Reality Check

I secluded myself – almost completely – from the world, for three entire weeks. I can’t remember why I thought this would be beneficial for me when I took the decision. I know that I was desperate for some privacy, but I am also aware that I can’t live without people around me for long.

It is true, for the first while, I enjoyed the peace and relished in the privacy, but after a few days, not even a week, had gone by, I realized I cannot detach myself from the chaos of it all. In spite of my picking up on this fact early on, I still decided to challenge myself and extended my two weeks stay into three.

In fact, after the first three days, I wrote a little tale detailing all the wondrous improvements I had been noticing about myself due to my independence. I went on and on about how I am sticking to my diet, how I miss TV but can live without it, how I am thinking of turning off my phone and many more components that I found myself truly enjoying then.

Now though, three weeks into it instead of three days, I have to admit that I cannot live without TV, that I prefer reading in the noisy coffee shop, that I am not happier, that my fear of disgusting insects cannot be abolished, that I am thrilled when my phone rings, that no matter how much I try or how hard I try to convince myself, I am just not into exercise. I am also now sure that I will not be taking my photographic skills to the next level any time soon, well unless I stumble upon a huge sum of money that I could spare too, in order for me to buy the right equipment for the endeavor.

I have been spending way too much time online during my stay here. Not that I didn’t do that before I came here, but never to this extent. Trying to get away from the people in my life led me to get mixed up with people in my virtual one. Online fun used to be just that, fun. Now it took a serious turn and I realized that drama and stupidity could follow me everywhere, even through a virtual network of nonexistent wires and abstract connections. Thus I needed this reality check to ground myself again and be more appreciative of the tangible relations I am blessed and sometimes honored to have in my real life. I am not denying that I have met some fantastic people online, and in many cases those people have become deeply cherished friends, but I am saying that I am now more aware of the boundaries and hopefully a little less trusting of just anyone.

My stay in here also proved to me how much I love drinking and exactly how much I miss it. I tried to stay away from the Jack Daniels bottle that kept eyeing me every time I opened the fridge, I really did, but when I found myself surrounded by a bunch of delightful friends for my birthday, I had to give in and have a couple of drinks, even though I am still not cleared for drinking due to my liver condition.

My birthday happened to be within the weeks of my seclusion, and hard as try, for the life of me I don’t understand why everyone was so nice to me for my birthday. I am not complaining, that is for sure, but I am stunned, seeing that I had been nothing but rude to everyone the past year. I was really surprised by everyone’s kindness and understanding towards me. I realized I am blessed with friends I barely deserve and a family I definitely don’t.

My feelings about my birthday are slightly annoying to me this year. I am starting to feel age weighing on me, although 26 is relatively still very young according to most people. I don’t like the fact that I am feeling the cold this year and that I am shivering even. I have mixed emotions about being so close to becoming 30 years old. I find myself way underachieved and can’t help but blame myself for it. This isn’t where I had pictured my life to be at this age. I should have established myself somehow by now. But looking at the facts, I am in no way near fulfilling that path. I am still unemployed. I am barely making ends meet. I am not in a serious relationship, if in any at all. I am not the best person I could be. I haven’t learned enough skills as dictated by my potential. I have indeed done the basic stuff; I have graduated, gained experience, tried being in relationships, the works, but it somehow all feels void when nothing is consistent or stable.

But at the end of the day, I am an incorrigible optimist. I could nag for another hour, but deep down, I know I still have hope for the better in every possible way and regarding every possible aspect. I just need to trust that at the age of 26 I will be fortunate again and that I will appreciate it. So here is for hope, motivation, confidence and change.

A Letter To My Dear Friend John

A little background first: John is a wonderful friend whom I have recently met online, and not long ago, he surprised me by posting a YouTube video in which he dedicated a reading extracted from one of Amin Maalouf’s books to me. This is my way of thanking him. Although this is nothing compared to what he had given me, it is the best way I can think of for the moment to thank him. So John, please accept the following as my gratitude towards you.

Link to John's reading to me

Dear John,

I am ashamed to say that I have read only one book by my compatriot Maalouf. I should have read two by now, but alas, one of my many oddities and complexes got in the way of reading one of them. Let me elaborate.

When I was young - or should I say when I was young-er, considering that the fact that I am a woman makes me ageless, or at least not prone to admit the fact that I am getting old-er – I didn’t care much for books. I only occasionally read the books assigned by school, and rarely enjoyed any of those at the time. I tell you, they give beautiful books to people who aren’t capable of appreciating them yet. Les Miserables felt like a punishment at the time, and Madame Bovary reeked of boredom. Let alone the fact that sitting still for more than five minutes back then used to be a major obstacle between me and a book.

So, back to Maalouf. Before they had all moved away or gotten married, my uncles and aunts did a cleanup, which meant they sent me all the books they had already read and didn’t have the place to store anymore. Among those books was a French copy of Leo the African.

The cover was not attractive. The font was so small and the pages were so long that it scared me. But the oddity I had mentioned earlier didn’t lie in any of those facts, although those weren’t exactly helpful either. My major book complex has to do with the fact that I simply cannot read a used book. And although this one was in great shape, it was still a book that had been read by half of the family, who didn’t only touch the pages and rummage through the book, they also had the nerve to make notes and translate words all over the place. I think that is when I had started to be more appreciative of books. I felt that the book’s temple had been messed with, violated. I realized then that books are sacred and should be treated as such.

Now I have been ranting for so long about this you would think I treat my books like shiny silverware, I don’t though. My yellow marker covers every single sentence that I have ever liked. The thing is, I just don’t like reading a used book, and I am awfully strict about lending my books to anyone too. Once I have marked all those stuff, and occasionally written some notes, the book becomes mine rather than the author’s. All these little scrapings make it so personal.  

Dear John,

By now I have been writing this piece of nothing for weeks! And another Dear John entry in the middle of it might turn this into a diary! We wouldn’t want that, no one would want to read my shameless rambling if it goes on for over a page, so this is to commit to write faster!

And now that we have established that, where was I? Oh yes, I was rambling about myself, now it is time to ramble about you!  

You used to be a lawyer, so I gather that is where the wit comes from! And you are an avid reader, which accounts for the wild imagination.

John, this is mostly to tell you how much I truly enjoy our conversations, how much I look forward to them, and exactly how surprised I am each and every time we get to catch up; you always manage to cheer me up, even if it was with the most simple ways. I will also never forget the extremely nice gesture of having sent me the beautiful Hockney book along with the postcards; it was an utter delight receiving mail from you.

In the past few months, I have come to be online for a great deal of my time, due to personal reasons, and during these months, I have had the honor and the blessing of meeting several unique and talented individuals from across the globe, and you, by all means, and considering every aspect, climbed to the top of that chart very quickly. I can’t think of a nicest person. I can’t think of a more respectful person. And I can’t think of a more imaginative and inspiring one.

John, I believe you are one of the few, rare people on this planet who would indulge me on my mad virtual escapades, who will go with me to the end of the line when I am muttering absolute nonsense concerning a new world war that would be ignited by the Europeans bickering over the origins of the almost word yoo-hoo!

My dear, it has come to my attention yesterday that you are currently facing a rough familial situation, and I already know you aren’t doing exactly well yourself at the moment. So I will wrap it up by sending you my best wishes for recovery and happiness once again. If there is someone I know who deserves all the blessings that can be bestowed upon them, it is you. Now I will not pretend I will go to church and light candles, but I do promise to keep you in my thoughts and to mention you to the Almighty while I bombard him with my endless list of demands every night before I go to sleep. May He one day forgive my negligence and selfishness.