There are some weekends that just make you happy. You look back on them and think - that was good. It was a great combination of all things that make me happy.
Weekends like this may include, but are not limited to:
* Good iced coffe.
* A "massage crawl" in China Town - yah, you read right. A back massage here, a scalp massage there, work on my feet in this place...
* Spring dresses and happy people.
* A cute neighborhood cafe, parachute blossoms, and a meeting of the hearts.
* Kale salad with good friends.
* Candlelight dinners.
* Reading in bed while it heavily rains outside.
* A screening room, candy, and great company.
* Brunch and catch-up with an old and dear friend.
* Tortilla soup.
I have to remember small and big moments like these that make my weekends something so special to look forward to.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
home.
I spent the last week and a half with my family at my parents' new home in Santiago, Chile. It was my first visit there. I didn't know what to expect and, quite frankly, didn't have MUCH expectation. I just wanted to see my family. I missed my family.
And the moment I steeped foot into my parents' new place, I was home. It's a silly, silly expression. Well - not silly, but cliche: home is where the heart is. But really. It is.
Within a few moments I was saying, "I'm so happy to be home." Because there is where the people who love me stay. There it is where I am taken care of. I'm a grown-up now but still, being in the home of my mother and father, makes me a kid once again. My functionality lessens in a way that feels good momentarily. I let other people make decisions. And allow myself to relax.
I was home. And I couldn't even look at my mom and dad without crying. I wanted to tell them how much I loved being home. I wanted to tell them how much I had missed them. But if I opened my mouth, I knew I'd loose it.
But I'm sure they knew. I'm sure we all felt it. We all loved "being home".
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Memoir
I remember the room being pretty dark, especially for a Kindergarten classroom…
I looked around trying to find something on the walls that looked familiar, but it was hard to see. There were a few large posters with lots of words on them that were placed neatly around the walls, unlike the frames of our many family members that hung haphazardly around our home. The walls were painted the same yellow that I noticed in the long hallway on the way to the classroom. There were accents of that yellow in the Persian rugs that lay on the floor of our apartment and the calligraphy that joined the family photographs up on our walls.
I heard the teacher say something and then everyone began to make their way to the middle of the room and create a circle. I could make out only part of what she was saying but from watching the other kids, I understood that she was telling us to sit down. My face scrunched up slightly as my body made contact with the cold and hard ceramic floor. We were all sitting in a circle, our tiny legs folded perfectly, knee to knee, almost touching the person next to us. It was a big circle of tiny bodies sitting and waiting, nervously anticipating the first day of school. My teacher sat on the big wooden chair right across the circle from me, her hands folded on her lap. I folded mine on my lap, too.
I looked around at all my classmates searching for which one had big brown eyes like my cousins and I had. I watched curiously to see if anyone else had wild curly black hair (now tied back in pig-tails) just like me. My hair was starting to hurt but I didn’t want to remove my hands from my lap to touch it. I had watched my mother comb and pull at it earlier that morning. I wished she hadn’t pulled so hard. I sat with my legs criss-crossed in the beautiful dress that my mother had sewn for me. She sewed all my dresses, and I proudly wore each one. My little hands outlined the purple and yellow flowers that made up the pattern. I kept my eyes on the flowers. I remembered them making their way through the sewing machine. The rhythmic pounding kept me company while I colored. My mother had bought me a Cinderella coloring book, just like the girl next door had. I loved it so much. I would always color as she sewed.
And then it was time to introduce ourselves. Right next to the teacher, also directly across from me, were a few boys that I noticed right away. I saw their wide, crooked smiles. One had messy brown hair and was wearing a bright shirt. The other had a face covered in freckles and big blue eyes. The boy with the freckles caught me staring and I immediately looked down again.
I listened as we went around the circle and everyone introduced themselves.
"I'm Sarah."
“Hi Sarah.” The teacher led everyone all together, as my eyes widened.
"My name is Alex."
“Hi Alex.” I slightly shook in surprise as again the whole class joined together to repeat Alex’s name.
"John."
“Hi John.” I listened.
"I'm Elizabeth."
“Hi Elizabeth.” This time I joined in a hushed whisper under my breath.
My heart began to pound in my little chest. I waited nervously, whispering everyone’s names, not wanting to say my own.
"I'm Laura." That was the girl sitting right next to me.
“Hi Laura.”
It was my turn now. It was quiet for a moment and I heard the boys across the circle begin to move a little bit. I opened my mouth to speak. My heart was now beating so loudly in my ears I was afraid they could hear it.
"Sahba." I whispered.
The word had barely left my lips when I heard the laughter from across the circle. The boys began pointing and laughing.
"What did you say?" My teacher said.
I repeated my name. Again. Again, more laughing.
"Ok, next."
And then we moved on to Aaron.
My face got really hot and I started rubbing the pattern of the flowers even harder. I kept swallowing, over and over, to try and get rid of the big bump in my throat. My hair was really hurting now. I didn’t talk for the rest of the day in class. I kept my eyes on the flowers and my hands on my lap.
As soon as I saw our blue VW Bug pull up at the end of the day, I ran out to the car before my parents could even get out. I slammed the door shut and sunk low into the backseat until my feet hit the floor. I saw them looking at each other and they started to whisper. I let one tear fall down my cheek. Finally. From between the two seats I could see that my mom was holding a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me, rather than last nights leftovers. They asked me in Farsi how it was.
I sat in the backseat for a minute and then moved my body up to fit right in between the two seats in the front, thankful they had both come to pick me up today. I stayed quiet at first, thinking about how much I should tell them. My mother turned to face me. I looked at the lines on her forehead, all bunched together and her eyes wide with concern. My dad started to drive. I let out a long, long breath.
"I hate my name. I'm changing it."
There was silence. It felt like a long time. I watched the yellow lines in the middle of the street. They reminded me of the walls of my classroom. My hair started to hurt again and I pulled at my pig-tails, releasing the hair that was so tightly bound. It was quiet in the car for a long time.
"Ok,” my dad said gently, “what do you want to be called?"
I didn’t know he was going to ask me that.
Again, silence. The yellow lines kept whizzing by. The lump in my throat began to go away.
"Sandy. Or Sally.”
There was a long pause as they passed glances back and forth. At one point my mother shrugged and handed me my sandwich. When she turned to face me, I saw a tear inching its way out of the corner of her eye. She quickly wiped it away.
She looked at my father and shrugged again and gave him a side nod.
"How about Amy?" he offered.
Amy. I liked the sound of that.
That was the moment that my name changed. I became Amy for the rest of elementary school and well into high-school.
And every year on the first day of school, I relived that Kindergarten moment, as my new teachers would read through the roster and then pause when they got to my name trying to decide which one to say first. “Um…Amy?”
“Here.”
I looked around trying to find something on the walls that looked familiar, but it was hard to see. There were a few large posters with lots of words on them that were placed neatly around the walls, unlike the frames of our many family members that hung haphazardly around our home. The walls were painted the same yellow that I noticed in the long hallway on the way to the classroom. There were accents of that yellow in the Persian rugs that lay on the floor of our apartment and the calligraphy that joined the family photographs up on our walls.
I heard the teacher say something and then everyone began to make their way to the middle of the room and create a circle. I could make out only part of what she was saying but from watching the other kids, I understood that she was telling us to sit down. My face scrunched up slightly as my body made contact with the cold and hard ceramic floor. We were all sitting in a circle, our tiny legs folded perfectly, knee to knee, almost touching the person next to us. It was a big circle of tiny bodies sitting and waiting, nervously anticipating the first day of school. My teacher sat on the big wooden chair right across the circle from me, her hands folded on her lap. I folded mine on my lap, too.
I looked around at all my classmates searching for which one had big brown eyes like my cousins and I had. I watched curiously to see if anyone else had wild curly black hair (now tied back in pig-tails) just like me. My hair was starting to hurt but I didn’t want to remove my hands from my lap to touch it. I had watched my mother comb and pull at it earlier that morning. I wished she hadn’t pulled so hard. I sat with my legs criss-crossed in the beautiful dress that my mother had sewn for me. She sewed all my dresses, and I proudly wore each one. My little hands outlined the purple and yellow flowers that made up the pattern. I kept my eyes on the flowers. I remembered them making their way through the sewing machine. The rhythmic pounding kept me company while I colored. My mother had bought me a Cinderella coloring book, just like the girl next door had. I loved it so much. I would always color as she sewed.
And then it was time to introduce ourselves. Right next to the teacher, also directly across from me, were a few boys that I noticed right away. I saw their wide, crooked smiles. One had messy brown hair and was wearing a bright shirt. The other had a face covered in freckles and big blue eyes. The boy with the freckles caught me staring and I immediately looked down again.
I listened as we went around the circle and everyone introduced themselves.
"I'm Sarah."
“Hi Sarah.” The teacher led everyone all together, as my eyes widened.
"My name is Alex."
“Hi Alex.” I slightly shook in surprise as again the whole class joined together to repeat Alex’s name.
"John."
“Hi John.” I listened.
"I'm Elizabeth."
“Hi Elizabeth.” This time I joined in a hushed whisper under my breath.
My heart began to pound in my little chest. I waited nervously, whispering everyone’s names, not wanting to say my own.
"I'm Laura." That was the girl sitting right next to me.
“Hi Laura.”
It was my turn now. It was quiet for a moment and I heard the boys across the circle begin to move a little bit. I opened my mouth to speak. My heart was now beating so loudly in my ears I was afraid they could hear it.
"Sahba." I whispered.
The word had barely left my lips when I heard the laughter from across the circle. The boys began pointing and laughing.
"What did you say?" My teacher said.
I repeated my name. Again. Again, more laughing.
"Ok, next."
And then we moved on to Aaron.
My face got really hot and I started rubbing the pattern of the flowers even harder. I kept swallowing, over and over, to try and get rid of the big bump in my throat. My hair was really hurting now. I didn’t talk for the rest of the day in class. I kept my eyes on the flowers and my hands on my lap.
As soon as I saw our blue VW Bug pull up at the end of the day, I ran out to the car before my parents could even get out. I slammed the door shut and sunk low into the backseat until my feet hit the floor. I saw them looking at each other and they started to whisper. I let one tear fall down my cheek. Finally. From between the two seats I could see that my mom was holding a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me, rather than last nights leftovers. They asked me in Farsi how it was.
I sat in the backseat for a minute and then moved my body up to fit right in between the two seats in the front, thankful they had both come to pick me up today. I stayed quiet at first, thinking about how much I should tell them. My mother turned to face me. I looked at the lines on her forehead, all bunched together and her eyes wide with concern. My dad started to drive. I let out a long, long breath.
"I hate my name. I'm changing it."
There was silence. It felt like a long time. I watched the yellow lines in the middle of the street. They reminded me of the walls of my classroom. My hair started to hurt again and I pulled at my pig-tails, releasing the hair that was so tightly bound. It was quiet in the car for a long time.
"Ok,” my dad said gently, “what do you want to be called?"
I didn’t know he was going to ask me that.
Again, silence. The yellow lines kept whizzing by. The lump in my throat began to go away.
"Sandy. Or Sally.”
There was a long pause as they passed glances back and forth. At one point my mother shrugged and handed me my sandwich. When she turned to face me, I saw a tear inching its way out of the corner of her eye. She quickly wiped it away.
She looked at my father and shrugged again and gave him a side nod.
"How about Amy?" he offered.
Amy. I liked the sound of that.
That was the moment that my name changed. I became Amy for the rest of elementary school and well into high-school.
And every year on the first day of school, I relived that Kindergarten moment, as my new teachers would read through the roster and then pause when they got to my name trying to decide which one to say first. “Um…Amy?”
“Here.”
Fear
Fear holds us back from taking a risk, making a move, forming an apology.
We let fear hinder us from growing, from changing, from being free.
It often takes hold slowly, methodically.
It creeps in. And then it just sits there, allowing you to believe that functioning with it is your only choice.
Fear.
It doesn't let you function at your full capacity.
We learn to accept it as normal.
Feed it.
Engage it.
Let it manipulate us.
Because facing it is far too hard. Somehow facing it requires admitting failure.
Although, when released - as painful as that immediately may be - the freedom creates a happiness and a peace that the soul only feels when it has come home.
We let fear hinder us from growing, from changing, from being free.
It often takes hold slowly, methodically.
It creeps in. And then it just sits there, allowing you to believe that functioning with it is your only choice.
Fear.
It doesn't let you function at your full capacity.
We learn to accept it as normal.
Feed it.
Engage it.
Let it manipulate us.
Because facing it is far too hard. Somehow facing it requires admitting failure.
Although, when released - as painful as that immediately may be - the freedom creates a happiness and a peace that the soul only feels when it has come home.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
the stranger
the wooden bench felt really hard beneath me.
i slipped my sandals off my feet and crossed my legs on that wood.
music spilled into my ears and filled my soul.
i looked up, only a cardigan on today - that's all i needed.
the bare trees, glimpses of green emerging, stretched across, designing the blue sky.
i breathe.
"you look like a care-giver. is that what you are?"
he disturbs my peace only momentarily.
"an educator, so ya."
"i can tell. there is something about you. some sort of calm presence you have. something that tells me that you are fulfilling your calling - you are doing what you need to be doing."
stranger. on the bench.
"ya, i am. i really feel like i am."
strange how comfortable i am. with this stranger on the bench.
"in this City - it's hard to do that. it's hard to stay calm and focused and feel good about what you do. it's hard. but i just can tell. i can see in you that you are where you are supposed to be."
"ya. thank you. thank you for saying that."
i look straight ahead. deep breathes. how does he know? who he is?
i notice he is picking up his things. getting ready to leave.
introductions.
"well, congratulations on being so angelic."
humbled.
confused.
he's gone.
fresh air surrounds me and a tinge of emotion creeps into my heart. it releases.
moments when the universe is telling you something. trying to make you understand. giving you what you need. my letter from God: received.
sometimes the strangest things happen.
i slipped my sandals off my feet and crossed my legs on that wood.
music spilled into my ears and filled my soul.
i looked up, only a cardigan on today - that's all i needed.
the bare trees, glimpses of green emerging, stretched across, designing the blue sky.
i breathe.
"you look like a care-giver. is that what you are?"
he disturbs my peace only momentarily.
"an educator, so ya."
"i can tell. there is something about you. some sort of calm presence you have. something that tells me that you are fulfilling your calling - you are doing what you need to be doing."
stranger. on the bench.
"ya, i am. i really feel like i am."
strange how comfortable i am. with this stranger on the bench.
"in this City - it's hard to do that. it's hard to stay calm and focused and feel good about what you do. it's hard. but i just can tell. i can see in you that you are where you are supposed to be."
"ya. thank you. thank you for saying that."
i look straight ahead. deep breathes. how does he know? who he is?
i notice he is picking up his things. getting ready to leave.
introductions.
"well, congratulations on being so angelic."
humbled.
confused.
he's gone.
fresh air surrounds me and a tinge of emotion creeps into my heart. it releases.
moments when the universe is telling you something. trying to make you understand. giving you what you need. my letter from God: received.
sometimes the strangest things happen.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
stopping
i woke up today - on the first day of my Baha'i new year in 2012 - i was filled with an overwhelming sense of calm. a strange calm and reassurance that i have not had in a long time. that the tests and trials that the Fast ushered in, have rested. and my heart feels full.
i read something today from one of my friends, amy: Some days we wake up, confident in our ability to face our tests and fail in spectacularly beautiful ways. God willing, there is always tomorrow.
and this resonated on this day. the hopefulness that tomorrow is there to help us conquer and help us forgive. to be kinder to ourselves in our struggle to perfect our already complicated lives.
it's ok to stop sometimes and be proud of where we are.
i read something today from one of my friends, amy: Some days we wake up, confident in our ability to face our tests and fail in spectacularly beautiful ways. God willing, there is always tomorrow.
and this resonated on this day. the hopefulness that tomorrow is there to help us conquer and help us forgive. to be kinder to ourselves in our struggle to perfect our already complicated lives.
it's ok to stop sometimes and be proud of where we are.
Monday, March 19, 2012
only a few
it's hard to believe that a month so rich in revelations and moments of clarity has only lent itself to 2 blog posts thus far. seems a disgrace?
or maybe it is the mere reflection of the purpose of these days...more inward thinking. more solid and consistent movement not to be shared. to be cherished privately.
or maybe it is the mere reflection of the purpose of these days...more inward thinking. more solid and consistent movement not to be shared. to be cherished privately.
19
tomorrow marks the last day of my 19-day fast. i look back on these days with total gratitude. it was a hard fast. it tested me in so many ways.
things happened during these 19 days that have struck a cord in my soul.
reflection, gratitude, love.
something happens at 3pm when i have no more energy left in me. i am exhausted and feel as though i have nothing left in me to give. so i submit. little things that bothered me, just don't. i move slower, think slower, am not phased by heightened stress.
and then big news came.
life altering news.
needing to sort through the emotions. allowing myself to feel what comes. and just feel it. to sit with it. to let it wash over me.
my distractions become less and less and my awareness more acute.
i sit here on the eve of the 18th day - as the night is about to roll over into the last sunrise i will awaken before - and i read through the thoughts, inspirations, and words of wisdom that my friends around the world share about their own experiences during this time (http://nineteendays.wordpress.com/) and i am completely humbled. each word they say resonates with me and creates a bond and connections even though worlds are between us. their experience feels like my own. their insights feel engrained in me.
i am thankful for these 19 days, carved out of time, for me to focus. on me. on my own spiritual development. on my longing desire to be a better person.
things happened during these 19 days that have struck a cord in my soul.
reflection, gratitude, love.
something happens at 3pm when i have no more energy left in me. i am exhausted and feel as though i have nothing left in me to give. so i submit. little things that bothered me, just don't. i move slower, think slower, am not phased by heightened stress.
and then big news came.
life altering news.
needing to sort through the emotions. allowing myself to feel what comes. and just feel it. to sit with it. to let it wash over me.
my distractions become less and less and my awareness more acute.
i sit here on the eve of the 18th day - as the night is about to roll over into the last sunrise i will awaken before - and i read through the thoughts, inspirations, and words of wisdom that my friends around the world share about their own experiences during this time (http://nineteendays.wordpress.com/) and i am completely humbled. each word they say resonates with me and creates a bond and connections even though worlds are between us. their experience feels like my own. their insights feel engrained in me.
i am thankful for these 19 days, carved out of time, for me to focus. on me. on my own spiritual development. on my longing desire to be a better person.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
no salmon on myrtle
Today was the 3rd day of my 19 day fast and ALL I wanted for dinner was salmon and salad.
I contemplated going out to dinner and then thought about the money I could save if I just stayed at home. Plus, not to toot my own horn, but my salmon is pretty great (learned from mom and dad).
So I set out to buy salmon and get back in time to cook and be ready for sunset (5:56).
I tried Greenville, the store right near by - no salmon. But I kind of figured as much, they don't carry fish, but I thought I'd try.
Off to Associated, they always have everything. Always.
Nothing. No salmon.
Are you SERIOUS?!?
Ok, the new fancy grocery store two blocks down. They have GOT to have it.
Nope, sorry. Ah!!!!!!
Mr. Coco's. Mr. Coco doesn't carry frozen meat, but maybe - just maybe they will have it.
Nope.
Nothing.
So you know what I did? I bought a smoked salmon fillet. And I cooked it.
Couldn't decide if I liked it or if it was just making me nauseous.
I contemplated going out to dinner and then thought about the money I could save if I just stayed at home. Plus, not to toot my own horn, but my salmon is pretty great (learned from mom and dad).
So I set out to buy salmon and get back in time to cook and be ready for sunset (5:56).
I tried Greenville, the store right near by - no salmon. But I kind of figured as much, they don't carry fish, but I thought I'd try.
Off to Associated, they always have everything. Always.
Nothing. No salmon.
Are you SERIOUS?!?
Ok, the new fancy grocery store two blocks down. They have GOT to have it.
Nope, sorry. Ah!!!!!!
Mr. Coco's. Mr. Coco doesn't carry frozen meat, but maybe - just maybe they will have it.
Nope.
Nothing.
So you know what I did? I bought a smoked salmon fillet. And I cooked it.
Couldn't decide if I liked it or if it was just making me nauseous.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
my brother-in-law
I have this amazing brother-in-law and I don't think I tell him often enough how much I love and appreciate him.
Having someone come into your family can sometimes be hard. As much as you may love the person your sibling has chosen, it ultimately changes the nature of the family dynamic that you have come to know so well. Many times, it can feel like you have lost that member of your family as they go off to create their own.
But I knew from the beginning that not only was my brother-in-law ok with me preserving my relationship with my sister, he encouraged it. A few months before their wedding, my sister and I talked about taking a road trip from Arizona to New Mexico to visit our cousin. My sister said - let me just check with Nate, maybe he wants to come or maybe this isn't a good time.
So she did.
And I waited to see, to see how this new impending marriage would change my life.
What did he say?
He said - of course you should go. This is probably one of the last times before you get married where it's just you and your sister doing something together. You need this time together.
And I knew then - I knew then that I wasn't loosing my sister, but I was gaining a brother, truly.
The way he responded to that has been the way he has welcomed me whole heartedly and with wide open arms into the new family he and my sister have created. He allows me to maintain the relationships I had, while fostering the new ones that have been born. And for that I am forever grateful.
I was recently on my flight over to Arizona and I thought - I should tell Nate how much I love him...I don't know if I do that enough.
I got off the flight in a hurry to catch my shuttle to Tucson. I got off so fast that I left my book in the pocket of the seat in front of me.
"Crap!" I texted my sister and Nate, "I left my book on the plane. Oh well. :("
"What book was it?" - Nate.
"The House on Mango Street." The book had been gifted to me and I was devastated to have lost it.
"Oh, sorry." - Nate.
"That sucks." - my sister.
I rode the two hours to the shuttle stop in Tucson. Got out and there was my brother-in-law to pick me up. Huge hug. "I'm so glad you're here."
Warm desert sunshine on my face, content smile. He takes my luggage - never let's me carry anything unless I want to. Always takes care of things.
He opens the side door for me, pushes the seat up, places the suitcase in the back, and then pushes the seat back again so I can sit. And there sitting on the front passenger seat of the car - The House on Mango Street.
I love my brother-in-law.
Having someone come into your family can sometimes be hard. As much as you may love the person your sibling has chosen, it ultimately changes the nature of the family dynamic that you have come to know so well. Many times, it can feel like you have lost that member of your family as they go off to create their own.
But I knew from the beginning that not only was my brother-in-law ok with me preserving my relationship with my sister, he encouraged it. A few months before their wedding, my sister and I talked about taking a road trip from Arizona to New Mexico to visit our cousin. My sister said - let me just check with Nate, maybe he wants to come or maybe this isn't a good time.
So she did.
And I waited to see, to see how this new impending marriage would change my life.
What did he say?
He said - of course you should go. This is probably one of the last times before you get married where it's just you and your sister doing something together. You need this time together.
And I knew then - I knew then that I wasn't loosing my sister, but I was gaining a brother, truly.
The way he responded to that has been the way he has welcomed me whole heartedly and with wide open arms into the new family he and my sister have created. He allows me to maintain the relationships I had, while fostering the new ones that have been born. And for that I am forever grateful.
I was recently on my flight over to Arizona and I thought - I should tell Nate how much I love him...I don't know if I do that enough.
I got off the flight in a hurry to catch my shuttle to Tucson. I got off so fast that I left my book in the pocket of the seat in front of me.
"Crap!" I texted my sister and Nate, "I left my book on the plane. Oh well. :("
"What book was it?" - Nate.
"The House on Mango Street." The book had been gifted to me and I was devastated to have lost it.
"Oh, sorry." - Nate.
"That sucks." - my sister.
I rode the two hours to the shuttle stop in Tucson. Got out and there was my brother-in-law to pick me up. Huge hug. "I'm so glad you're here."
Warm desert sunshine on my face, content smile. He takes my luggage - never let's me carry anything unless I want to. Always takes care of things.
He opens the side door for me, pushes the seat up, places the suitcase in the back, and then pushes the seat back again so I can sit. And there sitting on the front passenger seat of the car - The House on Mango Street.
I love my brother-in-law.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
business adds to craziness.
weekends become a time to catch up on life and a time to catch up with friends and family.
and when you have many friends and family who live overseas, weekends become skype times which can only happen at odd hours of the day.
so trying to get ready to meet friends in real time while having a conversation with someone in time zone time, makes it really hard to have your entire brain present.
add to that the paraphernalia of gathering up winter items before you leave the house, and you're a goner.
grabbed my coat, my hat, my purse. add the camera, sunnies!, gloves, scarf. birthday gift!
out the door.
running...
so...
late...
catch a cab.
still talking on the phone.
"13th and 3rd please."
almost there, a block away...
fish for my wallet.
can't
find
it
take the entire contents of my purse out and dump it on the backseat of the cab.
no, nnnoooo, NNOOO!!!
"um, um, sir?"
no response.
"um, sir...i, i, i forgot my wallet."
Scrreeeeccchhhhh. He hit the brakes.
"What?"
"i'm so so sorry. honestly, i have no idea how this even happened. um, ok, i will pay you. i just can't pay you now."
looks at me over the rim of his glasses, he's not buying it.
"listen, i promise. i swear. give me your address, i'll send you money. i'm so sorry - i have no idea how this even happened." the tears start to form.
he releases the brake, begins driving.
"ok, just give me your address - i'll send you the money - i PROMISE i will."
"ok, ok, i know, ok."
gets me, safe and sound, to my destination.
writes down his address and says - $12.50.
"i'll send you $20, thank you sir, thank you."
jump out the car. relieved that what they say about New Yorkers isn't true.
walk towards the restaurant trying to figure out HOW i'm going to make it through the rest of the day.
and when you have many friends and family who live overseas, weekends become skype times which can only happen at odd hours of the day.
so trying to get ready to meet friends in real time while having a conversation with someone in time zone time, makes it really hard to have your entire brain present.
add to that the paraphernalia of gathering up winter items before you leave the house, and you're a goner.
grabbed my coat, my hat, my purse. add the camera, sunnies!, gloves, scarf. birthday gift!
out the door.
running...
so...
late...
catch a cab.
still talking on the phone.
"13th and 3rd please."
almost there, a block away...
fish for my wallet.
can't
find
it
take the entire contents of my purse out and dump it on the backseat of the cab.
no, nnnoooo, NNOOO!!!
"um, um, sir?"
no response.
"um, sir...i, i, i forgot my wallet."
Scrreeeeccchhhhh. He hit the brakes.
"What?"
"i'm so so sorry. honestly, i have no idea how this even happened. um, ok, i will pay you. i just can't pay you now."
looks at me over the rim of his glasses, he's not buying it.
"listen, i promise. i swear. give me your address, i'll send you money. i'm so sorry - i have no idea how this even happened." the tears start to form.
he releases the brake, begins driving.
"ok, just give me your address - i'll send you the money - i PROMISE i will."
"ok, ok, i know, ok."
gets me, safe and sound, to my destination.
writes down his address and says - $12.50.
"i'll send you $20, thank you sir, thank you."
jump out the car. relieved that what they say about New Yorkers isn't true.
walk towards the restaurant trying to figure out HOW i'm going to make it through the rest of the day.
Monday, February 6, 2012
jumbled
heart racing, body numb.
thoughts circling in and out and all around.
the crevices of my mind.
too much to process that eventually spills into not being able to control.
overcome with emotion, rage, hurt, anger, injustice.
that swells and subsides all too quickly.
trying to make sense, to talk myself out of, to explain.
but it all jumbles.
and time.
doesn't exist.
time just sits there being occupied by other things.
trying to cry to release the pain.
but it doesn't come.
it's stubborn. it wants to stay.
underlying current of sadness dictates.
trying to come to peace.
to love.
to see again the way i used to.
thoughts circling in and out and all around.
the crevices of my mind.
too much to process that eventually spills into not being able to control.
overcome with emotion, rage, hurt, anger, injustice.
that swells and subsides all too quickly.
trying to make sense, to talk myself out of, to explain.
but it all jumbles.
and time.
doesn't exist.
time just sits there being occupied by other things.
trying to cry to release the pain.
but it doesn't come.
it's stubborn. it wants to stay.
underlying current of sadness dictates.
trying to come to peace.
to love.
to see again the way i used to.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Food Inc.
I've been sick in bed all weekend. It's hit me bad. And I've become addicted to one thing. Well, one and a half.
The show that currently makes me happy, wanting to stay up late and over-dose, is - How I Met Your Mother. It's great - well written, funny, a touch of reality with a dose of over the top, and most of all - with a hint of Friends nostalgia. It's good - watch it.
Then, somewhere in my sea of sickness and HIMYM, I decided to watch Food, Inc. If you haven't heard of it - it's a documentary that takes a really close look at our food industry - where it all comes from, how it's "farmed" and how it's "treated" and touches upon the people who get screwed in the process. It's horrifying.
I'm so not one of those people who watches a movie and has a change of heart but I literally cannot get those images out of my mind. It is disgusting what we are actually eating. It's brought whole new meaning to "grass-fed" and "locally grown". You should watch it, I won't waste your time here by telling you all about it. But bottom line is that we have a choice each day of what we put into our bodies in this one and only life we have.
The show that currently makes me happy, wanting to stay up late and over-dose, is - How I Met Your Mother. It's great - well written, funny, a touch of reality with a dose of over the top, and most of all - with a hint of Friends nostalgia. It's good - watch it.
Then, somewhere in my sea of sickness and HIMYM, I decided to watch Food, Inc. If you haven't heard of it - it's a documentary that takes a really close look at our food industry - where it all comes from, how it's "farmed" and how it's "treated" and touches upon the people who get screwed in the process. It's horrifying.
I'm so not one of those people who watches a movie and has a change of heart but I literally cannot get those images out of my mind. It is disgusting what we are actually eating. It's brought whole new meaning to "grass-fed" and "locally grown". You should watch it, I won't waste your time here by telling you all about it. But bottom line is that we have a choice each day of what we put into our bodies in this one and only life we have.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
FB and I are on a break...
I decided a few weeks ago to take a little bit of a break from my old friend FaceBook. It's for no reason in particular - nothing major happened, no incident pushed me over the edge, a dramatic moment never occurred - I just decided it was time for me to just step away a little. Perhaps too much information and too many moments were being shared with just too many people. So I just need a break.
Tonight I decided to look back on my profile and view some of my albums and it was like a HUGE TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE.
When I was younger, I used to keep albums. In fact, back in Arizona, there is a room with boxes and at least 3 of those boxes are filled with albums documenting my life. High school, youth retreats, South Carolina, Eritrea, Haifa, family gatherings, times with my grandmother, Ethiopia, the time my grandparents visited America for the first time. All of those things are in there...
Tonight, these albums on FaceBook helped me relive the last few years, the years since FB has entered my life. And it was all there - the good, the bad, and the ugly...all the moments that have made up my life.
And I'm so grateful for that. So grateful that it forces me to remember the sometimes small things that may have slipped. So even though FB and I are on a break, I still owe it for keeping my memories safe and secure, for me to look back on and enjoy.
Tonight I decided to look back on my profile and view some of my albums and it was like a HUGE TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE.
When I was younger, I used to keep albums. In fact, back in Arizona, there is a room with boxes and at least 3 of those boxes are filled with albums documenting my life. High school, youth retreats, South Carolina, Eritrea, Haifa, family gatherings, times with my grandmother, Ethiopia, the time my grandparents visited America for the first time. All of those things are in there...
Tonight, these albums on FaceBook helped me relive the last few years, the years since FB has entered my life. And it was all there - the good, the bad, and the ugly...all the moments that have made up my life.
And I'm so grateful for that. So grateful that it forces me to remember the sometimes small things that may have slipped. So even though FB and I are on a break, I still owe it for keeping my memories safe and secure, for me to look back on and enjoy.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
new years resolutions
New Years resolutions are funny things. It's the turn of the year, the anticipation of new beginnings and hopefulness in the year to come, that makes us sit, re-evaluate, and makes promises to ourselves. Obviously this is originally rooted in religious traditions and ancient rituals and is now presented to us along with streamers, a song, and a kiss at midnight.
Apparently, research shows that the most popular goals include resolutions to:
- Improve well-being: lose weight, exercise more, eat better, drink less alcohol, quit smoking, stop biting nails
- Improve finances: get out of debt, save money
- Improve career: get a better job
- Improve education: improve grades, get a better education, learn something new (such as a foreign language or music), study often
- Improve self: become more organized, reduce stress, be less grumpy, manage time, be more independent, perhaps watch less television, play less sitting-down video games
- Take a trip
- Volunteer to help others, practice life skills, use civic virtue, give to charity
I don't know about you, but I can mark 3 of those off as resolutions I made this very 2012 year. Unfortunately, though, "A 2007 study by Richard Wisemen from the University of Bristol involving 3,000 people showed that 88% of those who set New Year resolutions fail, despite the fact that 52% of the study's participants were confident of success at the beginning." Yikes! However if you set your goals with a partner, friend, ANYONE who can hold you accountable - you're much better off in achieving them. Interesting, right? So it's not too late - find someone, tell them what you are planning to get done this year, and do it. Be the 12%.
It's almost a necessary thing, these New Years resolutions - to help us either heal from the year that passed or celebrate the joy that came in those 12 months leading up to it. At the end of the day, it's about reflecting, being honest with yourself, and making promises that you can (hopefully) keep.
2012. It'll be a good year. I can feel it.
Apparently, research shows that the most popular goals include resolutions to:
- Improve well-being: lose weight, exercise more, eat better, drink less alcohol, quit smoking, stop biting nails
- Improve finances: get out of debt, save money
- Improve career: get a better job
- Improve education: improve grades, get a better education, learn something new (such as a foreign language or music), study often
- Improve self: become more organized, reduce stress, be less grumpy, manage time, be more independent, perhaps watch less television, play less sitting-down video games
- Take a trip
- Volunteer to help others, practice life skills, use civic virtue, give to charity
I don't know about you, but I can mark 3 of those off as resolutions I made this very 2012 year. Unfortunately, though, "A 2007 study by Richard Wisemen from the University of Bristol involving 3,000 people showed that 88% of those who set New Year resolutions fail, despite the fact that 52% of the study's participants were confident of success at the beginning." Yikes! However if you set your goals with a partner, friend, ANYONE who can hold you accountable - you're much better off in achieving them. Interesting, right? So it's not too late - find someone, tell them what you are planning to get done this year, and do it. Be the 12%.
It's almost a necessary thing, these New Years resolutions - to help us either heal from the year that passed or celebrate the joy that came in those 12 months leading up to it. At the end of the day, it's about reflecting, being honest with yourself, and making promises that you can (hopefully) keep.
2012. It'll be a good year. I can feel it.
Friday, January 20, 2012
crap TV and the internets.
I don't know what it is about plain old cheesy TV that makes me so happy. It's almost like the more ridiculous it is, the better. It runs the gamut from Revenge to The Bachelor (it took me 5 minutes to even come to terms with publicly admitting that information).
But it's just SO good. It is the ridiculousness that makes it amazing. Something about becoming involved in someone else's life for that hour (or 2, respectively) is completely relaxing and totally enjoyable. Then the fear creeps into my mind that I am wasting hours upon hours enjoying nonsense. Is that OK? Is it acceptable? Is it necessary?
The other day I left work at a reasonable hour and actually had the time to cook, go to the gym, do laundry, write, and THEN watch an hour of crap. And, that crap actually felt healthy. But when we are asked to survive and function in a highly stressful, extremely demanding, and utterly exhausting City with work responsibilities that exceed the energy we have, it forces us to find refuge in meaningless and time-sucking things like crap TV and social media overload. It's almost as though the entertainment industry and advances in technology capitalize on our need to zone out and become captive to its influence. We stop doing things that are actually healthy for us because it is easier to just veg out in front of the TV. We stop being creative and breathing and reading and thinking, because our fuses are just burnt. Is it just this City? Is it just our generation? Is it just our Nation? I wonder...
Now I have to go catch up on Gossip Girl.
But it's just SO good. It is the ridiculousness that makes it amazing. Something about becoming involved in someone else's life for that hour (or 2, respectively) is completely relaxing and totally enjoyable. Then the fear creeps into my mind that I am wasting hours upon hours enjoying nonsense. Is that OK? Is it acceptable? Is it necessary?
The other day I left work at a reasonable hour and actually had the time to cook, go to the gym, do laundry, write, and THEN watch an hour of crap. And, that crap actually felt healthy. But when we are asked to survive and function in a highly stressful, extremely demanding, and utterly exhausting City with work responsibilities that exceed the energy we have, it forces us to find refuge in meaningless and time-sucking things like crap TV and social media overload. It's almost as though the entertainment industry and advances in technology capitalize on our need to zone out and become captive to its influence. We stop doing things that are actually healthy for us because it is easier to just veg out in front of the TV. We stop being creative and breathing and reading and thinking, because our fuses are just burnt. Is it just this City? Is it just our generation? Is it just our Nation? I wonder...
Now I have to go catch up on Gossip Girl.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
family means more than...
I spent 3 years in my 20's doing volunteer work for the Baha'i world community in Haifa, Israel. It was, by far, one of the most meaningful, uplifting, and connected experiences I have had thus far, and I'd like to think I've lived a pretty full life. It was the joy of knowing that everything I did was for the service of humanity and I reaped no physical benefit from it. There is just something so simple and so pure about that.
But one thing I was not expecting but am so incredibly humbled by, is the bonds of friendship that formed during those three years with all sorts of different people from all over the world. I got to know people who not only became my friends, but became my family. Those who, to this very day, would drop everything to help me, to listen, to care, to comfort. I come from a very tight-knit family and I have always relied on my family for most things. If I ever have needed anything, it is my family to whom I turn. But when I was in Haifa, those relationships taught me that I had other people that I could also rely on.
It all came to head one November when I was in the hospital. I had over-exhausted myself and was dehydrated and one thing lead to another and I was all of a sudden on an Israeli hospital bed for 2 nights - the first night I had to sleep in a bed rolled out to the lobby with my head next to the water fountain because there were not enough rooms, but that is a different story entirely. I had no choice but to rely on these people. I had visitors around the clock - stopping by before work, after work, on lunch breaks. People bringing me food, messages from friends, flowers, and so much love. They helped me advocate for my health, and carried my suitcases, and laid their weary heads on my bed, just to keep me company. It was during those 2 days that I realized that I had formed bonds of family with these special people. That the people that crossed my path in those 3 years became more than just friends.
They all know who they are. Now, days and months and years can go by without much speaking, but once re-united, it's as if not a single day has passed. We shared the bond of service. We relied on each other in a foreign land, we learned each others ins and outs, goods and bads, and love each other regardless. It is a bond I feel so extremely grateful for. They are people I will always feel close to, people who will always and forever hold a special place in my heart. I am so thankful for that time in my life - for showing me that family means more than just what connects you by blood.
But one thing I was not expecting but am so incredibly humbled by, is the bonds of friendship that formed during those three years with all sorts of different people from all over the world. I got to know people who not only became my friends, but became my family. Those who, to this very day, would drop everything to help me, to listen, to care, to comfort. I come from a very tight-knit family and I have always relied on my family for most things. If I ever have needed anything, it is my family to whom I turn. But when I was in Haifa, those relationships taught me that I had other people that I could also rely on.
It all came to head one November when I was in the hospital. I had over-exhausted myself and was dehydrated and one thing lead to another and I was all of a sudden on an Israeli hospital bed for 2 nights - the first night I had to sleep in a bed rolled out to the lobby with my head next to the water fountain because there were not enough rooms, but that is a different story entirely. I had no choice but to rely on these people. I had visitors around the clock - stopping by before work, after work, on lunch breaks. People bringing me food, messages from friends, flowers, and so much love. They helped me advocate for my health, and carried my suitcases, and laid their weary heads on my bed, just to keep me company. It was during those 2 days that I realized that I had formed bonds of family with these special people. That the people that crossed my path in those 3 years became more than just friends.
They all know who they are. Now, days and months and years can go by without much speaking, but once re-united, it's as if not a single day has passed. We shared the bond of service. We relied on each other in a foreign land, we learned each others ins and outs, goods and bads, and love each other regardless. It is a bond I feel so extremely grateful for. They are people I will always feel close to, people who will always and forever hold a special place in my heart. I am so thankful for that time in my life - for showing me that family means more than just what connects you by blood.
attempt at poetry. we'll call this 'sick'.
sick, sick, sick.
pressure in the head, pressure on the eyes.
can barely eat, can barely sleep.
breathing. oh, breathing. something i once took for granted. now SO hard.
water, vitamin C, humidifier, neti pot, advil, tylenol, sudafed - whatever gets you through it.
everything hurts, body aches, ears ring. tired tired tired.
sick, sick, sick.
don't appreciate a minute of good health until it is gone gone gone.
pressure in the head, pressure on the eyes.
can barely eat, can barely sleep.
breathing. oh, breathing. something i once took for granted. now SO hard.
water, vitamin C, humidifier, neti pot, advil, tylenol, sudafed - whatever gets you through it.
everything hurts, body aches, ears ring. tired tired tired.
sick, sick, sick.
don't appreciate a minute of good health until it is gone gone gone.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
South Carolina
The year was 1996 and I had decided to take a year off of college to do some volunteer work. After months and months of searching, I ended up in the rural, rural, deep backroads of South Carolina. Hemingway, to be exact. It was green. Really green - with tall trees all around and a humidity that sucked the life out of you. And I had the lightest complexion of anyone for miles and miles.
I worked with the kids in the town. I would tutor them after school. I listened to them tell me stories of getting hit by teachers in school. Outraged. I got distracted by the injustice while trying to focus on fractions. And there was a radio station that I often DJed at - yes, DJ'ed - songs, weather report, and talking - lots of talking. The station manager would call and tell me to stop talking and start playing some songs.
Culturally, it was a huge, enormous shift for me. The language was different, the accents took getting used to, the lifestyle was laid back, the food was fried and delicious, and the people..oh the people - filled everything with melodies and smiles.
I had no idea what to expect when I stepped off that plane and drove those 2 hours inland. I had no concept of the ways that my life would forever be changed. During that year I learned so much about people, so much about myself. During that year that I also decided I wanted to work in the field of Education...before that year I had no idea. It changed me.
The culture is one that has left a mark on my heart. And for some reason as I write this I am reminded of Mr. Pratt - the man who started and worked on the local garden...an experiment in the area - to grow vegetables without any pesticides. He died while I was there and I haven't thought of him for years. Somehow while conjuring up the memories of that year, his smile is recalled. He was one of many who touched my soul. Little Shamar is another one, who - every morning as I made my way to the radio station, would ask: Ms. Sahba - where your baby at?...trying to make sense of the fact that I didn't have any children with me.
It is a time of my life that I don't talk about very often, but one that has had a profound effect on me. I don't even think any of those people know how much their influence shaped my thinking. It is an experience I carry with me to this day and reflect on with gratitude and humility.
I worked with the kids in the town. I would tutor them after school. I listened to them tell me stories of getting hit by teachers in school. Outraged. I got distracted by the injustice while trying to focus on fractions. And there was a radio station that I often DJed at - yes, DJ'ed - songs, weather report, and talking - lots of talking. The station manager would call and tell me to stop talking and start playing some songs.
Culturally, it was a huge, enormous shift for me. The language was different, the accents took getting used to, the lifestyle was laid back, the food was fried and delicious, and the people..oh the people - filled everything with melodies and smiles.
I had no idea what to expect when I stepped off that plane and drove those 2 hours inland. I had no concept of the ways that my life would forever be changed. During that year I learned so much about people, so much about myself. During that year that I also decided I wanted to work in the field of Education...before that year I had no idea. It changed me.
The culture is one that has left a mark on my heart. And for some reason as I write this I am reminded of Mr. Pratt - the man who started and worked on the local garden...an experiment in the area - to grow vegetables without any pesticides. He died while I was there and I haven't thought of him for years. Somehow while conjuring up the memories of that year, his smile is recalled. He was one of many who touched my soul. Little Shamar is another one, who - every morning as I made my way to the radio station, would ask: Ms. Sahba - where your baby at?...trying to make sense of the fact that I didn't have any children with me.
It is a time of my life that I don't talk about very often, but one that has had a profound effect on me. I don't even think any of those people know how much their influence shaped my thinking. It is an experience I carry with me to this day and reflect on with gratitude and humility.
first crushes.
Your first crush is always remembered. Just take a minute and think back...see if you can remember him/her.
Tonight my roommate was asking how young I see kids at school begin to form crushes.
"Kindergarten - I mean some of my Kindergartners had crushes, even though they don't really know what it means..."
And then I remembered him, my first crush. Kindergarten. Brandon Callister.
What a dream. Straight brown messy hair, light brown eyes, freckles across the top of his nose and cheeks.
That was the moment I knew what it meant to "like" someone. Brandon Callister.
Years upon years have passed, obviously, and yet still, I remember clearly that face, that smile, the way his feet didn't touch the floor when he sat at the desk, and that first feeling...that amazing feeling of liking someone for the very first time.
Tonight my roommate was asking how young I see kids at school begin to form crushes.
"Kindergarten - I mean some of my Kindergartners had crushes, even though they don't really know what it means..."
And then I remembered him, my first crush. Kindergarten. Brandon Callister.
What a dream. Straight brown messy hair, light brown eyes, freckles across the top of his nose and cheeks.
That was the moment I knew what it meant to "like" someone. Brandon Callister.
Years upon years have passed, obviously, and yet still, I remember clearly that face, that smile, the way his feet didn't touch the floor when he sat at the desk, and that first feeling...that amazing feeling of liking someone for the very first time.
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