Hello Old Friend,

 This blog is 10 years old.

I started it in my senior year of high school, back when I was still young, confused, and brimming with potential. Torn between pursuing my passion of becoming a writer, or following the traditional path of getting a degree in the medical field.

Well, the degree happened. I never used it, but I did get it.

I wonder what 18 year-old me would have thought if she knew that 28 year-old me would still be writing here, but also working as a full-time writer.

I'm nothing special, though. There are like 50 more of me at my workplace and some of them are unbelievably good at what they do. But I'm okay with it. I'm okay with not being the best.

Yeah. After years of struggling with what I want to be versus what everyone else expected of me. Years of fighting with all my power just to stay afloat and keep my head above water. Years of hopes and fears and disappointments. Years of gathering all my strength to prevent myself from becoming another cog in this magnificent, grinding machine.

I just let it happen. I stopped grasping at straws and let myself be what I was always meant to be; just another person.

It's crazy but it also isn't. To think how the decisions that 18-year-old made are what brought me to this point of my life where I'm so at peace with being mediocre and seeing it as a positive thing. 

I stopped trying to stand out when swimming against the current for so long absolutely damaged me. Instead, ways to fit in became everything I hoped and dreamed to find. 

It wasn't that hard, either. In fact, it was one of the most liberating things to have ever happened to me, precisely because it happened to me, I had no incentive or hand in doing it.

How funny is it that I'm writing about this without bursting into tears, though? The worst thing I could have imagined happening to me ten years ago is exactly why I'm so at peace today.

Hope that's how I'll be looking at things in 10 years, though.

...

Sometimes I wonder whether the state I'm currently in has more to do with the things around me that I can't control, or with who I am as a person...and whether who I am as a person was influenced by the things around me, or it was just an innate force that stirred me in the direction I'm headed to. The thought process carries on in this spiral that can keep going for hours, and is only interrupted by daily conversations and engagements that are a temporary distraction from this headache-inducing slide. I guess this is what anxiety is; some kind of incarceration in one's own mind, because I'd rather not question my actions, words, appearance, choices, and relationships at every waking moment without a clear trigger. I'd rather not revisit past mistakes -for which I paid time and time again- and force myself to acknowledge how weak and unwise I was to have made such poor choices. I'd much rather live, unburdened by the weight of my psyche that's constantly reminding me of how little control I have over what goes on.

I pretend to have my shit together on a daily basis, to laugh off my awkwardness and smile through the grating moments when I truly fail to communicate despite my best efforts. But on the inside, I can't fight off this constant, nagging feeling of inadequacy. It segways into self-blame for my loneliness that gets too hard to hide and desperation leaks out from the corners of my sincere attempts to connect with people, and makes little sense when I avoid those reaching out to me when I need it most. As a matter of fact, I hate this need and what it makes me do, and the fact that there's no resolution to this struggle. It'll always hang around like an unfinished sentence I can't contextualize the meaning of.

Young and Beautiful

The thought of growing old scares me. And in that, I join the billions of people who are naturally anxious of advancing in age with all the potential health risks and the loss of loved ones and so on.

I just think it's more than that for me. For example, I'm terrified of the inevitable loneliness I'll experience more with the passing of years. And I'm not talking about not having people around, I mean the entrapment in my own psyche that will increase the older I get. How I'll stop being flexible and accepting of new ideas, How difficult it will be changing and adapting to harsh situations that my idealistic self simply wishes away. How simple it will be to hide my fears and hopes to escape ridicule or avoid conflict.

I'm also not really excited about my body aging. I can see how a year can make a difference now that I can see the pounds piling up, or how a cold doesn't go away as fast as it did before, or even the fine lines that are making a statement on my forehead to remind me I'll enjoy wrinkles for the upcoming three fourths of my life.

I'm scared of becoming less desirable...not just as a woman, but also as a person. I can see the way teenagers of 15 look at me now like I'm an old lady when I try to joke with them. It's funny sometimes, but leaves a bitter aftertaste. I'm especially reminded of it when I think a guy is cute just to find out he's a couple (or more) years younger than me, then look myself in the mirror to realize I look even older than my own age. Such a treat finding out people guess my age at 25 when I'm not yet 22.

I could rant about how youth and beauty are overrated, but they're really not. Just ask people who go under the knife to have their sagging skin tightened, or those who get into relationships with others as young as their own children. I feel like I'm spending the prime of my life laden with such thoughts, that I'll look back on it and regret not enjoying youth and beauty while I had them. But what am I to do when I feel like I have them not, even now?

In the Middle

I'm not even sure whether it's me who's in the way of life, or life is in the way of me.
Periods like the one I'm going through are easily dismissed as "transitional;" something that won't last and probably is leading up to something better. But I have to wonder:
Is it real what we, human people, tell ourselves whenever things get too much to handle or life spurs out of control, that "everything will be alright eventually?" Is it not some random things happening to each of us, the bad and the good? If we tally the good and the bad in each of our lives, are they supposed to magically level off?

Self-pity is pathetic, but it's kind of comforting to know that you sympathize with your own self. I mean, right now as I'm feeling in the way of so many lives, so many happinesses, so much going right for people I care about (including my own self), I kind of like the fact that I'm not hating myself for it.
The way I see it, life also is getting in the way of me being a normally functioning human being. I was not made for waking up at 6:15, toiling my way through life without relishing in the sweet taste of meaningful connection with other human beings. The fakery of smiles and giggles to strangers you work or study with, who think they know you because they know your first name is draining. The weeks spent without good company, with no rush or excitement at the prospect of doing something or seeing someone you love is painful.
Monotony is painful. Loss of passion and purpose is painful. Boredom is deadly.

So I ask for help, and what I get is a concoction of tried and tested formulas of how to be a normal person. How to get your rough ends rounded enough to fit in the nice cookie cutter shape of the ambiguous yet weirdly specific good person. A good student, a good daughter, a good God-follower, a good friend, a good whatever-you-fill-in-the-space. The approach that everyone's going for is: "Well, looks like your life is pretty much a cleared piece of land, so why not build it up the way everyone around you wants you to?!" Sure thang! That's a pretty damn awesome plan, collective mind of the peoples!

I had mentioned in a previous post that my attempts to not get in the way previously prevented me from ever breaking rules or rebelling against authority even in my oh-so-vulnerable teenage years. But goodness gracious! It looks like now, at 21, I'm starting to think to hell with everyone!

Okay, okay. Not that drastically. But I'm getting more and more convinced that as long as I'm not actively trying to hurt someone else, I shouldn't worry too much about what people will make out of my life's decisions. Sure, I may do things I regret later, but it's those things that I might remember when I'm old and gray and think: "Man, I used my stupid young person privilege well!"

One of these stupid things is staying up writing till 3:15 on a school night. Oh well.

Answers

"The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, the young know everything."

-Oscar Wilde

I knew everything.

I had all the answers to every question that could cross my mind as a 17-year-old, as an 18-year-old I could profess a faith in innumerable things that I just knew to be true. I was not shaken, weak or unsure. Everything aligned perfectly with my worldview.

But then I grew up.

The questions got harder and kept piling up. The pressures arose and I tried to fumble for my faith that was only as big as the questions I once had as a 17-year-old. Nothing worked like it was supposed to. I was left confused, unsure of whom to believe. The way my faith was built on people's perceptions of things failed me miserably, because people. They change, they fall, they get their own difficult questions that they fail to answer.

I became infuriated, filled with rage and scorn over the loss of my precious peace of mind. Nothing and no-one could sedate me. I needed my answers. I needed my peace. I just lacked the patience and perseverance to look around for some.

Now I'm numb. I'm waiting for something to happen to change the way I live. I miss my answers and my peace of mind, but I don't have much of a fight left in me...

The Ella Enchanted Syndrome

For my whole life, I've been the goody-two-shoes who follows laws, rules, and regulations with blind obedience. I was told it was best for everyone. I was told it keeps everyone safe, happy, and productive. I was told when things are in order, little could go wrong.

Throughout my almost twenty one years of life, I saw laws being broken, regulations ignored, and people doing whatever the hell they wanted to do, to little or no consequences on the greater good of the society. Sure, many of those instances lead to injustices that affected me directly and personally, but no one else cared and I knew it was best for everyone if I just kept my mouth shut. I realized I bend under pressure and cave in under the unjust rule of tyrannous figures who only cared about that elusive, mysterious "greater good."
And for the very few times I tried to play rebellious and pay no heed to their warnings, all hell broke loose.

This is not to say I got in much trouble, because the last "serious" trouble I ever got into was back in kindergarten when I publicly defied a teacher who didn't like that I talked too much. The situation worked out in my favor after my mother meddled, but ever since I've always thought twice and thrice and a million times before defying authority. Be that the security guard in front of a building who insists on making my life harder because he can, to the teachers, professors, religious leaders, team leaders and so on of the people who have a say on what goes and what doesn't in my life.

I just don't like using uncivil manners, which might seem contradictory to my feisty personality and quick temper. But screaming and using foul language always comes with more internal repercussions than external for me. I have terrible guilt that breaks me down every time I lash out at someone, whether they deserve it or not. Added to the perfectly convenient (hah!) unlikable aura that surrounds me wherever I go, it just makes life pretty hard for me to not be a complete and utter angel. I can't -of course- because I'm human, but my failure to conceal contempt or disgust or any negative feeling there is always makes me dissatisfied with my performance in the system I am currently living in; the system that both repels me and repulses me.

But I'm tired of that. I'm tired of feeling scared all the time lest I step on someone's toes accidentally while I go on living my life. I want, for a change, to not care whether my existence is causing someone trouble or inconvenience. I want to stop caring about everyone's needs and desires, likes and dislikes before my own. I want to stop regarding the laws and rules and unspoken conventions (which failed to protect my rights uncountable times) as sacred laws to be regarded above my personal comfort. I'm tired of being a coward and fearing the consequences of every action I take no matter how trivial and insignificant it is. And I'm tired of being scared to stand up for what I think is best for me, regardless of what people say and rules dictate.

I want to embrace this phase of rebelliousness now that I can, for one day I'll wake up unable to defend my rights that I let go of, when I possessed the voice and energy to stand up for them and receded. 

The Chosen and The Damned

I'd be lying if I said I never wondered on what basis God judges a person as good or bad. I've had these thoughts since I was a kid when I was told that being certain things was good, while doing things or associating with certain people was bad. I tried to maintain those guidelines while growing up, looking at things purely from black and white vision goggles. It was easy, relatively. I just had to hold to some criteria that I thought were objective and fair, but that was as far as my child brain could take me.

But growing up, to me, was discovering that life has a wide array of grey-scale shades. And these shades often get tinted by a certain color representing where you stand on the spectrum. I learned that my idea of right and wrong is different from my sister's, and we grew up in the same house raised by the same parents! I'd be lying to say that it was easy, because I remember at a point in my life I was being constantly shocked by what other people viewed as true, right, good and fair. Let's just say it was a bumpy road...

Part of the teachings children receive, especially in religious backgrounds, is knowing which people belong where when it comes to the afterlife. We're taught that certain people who do a,b and c belong to heaven, while some others who don't, and maybe have 1,2 and 3 as their set values, they belong to hell. The first pile, The Chosen, often include people like ourselves and our parents. They're the familiar, the similar, the congruent to our codes of morality. While the "other," they're The Damned. Those classifications are often termed "moral tribes."

Setting apart moral tribes starts to take place by associating with only the people who fit our definitions of good. But like any other tribal behaviors, it ends by eliminating and alienating those who don't. A bit further down the road, the tribe starts having a more specific list of "admission prerequisites,"  which means that its circle shrinks and starts to exclude more people. And to ensure the survival and propagation of its values and morals, it starts to fight other tribes.

This means that fighting only happens when a tribe feels threatened by the presence of another option, or by the lack of enough followers. It happens when the "other" is viewed as the enemy who could possibly destroy our own tribal values, or at least when vanquishing the "other" is seen as a sign of strength that could attract a bigger number to join the victor tribe.

It's obviously primal thinking, using primal strategies. To fail at belonging to a community, having certain values and beliefs, while simultaneously being able to view the "other" as a human being with as much value on their life, as many rights as you possess, and as big of a possibility to be a good human being. This is all childish clinging to the black and white vision goggles.

But you know, sometimes those goggles don't work.

Thoughts in the early (morning)

I'm lying on a couch at 5:43 am. I've only been awake since 8 pm last night, which felt like the early morning of my warped day.

I'm unhappy. The most unhappy I remember myself being in a long time. While I know the definite reasons for this unhappiness, I know how they came about and how my recklessness was a major part of that, I keep reminding myself that life's lows are life's lessons.

I can't write very well when I'm happy. I can write fairly well when I'm stable and indifferent, but not when I'm too excited or elated. I write quite well when I'm unhappy or lonely or even depressed and frustrated, and though it's been a while since I posted anything on here, I have been very active on other, more private platforms.Those keep safe the sides of my life that I wish to remain hidden, and also provide the venting I get from writing here.

Having a good memory and a knack for keeping "mementos" from each part of my journey through life had been two of the major things that feed my nostalgia. I would love to travel to the past if possible, but for now small trips down memory lanes suffice. But as of late, they also started to feed a sense of regret for all the times I know I should have acted differently, that could have most likely spared me my current "low." I know I just said right above that lows are lessons, but some lessons are best learned by observation, not trial. I know mending one's broken heart is hard to learn by just observing, but in the midst of all the pain, a few regrets make the red carpet appearance.

Being objective and telling myself I acted in a wrong way when I really should has not always been a merit of mine. I tend to either shake my mistakes off after correcting the done damage, or lie in this endless hole of shame and misery and absolute mortification, blaming my mistakes on my nature rather than my conscious (or unconscious) actions. I don't do self-accountability exactly right, which is a shame because I really need to learn how to.

I don't have a very healthy self-image. I work on that when I'm in a good place mentally and emotionally, but every once in a while a blow to my self-esteem causes me to try to rebuild what was shattered and broken down from the foundation rather than build on it. It gets disheartening at times, but I know it's worth the effort every time I look in the mirror and feel grateful for what I see.

I'm still rather emotionally inclined while making decisions. I appreciate it because it helped me maintain most of my current healthy relationships. It led me to some paths I wish to never tread again, but I'll count it as a blessing in today's solid, rational, materialistic world.

It's quite different for me writing this post, because contrary to my others on this blog, it doesn't revolve around an idea. It's just a bunch of stuff I wanted written down to remind me of my thought process during this time of my life. I'll try to be more frequent in writing on here, because frankly I need it more than anything right now. Although my other platforms which have been either private or anonymous offered some relief at time of need, I think it's about time I got back to being myself.

If you reached the end of this kind of irrelevant post, I truly thank you. Till next time!

Life and Art

But then I'm bewildered, how on earth is life not like "the movies" when people who create movies are, well, alive?! From where would poets, authors or artists in general soak the vividness of their emotions? Don't they live on the same planet we live on? 

The quote presented above is from my blog, a post dated February 14th, 2013. I had just finished reading The Prisoner of Zenda for the first time in the original text, and I was quite surprised and deeply moved by how the author managed to describe the romance between the two characters; Rudolf Rassendyll and the Princess Flavia.

It was beautiful how he described how they wanted each other, missed each other's presence, and truly longed for a life together. However, they ended up apart...that was where I cried.

Here's an excerpt from the 21st chapter in that novel. It's dear to me because it truly made me see how my wish--quoted from my beloved Oscar Wilde--that "life would imitate art" have come true in a way I never suspected:

"I am mad!" I said sullenly.

"I love your madness, dear," she answered.

Her face was away from me, but I caught the sparkle of a tear on her cheek. 

"Is love the only thing?" she asked, in low, sweet tones that seemed to bring a calm even to my wrung heart. "If love were the only thing, I would follow you—in rags, if need be—to the world's end; for you hold my heart in the hollow of your hand! But is love the only thing?"

I made no answer. It gives me shame now to think that I would not help her.

"I know people write and talk as if it were. Perhaps, for some, Fate lets it be. Ah, if I were one of them!"

 As an answer to the questions in my blog quote, they soak that vividness from life. And yes, they do live on the same planet as us, and I was privileged enough to meet some of them, even more privileged to have the close friendship and affection of one.

An artist's heart is designed to clarify every single experience it goes through. It's made to reveal mysteries that lie in everyday encounters, show the tenderness behind crude behaviors, and give meaning to abstract emotions which are then universally related to and understood. Art is created to show us beauty even in presumed ugliness, it's a reminder that the human soul is far more complex and deep than materialistic needs or earthly aspirations. This art can touch you through a word well-placed when uttered, a note well-played, or a paintbrush that holds the right color and makes the right strokes. It's appreciated when it's placed before an eager eye or given to a hungry ear; the receptacles that are willing to deliver such exhilarating experience to another artist's soul...

On Misogyny and Objectification of Women (January 15th, 2014)

"Sexual objectification of women has become more than prevalent, whether women seek being the ideal "object" by dressing scantily and showing their bodies to get attention, or "preserving" their bodies against their wish, just because they've been told to view it as a commodity that goes bad by being looked at.

To the women/girls out there: Your body is your medium of going out there and being active in the world. Learning, working and making your surroundings better. It's not anyone's business what you choose to wear but your own. And as a woman, you should take pride in the image God has created you as. You're not made to please any other human being if it does not include your own pleasure.

To the men out there: False empowerment it is to feel you're superior to the other sex. God has created you as equals in everything; you complement each other. Leaning on the pillar that women are weaker than you, and therefore should submit to your image of them will eventually leave you hurt. Why, you ask? Because there are women out there who are much stronger and much more able than you would expect. Women who changed and continue to change the world they live in for the better. So, you can't always rely on being "stronger" as an excuse for their objectification. And I dare ask you to stop exploiting the lack of self-esteem that many women around you have, and start empowering them instead."

I wrote that part after watching a TEDx talk about objectification through "sexiness". Now, since that kind of objectification is quite abhorred where I live, the opposite kind is the first prize winner here: forceful chastising and condemning of any kind representation of female sexuality (except of course, in "art" where most objectification is Type 1).
The problem with women is that they spent so many years thinking their worth is tied to them being sexy things, whether made to gratify the lust of men by being perfectly ogle-able statuettes, or to curb it by dressing in a certain way that allows no temptation to befall the men. So we can say the idea stuck.

However, women were not created for men, women were created to be with men. That means a woman's role as a human being is to live, I dare say equal to and the same as the way a man does!
Girls, your role is to envision a life for yourself that's comprised of your own hopes and dreams, your own adventures and mishaps, your own mistakes and lessons learned, because frankly, the rules forcefully imposed on you for your "protection" have successfully failed to protect many other women who followed them word by word.

That means that "what she was wearing" does not justify her being raped.
It also means that although in Afghanistan the women are covered head to toe quite literally, they still suffer the world's highest sexual harassment rates, often justified by -wait for it- how a woman is walking!
It means that my beloved country back in the 60s and 70s was more accepting of a miniskirt than it is now of a girl walking without Hijab, and in many a case (one of which happened before my very eyes) women wearing Niqab are ogled and groped while walking down the street!
It means that every time you are blamed for something because you're a woman, you are blamed for NOTHING you have done. In fact, you're blamed for being the way you were born, which is the most absurd form of discrimination, and quite horrifically, the oldest..

Misogyny's worst proponents are the women who believe they deserve it. So, next time you see a woman working to support her family while her deadbeat husband dozes off at home still scared of divorce, next time you see a woman accepting to be belittled by a lower ranking male employee just because she's a woman, and next time you see a mother passing down demeaning ideas to her daughter on sexuality, patriarchy, body image or self-worth...do something.