You could say I lost my faith in science and progress
You could say I lost my belief in the holy church
You could say I lost my sense of direction
You could say all of this and worse but
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
I never saw no miracle of science
That didn't go from a blessing to a curse
I never saw no military solution
That didn't always end up as something worse but
Let me say this first
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
--"If I ever lose my faith" by Sting
There was a time when I lost faith. Of course it happened at the times when my life sucked. But there was always a force that picked me up and resolved my misery. I was inevitably given a sign to renew that faith. My mother received her sign. She knew three months before she lost her life that she would be taken away and I didn't believe her. I fought all the signs but like the song says, science got me no where. And I had to give believing a chance...
When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gave me lemons, I tried to peel them with my fingernails. And as it stands today, I always tackle every problem in the most complicated way. It was the way I was raised. If something didn't take a lot of effort, I wasn't trying hard enough or working hard at it. It was an age-old debate with my father about work ethic. Coming as an immigrant, it was engraved into his eternal being that we would have to work very hard to attain the luxuries in Canada. That meant whenever we were working towards any goal, it meant showing him that we worked hard for it. I wasn't smart enough back then to show him the 'perceived value' like most of my friends. According to father dearest, there were no short-cuts, cutting corners, cheating the system or finding a simple solution. Hence, that was how my brain was trained. The point to this tirade was that I had other ideas, and rebellion was not what I planned -- it just happened.
I was indeed engaged to someone else. Well sort of. And to boot, it was with someone of my own choosing. God forbid! The worse thing, back twenty years ago, was the knowledge that I escaped the traditional binds of my culture to find my future husband. And let me tell you, this didn't pan over very well with my father who was more concerned about my reputation. Imagine! The nerve of her; choosing her OWN husband. And that I did.
It never was formalized but remained a verbal agreement without a ceremony, exchange of rings or a trading of dowry. But it existed and it soon became a reality that I didn't seriously consider. He was a friend I knew for many years and when the going got tough in my life, he was there at my most vulnerable state. Somehow, we had to legitimize this friendship and when I announced it to my father, he was dismayed, stunned, stoic, flabbergasted--a mix of volcanic emotions. Just writing about it conjures up images of that one blue vein that used to pop in the middle of his bald forehead when he was angered. Silence and the vein.
I wasn't sure what angered him more: my rebellion, the concealment of the relationship or my frank ability to outsmart and outwit him. I presented the topic of my potential mate during a non-chalant conversation while watching 60 minutes. I will never forget him turning off the television and facing me with the statement:
"You robbed me of my duty of finding you a husband."
In my eyes, with a pure, unadulterated strategy, my future fiance was presented to him on a platter. It was the "take that" action I committed that left my father reeling. He knew very well that I was about to embark on the next chapter of my life without his help. I thought I was smart. I thought I was in love. I thought I had the strength and faith to carry it out. And no one was going to stop my bus. Get out at the next stop if you can't handle it!
Little did I know, the invisible umbilical cord was about to be yanked--not by Mommy, but...Daddy. A hundred lemons hit my Freedom Bus and I was frantically pulling the cord so I could jump off at the next stop!
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Romantic Elliptical: Part 5, Spidey Senses tingling...
Now I know what you all are thinking. The purpose of the "Romantic Elliptical Saga" is to present my viewpoint about arranged marriages. And here I go off on a tangent, talking about my rebellion. But let me explain. In my eyes, I did not sin. To my father and the rest of the Muslim world, I erred by concealing my relationship. However, in the end, I did reveal it to my father so he may arrange the marriage with this boy's family. I could have run away, eloped and married him without my father's consent but I never had the guts to entirely betray my only living parent.
I do have a point to all of this and its about faith and kismet. In the end, I did not have control, although I thought I did. In my tumultuous relationship with my father, he was used to having the upper hand. Not that it was my goal to upstage him. I just wanted to do something MY WAY. To show him it was the RIGHT WAY. And boy, was I wrong!
The friendship I had with this fellow was just that - a friendship. And it was formalized over the phone and through letters.
Squeeze me?
That's right. My friend only knew me through telephone conversations and letter writing. He remembered seeing me at a youth conference way back in 1985. I was friends with a mutual friend. We exchanged pictures and wrote each other letters. Of course, this was all secretive. My family thought the calls and letters were from a girlfriend. My siblings soon found out but were sworn to secrecy. My mother suspected something but never said a word. In retrospect, I think she knew I needed to do this despite the wrongs associated with my decision. That was the type of parent she was. Learn from my mistakes. Whereas my father was the ruler of the house. His way or the highway--except I had no way to get to the highway!
We agreed to tell our families. I told my father, who after hearing about how long I corresponded with my fiancee (2 years) and without his knowledge, refused to speak to me for a week. When he came to his senses, he called his brother, to come and meet his future nephew-in-law. So he suited up, came to my house and was raked over the coals for two hours by my father and uncle. I remained unseen, furiously biting my nails and rocking back and forth at the top of the stairs. When I spoke to him afterwards, he likened the meeting to a police interview in an examination room and it all went wrong, from the minute he walked in. This was not a suitor that was chosen by my family. He was being examined under a microscope because of me. He had just dropped out of 2nd year university and was working at a men's clothing store. WRONG ANSWER. Was he going to go back and finish his education? Not yet. WRONG ANSWER. How was he going to support me when I continued my studies? He would get another parttime job. WRONG ANSWER. What were his ambitions? He wanted to start his own business. WRONG ANSWER. I sat quietly listening as he expressed his fear about my father. Welcome to the club.
And as he continued to speak, something in the pit of my stomach ignited. It was ever so slight but there was something brewing.
And I'm not talking indigestion.
I do have a point to all of this and its about faith and kismet. In the end, I did not have control, although I thought I did. In my tumultuous relationship with my father, he was used to having the upper hand. Not that it was my goal to upstage him. I just wanted to do something MY WAY. To show him it was the RIGHT WAY. And boy, was I wrong!
The friendship I had with this fellow was just that - a friendship. And it was formalized over the phone and through letters.
Squeeze me?
That's right. My friend only knew me through telephone conversations and letter writing. He remembered seeing me at a youth conference way back in 1985. I was friends with a mutual friend. We exchanged pictures and wrote each other letters. Of course, this was all secretive. My family thought the calls and letters were from a girlfriend. My siblings soon found out but were sworn to secrecy. My mother suspected something but never said a word. In retrospect, I think she knew I needed to do this despite the wrongs associated with my decision. That was the type of parent she was. Learn from my mistakes. Whereas my father was the ruler of the house. His way or the highway--except I had no way to get to the highway!
We agreed to tell our families. I told my father, who after hearing about how long I corresponded with my fiancee (2 years) and without his knowledge, refused to speak to me for a week. When he came to his senses, he called his brother, to come and meet his future nephew-in-law. So he suited up, came to my house and was raked over the coals for two hours by my father and uncle. I remained unseen, furiously biting my nails and rocking back and forth at the top of the stairs. When I spoke to him afterwards, he likened the meeting to a police interview in an examination room and it all went wrong, from the minute he walked in. This was not a suitor that was chosen by my family. He was being examined under a microscope because of me. He had just dropped out of 2nd year university and was working at a men's clothing store. WRONG ANSWER. Was he going to go back and finish his education? Not yet. WRONG ANSWER. How was he going to support me when I continued my studies? He would get another parttime job. WRONG ANSWER. What were his ambitions? He wanted to start his own business. WRONG ANSWER. I sat quietly listening as he expressed his fear about my father. Welcome to the club.
And as he continued to speak, something in the pit of my stomach ignited. It was ever so slight but there was something brewing.
And I'm not talking indigestion.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Romantic Elliptical: Part 4, Don't judge me until you know me
My last blog posited the fact that I had no control over the events happening in my life. But since the passing of my mother, I opened my eyes beyond sense, lost faith in science and progress and enveloped everything around me...to come to the realization that there were unseen forces that ruled the Earth. Sounds very spiritual, coming from a nineteen year old. But tribulation brings the onset of revelation.
The small detail I left out while relaying my story about my current husband? While I was entering the contract of a non-traditional pact with him...
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
|
|
|
|
V
....I was engaged to another man.
Its incredibly hard to write a blog posting when lying down - my back is killing me!
You guessed right. You will have to wait until the next posting to know the shock, the horror and immorality of it all...
The small detail I left out while relaying my story about my current husband? While I was entering the contract of a non-traditional pact with him...
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
|
|
|
|
V
....I was engaged to another man.
Its incredibly hard to write a blog posting when lying down - my back is killing me!
You guessed right. You will have to wait until the next posting to know the shock, the horror and immorality of it all...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Romantic Elliptical: Part 3 cont'd, "The Father Proposal"
During my exams, my father, who knew I was tired of the living room parade of potential suitors, told me to serve tea to his friends who were coming over one evening. I was in typical studying mode - sans makeup, track pants and goggles. My suspicions were alerted when he asked me to change and brush my hair - although social mores dictates hygiene and presentation when entertaining guests. For some strange reason, my sixth sense was tingling again.
When they arrived, it was an older couple. As I came into the room to serve the tea, my father innocently asked where their son was. Turns out there was a party on my street and he was sent two blocks down to park the car. I then realized I was part of a ruse. Another 35 year old? An immigrant? What was I being sucked into?
I hid in the kitchen and peeked through the door partition. When their son arrived and enter my house, I blinked twice. I could not believe my eyes. It was him. The guy from the events. In my living room, with his parents, talking with my brother. I gasped. I paced the kitchen and could not make a run for my room without him seeing me, in my most natural state, without makeup and the frumpiest outfit known to man. Ok, here goes nothing, I thought as I entered the room with a serving tray. I kept my eyes focused on the floor as my father introduced him to me. And the whole time, I could not look up. I heard him ask my brother about me, my studies but I could not muster the courage to speak to him, with my father only a few feet away and his mother's perpetual gaze on me. Chastity and demureness are key -- the minute you eye anyone's son or vice versa, tis' a big NO NO. And I had to play by the rules or else I would be subjected to a two hour lecture about my insolence and disobedience. Yes, this happened regularily.
Fast forward. We met three times at each other's homes. Chaperoned. My brother and sister with his brother in the room. At least we got away from the elders. But I was still tongue-tied. Nothing I said came out right. We both were trying too hard to make a first impression and it was hell! I would drive home and consult my brother who could not offer anymore insight into his impression of my suitor. I was perplexed when my father would ask what I thought. What was there to say? I really knew nothing about him and was too scared to ask anything personal with my family sitting in earshot of everything word we spoke.
While I attended my classes at University, my Canadian girlfriends were flabbergasted. You haven't been alone with him? You are not allowed to date? You are chaperoned? As I meekly smiled back at their astonished faces, my mind raced for justifying the situation I was in. On one hand, I was completely and utterly unsure about marrying him. But then there was a settling in my heart that reassured me that I was about to make the best decision in my life. It was a strange duel ensuing within me. But it was a different battle I was undergoing when it came to the former suitors. I KNEW they were not the ones. But this one was different and the signs had come to me before I had even met him. Seeing him twice before he landed in my living room perplexed me but also left me with a sense of destiny. I can't explain it but I, who was always taught sense and sensibility was being ruled by my heart and not my brain. It was not love, it was not even a crush. The feeling was devoid of emotion yet I was unexplicably drawn to him without any reason. And it was a force I could not reckon with -- out of my hands, out of my control and yet I allowed it to lead me.
But as always, there is a twist to the story. One small detail I left out...
Squeeze me?
When they arrived, it was an older couple. As I came into the room to serve the tea, my father innocently asked where their son was. Turns out there was a party on my street and he was sent two blocks down to park the car. I then realized I was part of a ruse. Another 35 year old? An immigrant? What was I being sucked into?
I hid in the kitchen and peeked through the door partition. When their son arrived and enter my house, I blinked twice. I could not believe my eyes. It was him. The guy from the events. In my living room, with his parents, talking with my brother. I gasped. I paced the kitchen and could not make a run for my room without him seeing me, in my most natural state, without makeup and the frumpiest outfit known to man. Ok, here goes nothing, I thought as I entered the room with a serving tray. I kept my eyes focused on the floor as my father introduced him to me. And the whole time, I could not look up. I heard him ask my brother about me, my studies but I could not muster the courage to speak to him, with my father only a few feet away and his mother's perpetual gaze on me. Chastity and demureness are key -- the minute you eye anyone's son or vice versa, tis' a big NO NO. And I had to play by the rules or else I would be subjected to a two hour lecture about my insolence and disobedience. Yes, this happened regularily.
Fast forward. We met three times at each other's homes. Chaperoned. My brother and sister with his brother in the room. At least we got away from the elders. But I was still tongue-tied. Nothing I said came out right. We both were trying too hard to make a first impression and it was hell! I would drive home and consult my brother who could not offer anymore insight into his impression of my suitor. I was perplexed when my father would ask what I thought. What was there to say? I really knew nothing about him and was too scared to ask anything personal with my family sitting in earshot of everything word we spoke.
While I attended my classes at University, my Canadian girlfriends were flabbergasted. You haven't been alone with him? You are not allowed to date? You are chaperoned? As I meekly smiled back at their astonished faces, my mind raced for justifying the situation I was in. On one hand, I was completely and utterly unsure about marrying him. But then there was a settling in my heart that reassured me that I was about to make the best decision in my life. It was a strange duel ensuing within me. But it was a different battle I was undergoing when it came to the former suitors. I KNEW they were not the ones. But this one was different and the signs had come to me before I had even met him. Seeing him twice before he landed in my living room perplexed me but also left me with a sense of destiny. I can't explain it but I, who was always taught sense and sensibility was being ruled by my heart and not my brain. It was not love, it was not even a crush. The feeling was devoid of emotion yet I was unexplicably drawn to him without any reason. And it was a force I could not reckon with -- out of my hands, out of my control and yet I allowed it to lead me.
But as always, there is a twist to the story. One small detail I left out...
Squeeze me?
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Romantic Elliptical: Part 3,"The Father Proposal"
I was nineteen. And like the cliche, we saw each other across a crowded room.He claims not to have seen me, but you know when you are spotted. I spotted him as he did me. And it was then I had that sixth sense -- you know, the one I keep talking about. It knaws away at you until you cannot brush it away. I was drawn to him as I stood with my girlfriends, giggling and checking out the decor (code meat market language).
It started out as a trip to Toronto in August 1990, with my father to a cultural event symbolizing Independance Day for Pakistan at the Ontario Science Center. I wasn't interested in going but since the passing of my mother the year before, my father was lonely and wanted my company. I could not turn him down. Friends of mine had called earlier in the day to let me know they would be there too. If I was going to be bored by the festivities, I could at least hang out with the girls.
In the main hall, he stood there with a crowd of his friends, in his tweed jacket and khaki pants. Even though there were other proposals coming, I dismissed them all and told my father to let me continue my studies at University. But my sixth sense made me twitch as I watched him that evening. And then the irony of it all it happened, AGAIN. I saw him two months later at another cultural event. I was with my siblings and he was with the same crowd of friends. Again, he claims to not have seen me. But his father did.
So the hunt was on, for lack of a better word. His father contacted a mutual family friend who knew my father. And the call was made to meet our family. Unbeknowst to me, of course...and the non-traditional romance was about to begin.
It started out as a trip to Toronto in August 1990, with my father to a cultural event symbolizing Independance Day for Pakistan at the Ontario Science Center. I wasn't interested in going but since the passing of my mother the year before, my father was lonely and wanted my company. I could not turn him down. Friends of mine had called earlier in the day to let me know they would be there too. If I was going to be bored by the festivities, I could at least hang out with the girls.
In the main hall, he stood there with a crowd of his friends, in his tweed jacket and khaki pants. Even though there were other proposals coming, I dismissed them all and told my father to let me continue my studies at University. But my sixth sense made me twitch as I watched him that evening. And then the irony of it all it happened, AGAIN. I saw him two months later at another cultural event. I was with my siblings and he was with the same crowd of friends. Again, he claims to not have seen me. But his father did.
So the hunt was on, for lack of a better word. His father contacted a mutual family friend who knew my father. And the call was made to meet our family. Unbeknowst to me, of course...and the non-traditional romance was about to begin.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Romantic Elliptical - Part 2, "Kismet"
I write this next post with trepidation. I'm about to embark on the story of how I met my husband, much to his dismay. But there is a point I want to make here and its about "kismet".
Squeeze me?
I am a firm believer of fate and I can honestly say that I was fated to meet him and it took many twists and turns towards the end result --an arranged marriage.
SQUEEZE ME?
Yes. Whenever you mention the two words, arranged marriage, side by side, the Western world recoils at the notion. Let me clarify this idea as I get jaw-dropping, eyeball popping reactions when I tell people about my own marriage. For most that know me well, they would not fathom me agreeing to it in the first place.
According to Wikipedia, arranged marriage is: a marriage arranged by someone other than the couple getting wedded, curtailing or avoiding the process of courtship. Such marriages had deep roots in royal and aristocratic families around the world, including Europe. Today, arranged marriage is largely practiced in South Asia, and the Middle East and East Asia. The match could be selected by parents, a matchmaking agent, matrimonial site, or a trusted third party. In many communities, priests or religious leaders as well as relatives or family friends play a major role in matchmaking.
Let's look at my own checklist:
*match was selected by parents
*match was referred to by a third party
*match avoided courtship
*match was arranged by family friends and conducted by a religious priest
*match was predestined (I added that one because I saw the sign even before everything was mapped out)
The one thing I must point out - in Islam, if you do not consent to the marriage, the woman has the right to refuse the proposal. If you hear anything different (forced marriage, childhood engagements, really old men marrying teenage girls), this is culturally imposed. It has nothing to do with religion.
Rewind 20 years ago when I was eighteen --I was adamant against arranged marriages. Who were they kidding? I was going to meet my own mate and make that decision myself. But my trajectory in life was not heading in that direction. When my mother passed away that year, everything spun out of control. I lost my bearings and had could not grasp onto the unfolding events. That is why its "kismet" -- a fated force that pulled me towards my husband, no matter how hard I tried to avoid the inevitable.
And if I were asked if I could go back in the past and have the control to change those events, I would not. Ask my non-Muslim friends who attended my wedding, begging my father to find them a husband like mine ;)
Stay tuned for Part 3, "Father Proposal"...
Squeeze me?
I am a firm believer of fate and I can honestly say that I was fated to meet him and it took many twists and turns towards the end result --an arranged marriage.
SQUEEZE ME?
Yes. Whenever you mention the two words, arranged marriage, side by side, the Western world recoils at the notion. Let me clarify this idea as I get jaw-dropping, eyeball popping reactions when I tell people about my own marriage. For most that know me well, they would not fathom me agreeing to it in the first place.
According to Wikipedia, arranged marriage is: a marriage arranged by someone other than the couple getting wedded, curtailing or avoiding the process of courtship. Such marriages had deep roots in royal and aristocratic families around the world, including Europe. Today, arranged marriage is largely practiced in South Asia, and the Middle East and East Asia. The match could be selected by parents, a matchmaking agent, matrimonial site, or a trusted third party. In many communities, priests or religious leaders as well as relatives or family friends play a major role in matchmaking.
Let's look at my own checklist:
*match was selected by parents
*match was referred to by a third party
*match avoided courtship
*match was arranged by family friends and conducted by a religious priest
*match was predestined (I added that one because I saw the sign even before everything was mapped out)
The one thing I must point out - in Islam, if you do not consent to the marriage, the woman has the right to refuse the proposal. If you hear anything different (forced marriage, childhood engagements, really old men marrying teenage girls), this is culturally imposed. It has nothing to do with religion.
Rewind 20 years ago when I was eighteen --I was adamant against arranged marriages. Who were they kidding? I was going to meet my own mate and make that decision myself. But my trajectory in life was not heading in that direction. When my mother passed away that year, everything spun out of control. I lost my bearings and had could not grasp onto the unfolding events. That is why its "kismet" -- a fated force that pulled me towards my husband, no matter how hard I tried to avoid the inevitable.
And if I were asked if I could go back in the past and have the control to change those events, I would not. Ask my non-Muslim friends who attended my wedding, begging my father to find them a husband like mine ;)
Stay tuned for Part 3, "Father Proposal"...
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Romantic Elliptical: Part 1
"I want the concentration and the romance, and the worlds all glued together, fused, glowing: have no time to waste any more on prose." Virginia Wolfe
Whitman, Austen, Wolfe, Gibran, Eliot, Shakespeare: Oh, the trickery!
As a young girl, my notion of romance was based on the media and literature I was exposed to; movies, fairytales and teenage dreams. And like every girl, I wanted in on it. I grew up falling in love with eighteenth and nineteenth century literature: the Victorian age of chivalry, sensibility, and romanticism. And it shaped my perceptions in the most traditional way. But when I married, at the ripe old age of twenty, it was far from your expected, traditional and romanticized societal union.
My marriage was arranged and the sentiment of romance was non-existent from the get go. So when I got an elliptical as a birthday present to commemorate by 40th, I didn't bat an eye. Or the Nike runners on my wedding anniversary. Or the breadmaker on Mothers Day.
Squeeze me? What the hell does an elliptical have to do with romance?
It will take a series of blog posts to explain but I aim to shed light on the fallacy that is romance, via my non-traditional wedlock...
Whitman, Austen, Wolfe, Gibran, Eliot, Shakespeare: Oh, the trickery!
As a young girl, my notion of romance was based on the media and literature I was exposed to; movies, fairytales and teenage dreams. And like every girl, I wanted in on it. I grew up falling in love with eighteenth and nineteenth century literature: the Victorian age of chivalry, sensibility, and romanticism. And it shaped my perceptions in the most traditional way. But when I married, at the ripe old age of twenty, it was far from your expected, traditional and romanticized societal union.
My marriage was arranged and the sentiment of romance was non-existent from the get go. So when I got an elliptical as a birthday present to commemorate by 40th, I didn't bat an eye. Or the Nike runners on my wedding anniversary. Or the breadmaker on Mothers Day.
Squeeze me? What the hell does an elliptical have to do with romance?
It will take a series of blog posts to explain but I aim to shed light on the fallacy that is romance, via my non-traditional wedlock...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Chamomiled Shankar
I slept for a few hours last night. Thanks to Chamomile and Ravi Shankar.
Squeeze me?
Norah Jones HATES being asked about her father while being interviewed. She claims the interview is about HER and not her father, Ravi Shankar. Yes, she is his real daughter. So is Anoushka, her half sister. I always thought it was a shame every time she huffed and puffed about her genealogy. Facts are facts but she is a private person, protecting her life and an absentee father. But I digress.
I stumbled on a combination of chamomile tea and more importantly, a song -- a collaboration of Norah and Anoushka. You see, Norah's half sister has fallen in her father's footsteps and also become a famous sitar player, just like Daddy. I never listened to Ravi growing up but knew he was world reknown and taught The Beatles for a three month stint in India.
So talent breeds talent and I was sent their song by a friend who assured me that this song would send me into a world of relaxation. Norah's soft bluesy voice coupled with Anoushka's beautiful rendition on the sitar. As I finished off my tea and inserted the headphones of my MP3 player and programmed the song to repeat, I fell asleep to this beautiful song named "Easy". She is saying that when your young, love is more real, because you have never been hurt or had your heart broken, and after you grow older, it becomes just another facet of life that loses that first feeling you had when you experienced it in its pure form.
And it was that easy...to unite two sisters, East and West and for me to meet them somewhere in the middle.
Squeeze me?
Norah Jones HATES being asked about her father while being interviewed. She claims the interview is about HER and not her father, Ravi Shankar. Yes, she is his real daughter. So is Anoushka, her half sister. I always thought it was a shame every time she huffed and puffed about her genealogy. Facts are facts but she is a private person, protecting her life and an absentee father. But I digress.
I stumbled on a combination of chamomile tea and more importantly, a song -- a collaboration of Norah and Anoushka. You see, Norah's half sister has fallen in her father's footsteps and also become a famous sitar player, just like Daddy. I never listened to Ravi growing up but knew he was world reknown and taught The Beatles for a three month stint in India.
So talent breeds talent and I was sent their song by a friend who assured me that this song would send me into a world of relaxation. Norah's soft bluesy voice coupled with Anoushka's beautiful rendition on the sitar. As I finished off my tea and inserted the headphones of my MP3 player and programmed the song to repeat, I fell asleep to this beautiful song named "Easy". She is saying that when your young, love is more real, because you have never been hurt or had your heart broken, and after you grow older, it becomes just another facet of life that loses that first feeling you had when you experienced it in its pure form.
And it was that easy...to unite two sisters, East and West and for me to meet them somewhere in the middle.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Finding Me Factor
Ok, so one of the benefits of not sleeping is staring up at the ceiling and counting non-existent sheep. In the midst of losing myself in this age-old practice, I started analyzing my life--every minute and gory detail.
I was awake like any other night, lamenting on entering my 40s, when a jolt went through my body at 3am this morning upon the realization that I did not know whether I had IT in life. By the term, IT, I meant what I want in life.
Happiness. Health. Wealth. Success. A great relationship. Fame. A Legacy.
At the end, what is it we are all aiming for? Subjective, isn't it?
And while we pursue whatever it is we are looking for, I don't think I have met ONE person who has EVERYTHING they want in life. There are always skeletons in the closet, ghosts in the corner of our eyes, and monsters arising from the ground. I am not talking about your average horror flick. I am talking about...insecurities.
We all have them. I don't care how confident you appear on the exterior. Of course, some ARE more confident than others. But the only ones I know who are completely fearless are the innocent babes who have not experienced life. Been burned, betrayed, screwed, hurt, fallen, and experienced failure. Most certainly, we learn from our mistakes, although many won't or don't.
But for me, all of these experiences have shaped who I am today. I have written many times that hindsight is 20/20. We all wish at some point to go back in time to right all the wrongs. But this isn't 13 going on 30 or Freaky Friday where you can rewrite history. The reality of the matter is the NOW. Forget the past, bury the skeletons, exorcise the ghosts and face the monsters. To find me entailed all these actions.
What do I want in life? If I am looking for certain things, I have a feeling I wouldn't recognize it unless it slapped me in the face.
And then it hit me, like a ton of bricks, at 4am this morning.
It has slapped me in the face... many times.
And I realized just then, adversity was key to understanding my life.
Squeeze me?
Health= a nephew with cancer
Wealth= a trip to a third world country
Happiness= access to the amenities required in life
A relationship= riding the rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows without puking
A legacy= allowing my progeny to make mistakes and learn from them
Fame= phonecalls and face to face meetings with those who having meaning to me
Success= to find the inherent good in everyone despite evils in the world
It lasted two weeks, my certainty of a "midlife crisis". And as I sat on my window ledge and looked out at the sky, I nodded in acknowledgement. The only certainty is death and not to take anything I have today for granted.
And then I slept...like there was no tomorrow.
I was awake like any other night, lamenting on entering my 40s, when a jolt went through my body at 3am this morning upon the realization that I did not know whether I had IT in life. By the term, IT, I meant what I want in life.
Happiness. Health. Wealth. Success. A great relationship. Fame. A Legacy.
At the end, what is it we are all aiming for? Subjective, isn't it?
And while we pursue whatever it is we are looking for, I don't think I have met ONE person who has EVERYTHING they want in life. There are always skeletons in the closet, ghosts in the corner of our eyes, and monsters arising from the ground. I am not talking about your average horror flick. I am talking about...insecurities.
We all have them. I don't care how confident you appear on the exterior. Of course, some ARE more confident than others. But the only ones I know who are completely fearless are the innocent babes who have not experienced life. Been burned, betrayed, screwed, hurt, fallen, and experienced failure. Most certainly, we learn from our mistakes, although many won't or don't.
But for me, all of these experiences have shaped who I am today. I have written many times that hindsight is 20/20. We all wish at some point to go back in time to right all the wrongs. But this isn't 13 going on 30 or Freaky Friday where you can rewrite history. The reality of the matter is the NOW. Forget the past, bury the skeletons, exorcise the ghosts and face the monsters. To find me entailed all these actions.
What do I want in life? If I am looking for certain things, I have a feeling I wouldn't recognize it unless it slapped me in the face.
And then it hit me, like a ton of bricks, at 4am this morning.
It has slapped me in the face... many times.
And I realized just then, adversity was key to understanding my life.
Squeeze me?
Health= a nephew with cancer
Wealth= a trip to a third world country
Happiness= access to the amenities required in life
A relationship= riding the rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows without puking
A legacy= allowing my progeny to make mistakes and learn from them
Fame= phonecalls and face to face meetings with those who having meaning to me
Success= to find the inherent good in everyone despite evils in the world
It lasted two weeks, my certainty of a "midlife crisis". And as I sat on my window ledge and looked out at the sky, I nodded in acknowledgement. The only certainty is death and not to take anything I have today for granted.
And then I slept...like there was no tomorrow.
Naturally Me
Sleep has eluded me.
It happened around the time I turned 40.
Squeeze me?
I have been laying awake almost every night, confused by my inability to sleep. It was as if my biological clock woke up and alerted every hour to prevent me from enjoying blissful slumber.
Now I live as a nocturnal being--and my mind wanders at night pondering my existence as I lay staring at the ceiling. Hubby snoring, leaves rustling outside in the wind, and my own heart thumping in my brain.
I think its too early to label it insomnia as I drift off at various times of the night--not quite REM sleep but a strange light, 'pretend' sleep where my mind tricks my body that its sleeping when in fact I am aware of all my surroundings. I have the strangest dreams, or 'pretend' sleep episodes that range from work, family and friends, all in the weirdest situations. I won't go into detail in fear of either exciting or alienating some of the people that read this blog. Let's just say these seem to be caffeine-induced dreams.
I must have a stimulant (namely caffeine in the form of coffee or my fav drink, RED BULL) to stay awake--however this chemical reaction propels me throughout the day and there is no slowing down by the evening. Soft music, warm milk, hot baths, reading laborious manuals, watching scientific documentaries, intense needlepoint...nothing brings me to sleep. I drink an ample amount of water to flush it out of my system but to no avail. You may wonder if I take drugs to keep awake, why don't I experiment with them to fall asleep?
Ironically, somehow I cannot bring myself to do the opposite. Call me crazy (and at many times of the day, I do have the wild-eyed look about me) but I need to fall asleep naturally.
But what is truly natural these days?
It happened around the time I turned 40.
Squeeze me?
I have been laying awake almost every night, confused by my inability to sleep. It was as if my biological clock woke up and alerted every hour to prevent me from enjoying blissful slumber.
Now I live as a nocturnal being--and my mind wanders at night pondering my existence as I lay staring at the ceiling. Hubby snoring, leaves rustling outside in the wind, and my own heart thumping in my brain.
I think its too early to label it insomnia as I drift off at various times of the night--not quite REM sleep but a strange light, 'pretend' sleep where my mind tricks my body that its sleeping when in fact I am aware of all my surroundings. I have the strangest dreams, or 'pretend' sleep episodes that range from work, family and friends, all in the weirdest situations. I won't go into detail in fear of either exciting or alienating some of the people that read this blog. Let's just say these seem to be caffeine-induced dreams.
I must have a stimulant (namely caffeine in the form of coffee or my fav drink, RED BULL) to stay awake--however this chemical reaction propels me throughout the day and there is no slowing down by the evening. Soft music, warm milk, hot baths, reading laborious manuals, watching scientific documentaries, intense needlepoint...nothing brings me to sleep. I drink an ample amount of water to flush it out of my system but to no avail. You may wonder if I take drugs to keep awake, why don't I experiment with them to fall asleep?
Ironically, somehow I cannot bring myself to do the opposite. Call me crazy (and at many times of the day, I do have the wild-eyed look about me) but I need to fall asleep naturally.
But what is truly natural these days?
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