, but I must admit, it looked even stranger.
Walking in we attracted the stares of bewilderment. What were they doing here? The girl that mirrors
the fearful sights depicted in the media and a guy with a laptop case. Here’s
the story.
I’ll
start it with the ever so infamous statement: I met a guy. Actually, I met twelve to be exact. (Ladies,
apparently the Bay Area is where they’re all hiding!) Let me clarify though,
this statement I don’t mean entirely in a romantic gesture—I mean okay, maybe
I’ll admit that three of the twelve caught my eye and I have hoarded a small
beacon of hope somewhere in the back of my mind, but of the remaining nine, four
are engaged and/or married and then six were simply remarkable beings whose
company and acquaintanceship still resonate appreciatively.
It all
began when I received a wedding invitation early this year that I somehow
misread. For months after confirming my RSVP, I led myself to believe that the
wedding was in the next county over, Los Angeles. Then three weeks prior to the
wedding, the bride to be burst my misconstrued bubble when she offered me
helpful suggestions for the Bay.
The Bay?
Woman, why on earth am I going to the Bay? Then I double fact checked and
realized that banquet hall I had Googled in LA was actually far more north than
that.
It’s
really amazing how fate works, how it braids together various series of events
for a greater purpose than one can imagine. Considering the distance and how
late it already was to find affordable transportation and housing, I assumed
this weekend getaway wasn’t going to happen.
Guess
again! An open mic/story-telling event I had been dying to go to for years was
miraculously happening the night before the wedding. I signed up. The day after
the wedding was the last day of the Ghirardelli Chocolate Festival, one I had
been eager to attend since I first heard about it. I bought a ticket. In
between the nook and crannies of my day, I looked up museums, landmarks and
restaurants to explore. I decided why not? Why not invest a little of my
savings on myself after all that I have been through? Was it not long overdue
after three excruciatingly long years?
A part
of me was nervous. How safe was the Bay? What’s a BART? How do I use Lyft?
Would I find myself alone often? Would I suddenly find it difficult to
socialize or would I be able to dive in wherever I go and spark up
conversations? Self-doubt had been eating away at me for a while, more than I
recognized, and it must have been one heck of a long lasting side affect of
domestic violence. Instead, I decided to simply breathe and have faith in God
that this was coming together because it’s meant to be.
There
has to be something in the Bay Area water. I’m sure of it. Four nights and
something has changed. My skin and hair got even more silkier than usual that I
spent a good majority of my time in the Bay playing tug of war with my scarf
against the wind. And had it only been the physical elements of me that felt a
change, I probably would have stopped smiling ten minutes after landing in
SoCal. That hasn’t happened, but serious NorCal withdrawals have.
But it’s
no mystery. It began on my first night, when I found myself walking alone to a
neighboring Italian bistro at 9:00 p.m. to get dinner and having the chef spend
time talking to me, sharing meaningful conversations about culture and business
development. It only evolved further in the following days, when I was submerged
into a beautiful Muslim community I had only fantasized about for 27 years. A
community where the lack of blood relations was replaced with an even stronger
bond of friendship. Everyone was related in spirit and I felt at home in a way
I didn’t realize I was longing for. In a depth I didn’t think existed.
Aside
from the overwhelmingly loving hospitality every single person I met showed me
(in ways other people I’ve visited never did), I found a community that didn’t
make me feel like too much or too little of anything. On the contrary, they
helped me forget the existence of that scale; allowed me to feel the value of
the knowledge and wisdom I already possess and yet enabled me to feel the
blessing of the ability to see an opportunity for growth.
There’s
a stunning difference being made to feel like ‘you still have a lot to learn’
and ‘you can still learn so much’ and my new friends helped me dive into the
latter, discovering new depths to all I could potentially explore in both
myself and the world. That was one big takeaway from this trip: self-awareness.
I always believed I had that down but I stand corrected as I learned even more
than I knew.
It began
the night before the wedding. I met a great majority of these friends at the
story-telling event, where I shared my recent experience in Syria. A guy nearby
was talking who gave off a bit of a condescending vibe. The girl beside me let
out a grunt, similar to the one I let out, and it sounded a little like
judgment. It was a knee jerk reaction because one of my biggest pet peeves is
conceit. The kicker? This guy turned out to be one of the best friends I met.
It took one hour to change everything.
That was
also the night of the bar, where a stranger (turned friend) offered to drive me
back to my hotel to relieve our mutual friend of driving out of the way. I’d be
lying if I said I wasn’t slightly concerned, but at the same time it seemed
safer than taking Lyft or BART across the Bay and it was an opportunity to
practice more socializing. And boy was I glad I did.
We
arrived to my hotel and I found myself saying, “If it weren’t almost 1:00 a.m.
I’d have suggested we keep this interesting conversation going over coffee or
tea.” To my surprise he said, “Let’s go!” And there we were, two beings
sticking out like sore thumbs, drinking the best non-alcoholic Irish coffee in
a dim pub talking about anything and everything that I never imagined being the
basis of a normal conversation with a man.
Someone
mentioned to me, upon my return, that I need to keep in mind the Bay is the hub
of intellect and innovation, therefore only top quality people are selected to
work there. While it’s a generalization he made, I agree to a certain extent.
The group of individuals I met were mentally stimulating in such a way that I
wanted to soak up every minute possible. I believe in the four days I was
there, I got a total of six hours of sleep. That was the one downside. I was so
exhausted I restarted my coffee addiction and have not been able to stop. But I
was around a cohort that inspired me to value time even more than sleep.
Along
with that, something very interesting about NorCal is that feminism is not only
a known concept, it’s a freaking norm, even amongst men, especially Muslim men!
I think my jaw is still dropped somewhere on the streets of SF. This is not to
say that sexism is nonexistent up there, but from the community I interacted
with, the one I frequent in SoCal—the Muslim one—I found a huge cultural shift.
The vision is cleaner, brighter and much more mature.
Hence,
the late night conversations that segued into my first lesson of self
re-awareness. Amid the subject of our past relationships and experiences, we
reached the topic of ghosting. For my newcomers to the blog, please refer to
this link for more info on the matter as pertaining to me: http://ladynarrator.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-perfect-crime-remix.html.
Anyway, heated in the conversation I exclaimed, “It was just so frustrating
because I thought, jeez, he could’ve been man enough to say anything.” That’s
when it happened, so naturally, so nonchalantly, I was blown away.
“Maybe
you could say adult enough? Like he could’ve been adult enough to give you the
courtesy of an answer?” He said it with such a kind matter-of-factly demeanor I
was taken aback, in a good way. He left me speechless with this simple yet
obvious note I overlooked for years that I told him, “Wow, I need a minute to
process this, because you’re right. That’s perfect. That’s exactly what needs
to be said!” And what made it all the more better? He left it at that and
continued listening to me. He didn’t harp on about my misspoken word or begin a
long banter on anti-feminism and how we’re all psychotic emotional man haters.
Rather he saw right through me to what I meant, what I was aching with and made
a minor correction to the wording to give it a more accurate delivery. I still
find immense value in that one moment and it will probably stay a lifetime.
This is
not to say that I discovered an entire lack of self-awareness. On the contrary,
it was a journey of further self discovery, as well as a journey of
self-remembrance. One afternoon, on a walk with one of my friends, he said he
was glad he got the opportunity to actually talk to me in person versus our
typical online communication because it gave him the chance to see my full
personality, which was more “cheerful” than my blog. I chuckled.
The
words “pessimist” and “negative” surfaced a few times in my life (and on the
trip) regarding my outlook. I regard myself as a realist, and yes realism is
subjective, but at the end of the day I write about my realities. And I won’t apologize if it sounds harsh or sharp.
After all, a sharper pencil writes better than a dull one and I’ve been
sharpened by the blades of life since I was seven.
The most
valuable gift of this trip was the reminder that a first impression is only a
small piece of the bigger picture, something we need to keep in mind. The key
is to keep seeking the bigger picture before making judgments. Recently, a
woman told me that upon first seeing me she was utterly intimidated by how I
carried myself. She said a combination of my stature and my attire made her
nervous, yet she was glad she had the chance to get to know me entirely. I
remember the night we met, vividly actually. I was wearing old jeans, a random
forest green shirt with a black blazer and my black heels. I was feeling
utterly insecure, going to this event alone and knowing no one. I nestled in
the corner by myself and had a very low level of confidence. Somehow I gave off
an intimidating impression? It was intriguing and reminded me of the trip and
all the first, second and third judgments passed around from both my end and
the ends of those who met me.
I’ve
been told many times that my stilettos and my writing make quite the
impression, and while I find that strange, I think people need to recognize
that those are only two elements of what make me, me. I share raw pieces of
myself through my writing, but the world knows nothing of the bigger picture if
they do not take quality time to explore the rest of me. So it is with genuine
gratitude that I thank everyone I met on this life-changing trip who reminded
me to keep seeking the bigger picture wherever I go while also sharing the
bigger picture as well.
Till
next time San Francisco…
