As If It Were Yesterday

It’s amazing how time flies up into a whirlwind of ‘remember whens’. There are so many ‘it feels like yesterday’ moments and times you’ve had where you’ve completely forgotten it, leaving you with thoughts and memories that haven’t been tapped into for some time. It’s odd to trek into the archive files of your mind to discover things that seem new when they are actually deep within the past. This morning at around 6am, Madelene and I were snuggling in our bed listening to the rainstorm, wishing it was Sunday morning. We started reminiscing...

Mornings like these remind us of waking up in Montauk, listening to the waves crash besides the beach house. The entire ground rumbled as each wave made its way onto shore. It was like the ocean’s heartbeat. I remember the first time I had brought my parents over to the house for a vacation. They hadn’t been on a vacation for over 15 years. It was time. To see the look on my father’s face when we arrived to the house was one of the best feelings I’ve ever had. He hardly said two words. He just stood out on the deck and stared out at the ocean, which was almost crashing right beneath him. He couldn’t get over how close the ocean was. “Ya gotta be kiddin' me! We’re right on da' ocean!” He kept saying over and over. A man who has taken care of a five women household - I thought it was time to treat him back.    On the other hand, my mother shuffled her way inside the house and started making one of her antipasto salads while asking for a martini on the rocks. I don’t even think she blinked at the ocean once, until her cigarette break- but that’s ok, we thought it was cute.

5am would roll around and my mom would get up like clockwork to make percolated coffee. She’d stand there like a slave waiting for the boil to hit the glass nozzle. “Ma whaddya’ doing up so early? You do know there is a coffee maker over there, don’t you?” She had brought her own “Alice Kramdem” percolators and no one could say a word about it. It’s how she rolled. 6am, my father and I would head out to the shore to go fishing. He brought his little fishing kit and started to teach me the proper way to cast out a line. Funny thing is, I had never gone fishing with my father until I was 30 years old. I felt like a kid being taught how to fish. We never caught anything, but we sat out there talking about his days on the fishing boats when he worked over at the South Street Seaport in Manhattan, among other sidetracked tales of his past. (My sisters will nod while reading this.)

Watching both my parents walk down the stairs with little foldout beach chairs to watch the ocean was so cute. They’d sit there for hours like two newlyweds. Madelene and I would head out and give them their time together watching the beautiful views and enjoying much needed time alone. We’d come back and see their two silhouettes sitting together on the beach, hand in hand talking nonstop. To tell you the truth, although I know my parents love each other like crazy, I’ve never seen them so romantic as they were on this trip. I’ll never forget it.

Both, my mom and dad are big smokers. I can actually say that they are chain smokers. One after the other after the other, and so on. I had arranged for them to stay in the master bedroom. It had a huge room with their own bathroom. They even had a door leading to the back patio and barbecue area, where you’d think they would go outside for a smoke. They did, but not every single time, nor did I expect them to. Late at night, when Madelene and I would retire into our bedroom, we’d smell the stale stench of cigarette smoke. Even though they were in separate rooms, we’d still smell it, as if he was puffing it right into our room. At 3am the smell would fade off into the fibers of the walls eventually.

Madelene and I still head over to the same beach house from time to time, but because my parents are a bit older, my father cannot walk up the high stairs leading to the house any longer. Even the short staircase leading up to the bedrooms would be difficult for him. It’s odd, because it was only five years ago. Sometimes I feel bad, because now I live in an apartment that has three flights of stairs going up. My father used to love coming by when I had my old apartment on the ground floor, and now, he tells me to install an elevator. How five years makes a huge difference when we’re getting up there in age. This is why I love to cherish the memories I’ve had with them, as well as the new ones to come.

Things change, people change, circumstances change, but I’m trying my hardest to focus in on 'the now' and remember all of the good times of the past, instead of mourning them. There’s a big difference in remembering and mourning. I think it’s safe to say that we all mourn them most of the time, but for some, if they’re lucky enough, they’ll remember it as if it were yesterday.

Not Getting What They Want...

Standing outside in front of a busy cafe, wondering how I ever got over my fear of crowds started to overwhelm me. I started thinking about the days when I had agoraphobia. I’d walk into a mall full of people and my equilibrium would somehow fade out on me, leaving me holding onto something or someone, and at times, be found on the floor passed out. I’d wake up to a crowd of strange faces looking down at me. “Are you ok? Can you hear me? What’s your name? What’s today’s date?” Sometimes, I’d find myself waking up inside of an ambulance. I was hooked up to the oxygen being asked the same things: “What’s today’s date? Who is our president?” At times, the simple answers to all of these questions would slip away from me.

Although through the years, I have gotten better. With CBT (Cognitive Behavior Therapy), I’ve managed to break through the vicious cycles of agoraphobia. I started venturing outside of my home. It was scary and this 'new world' seemed so different now.  I started getting a little paranoid, thinking, “Everybody’s staring at me. Everybody knows I’m having an anxiety attack.” My worst fear was embarrassing myself in a supermarket if I had an anxiety attack and then passing out. To be honest, it’s still a great fear on the back burner of my mind. And, although I still cannot work a conventional structured 9-5er, I’m content working from home doing freelance. It’s what works best for me. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am, because a few years back, I wasn’t making any money hardly - just dribs and drabs to work my way up.

I’ve had some people in my life look down on me and basically said: “Oh she’s no longer the IBMer anymore”, or “on her last day at the phone company, she was taken out on a gurney”. I know some still think that, and it’s okay. Even though I have enjoyed many days at these companies that I have worked for, I have never been happier in my life doing what I do right now. I am not able to live a structured life. I still, from time to time, get panic attacks and a touch of agoraphobia (as far as going into huge supermarkets and malls), but I am much better from years back hiding away from the rest of the world.

This post stems from a recent judgmental remark someone had said. They mocked how I was out of work for quite a spell because I was “messed up” and couldn’t work a normal job and then went on to tell me that my relationship with my wife was meaningless. This person also went on to say that I lived a “ghetto life” because I live in a condo complex which holds many people. (The horror!) On that note, this same person also wanted me to promise her that if I were to ever leave my wife, that she would be my first choice. When I told her that would never happen, these vicious comments were thrown at me.  

This is another reason why I fear the world and hide out at times. People can be vicious and vindictive. Friends have motives. People assume too much and conjure up stories that are beyond my ability to understand. Sometimes I think it’s better just to hide out in my corner of the world and let the world just do their thing. But, I refuse to go back into my 'shell of safety' and let people have that control. I’ve been giving them way too much of it all my life.

This time it’s different. Say what you want. Think what you want. Feel what you want. But in the end, it always comes down to somebody not getting what they want.

Lonely & Surrounded by Many

An unfortunate death occurred this past week by a girl who had committed suicide. While talking to my friend who had known her for somewhat number of years, she said to me, “I can’t believe she did this!  She was so pretty and she had money, why would she do this to herself?”  I thought about that question for a while. I thought about my own life too. What would make someone who has what everybody dreams of: looks, money, a good looking spouse - want to end their life? Most people without a chemical imbalance would think up the logical reasons, but they couldn’t with this girl. This girl was beautiful, from what I’m told, inside and out. But, what about looking beyond the outer shell of her life? What about looking deep inside; deep inside of her heart as well as mind?

First “logical” reasoning is: “She’s beautiful.” Maybe it’s possible she looked into the mirror and saw a completely different person than what most people had seen. Many women and some men have an image distortion. It’s the same concept as anorexia: a skinny person looking into the mirror and seeing an obese person staring right back at them. There are beautiful models that look in the mirror and find an ugly person looking right back at them. I’m sure we’ve all looked in the mirror (especially myself) and thought, “Oh nooooo way am I putting those shorts on!” Or, you just feel less than par one day. That’s normal. But when it happens on a daily basis, where you find yourself flirting with the ideas of distorted opinions of yourself, then it’s time to really try to get a grip on it. But then again, how do you know if it’s distorted or not? Your mind can plays tricks on you.

Money. “She has so much money, why would she do this?” If you think about it, money has never made anyone happier. In fact, it’s been the split of many families. Money will have you developing friends left and right, to only help you spend it. You can be surrounded by millions of people who claim they love you, however the reality of it is: you may be the loneliest person on earth. Look what happened to Michael Jackson. He had so many people surrounding him, and when a friend had asked him, “Are you lonely, Michael?” He moved up, waited a moment to get his thoughts together and responded: “I’m a very lonely man.”

Some of the best times of my life were spent in a tiny apartment with my partner, giving the place a fresh coat of paint and hearing the broken pipes squeal with pain. Our fuses always blew, the hot water ended at 8am, so on the weekends, we’d rush to take our showers before everyone in the building did, because our slumlord only provided one hot water heater for a five family house. Looking back on it though, the good outweighed the bad and there are so many wonderful memories in that little dumpy place. I was at my happiest then. Although I’ve moved up a tad in the world and have things I’ve always wanted, I still get depressive episodes because that’s just my make up. I had told my wife, “Even if we get a nice condo, nice cars, and a comfortable spot in the world, I’m still going to have depressive episodes from time to time.”  She understood me all too well. Money will never make me “happy”.  My faith in God, love, family, friends - that’s all I need and all I’ll ever want out of life.   If I happen to stumble upon winning the lottery---great. If not, probably even better. Home isn’t a huge house or a condo with nice things in it - home is where your heart is - home is where my wife is.

When It Hits Home...

Lately, I haven’t written anything so much as a Tweet in the last week or so. I think I caught the ‘absorb the madness’ bug from one of my favorite bloggers, Enemy of the Republic.  And mind you, not so much that it is a bad thing, however I am finding myself absorbing the craziness of the world. I’ve been fixated on the media, watching stories unfold of the injustice of Iran’s elections and the brutality, bloodshed and horrific Youtube videos and Twitter updates of the massacres that are going on. A young woman who was protesting was shot in the chest. She was identified as, Neda Aghan Soltan, to be made an example of the horrific killings that are going on. The video is even too graphic and more so, sad to even display on my blog. I’m just giving acknowledgment and a link if you want to watch the video. It is very disturbing to watch, so I warn you. While Neda was shot in the heart, a man was kneeling next to her crying out in Farsi, “My Neda, don’t be afraid, please don’t go, please don’t go, please stay...!”  One woman, made as an example and many people also killed in the same way.

Then you have North Korea threatening to wipe America off the map with a nuclear war. Has this world gone completely mad? I’ve contemplated about airing my views regarding Obama’s reactions, decisions, choices, promises, lack thereof, as well as his ability (or disability) to maintain the U.S. as the strongest nation. Obama is concerned about going aboard Korea’s warship named, “Kang Nam”, to investigate whether or not it is carrying weapons of mass destruction. He’s so afraid of being called another “Bush” that he is possibly backing away from them - bowing down to a weaker country. John McCain suggested that we should definitely investigate regardless of these “silly” threats being made to the United States. There is no diplomacy when it comes to dealing with unreasonable countries who simply hate us. This was why I voted for John McCain. He would not pull his pants down for another dinky country to make these types of threats. This is another reason why I voted for Bush. I’d rather my marriage equality to suffer than the world. It’s a no brainer.

I know most of you disagree with my views on politics, and I understand. Everyone wants peace. I want peace. I think peace talks would be great...if they only worked. For years these countries have hated us so much - what would possibly change? There is no “change”. As far as my religious views go on this: we are in Revelations as we speak. Who would have thought the Bible has made better predictions than Nostradamus, Sylvia Browne or even Miss Cleo?

I’ve been advised to stay away from all sources of the news. I’ve been told not to read the papers, not to tune into any news channels and to just focus on ~positive~ things. I used to tell Enemy of the Republic the same thing. Now, I’m in her shoes absorbing too much of this. We heard about the slaughters that took place in other countries, but now with Youtube, Twitter and Facebook, we are viewing it with our very own eyes which makes it more “real”. I guess when we don’t ‘see it’, we kind of put it on the back burner. When threats are made to other countries, we sometimes tend to disregard it.  When threats are made to us - the United States - the strongest country in the world, then it hits home.

The Walking Nerve

Little joys of life seem to fade away as we grow older. Worry seems to have taken its place. I remember when I was younger thinking the sprinkler was some sort of an amusement park ride. Just the thrill of the cold water hitting my bare skin while my feet touched the wet blades of grass below was pure joy to me. Even when my mom would take me outside for a walk or just to play, the smell of the air was different. It was crisp; it was cool. I could smell the rain on the macadam as we headed back inside to watch the storm come in. I felt safe and loved. It was a nice feeling. Saturday mornings were a treat for me. My sisters and I would all gather around the TV and watch Looney Tunes while eating Fruity Pebbles, then head outside to play or swim in the pool. Funny as it seems, I still complained when all the activities had ended. “Ma I’m bored.” She would turn around and look down at me and say, “What? You just swam for two hours and played outside, how can you possibly be bored?”

I remember getting so excited when my dad would come out to the poolside area. My dad, being 6 ft tall, 350 lb would walk over to the side of the pool very slowly, give us a funny threatening stare, take off his slippers neatly on the side, and then would do a cannonball just to wipe us out. It was a total routine he had. He knew we loved it. Then we’d watch him lay down upon the water and lie there for like ever!  It was amazing. This huge man floating on the water, as if he was completely comfortable and ready to take a nap.

What happens to our passion for the little things; the simpler things? We need more of a rush to get our adrenaline going. Don’t get me wrong - little things like a great cup of coffee and watching the sun rise are all very exciting for me still, but there’s something different about the anticipation of it. I still get a rush from a good storm or when it snows to the point of closing all of the roads down. It used to thrill me when the lights would go out while a storm would hit while I was younger. Now? I tend to worry: "When will they come back on? Will I have hot water tomorrow? What about my internet connection? I can’t do anything but use my cell!”

Do you think worry has disabled all our senses of joy?

“Worry a little bit every day and in a lifetime you will lose a couple of years. If something is wrong, fix it if you can. But train yourself not to worry. Worry never fixes anything.” -Mary Hemingway

That was too easy to type out. Carrying it out is a whole other ball game though. Now, if you were to tell me to go outside to the poolside and have fun, my mind would go into a complete shuffle: "Do I have my EpiPen in case a bee stings me? Is it too hot? Will I get a sunburn? Will I see a bear? Does this bathing suit make my ass look fat?"  Seriously though, I think our thought processes, especially mine go into high gear and that’s it. We worry. It’s such a waste of time if you think about it - (but don’t think about it for too long).

At times I think I appreciate the little things, but truth be told, I find myself worrying more than I do enjoying everything. For the past few nights, I’ve had insomnia. My mind keeps going and going and going. It feels like it’ll never stop. I can’t even pinpoint on the one thing I had worried about because it is already long forgotten. Right there tells me that I have wasted an entire evening worrying about nothing. The funny thing is, my own mom worries about the smallest of things, yet she doesn’t fear the big things. It doesn’t make sense really. She’ll brave anything fearful, yet she will worry about having a couple of guests over: “Will I have enough food?” “Will they like the house?” “Will they enjoy their time here.”  She goes into full panic mode before a party - especially right before our Christmas Eve functions. She panics all day, until guests have arrived and her drink is in hand.  Then she’s finally enjoying herself.  But it's so true: most of the things we usually worry about never happen.  She always had enough food for an army and everyone always enjoyed themselves. 

Maybe it’s genetic, but I don’t want to worry all my life and wait until “I'm there” in order to enjoy everything. I poke fun at mom and call her “the walking nerve” or “the worrywart “. My grandmother used to do the same exact thing. I won’t tell her that of course, but it’s true.  Now I’m worried, will I end up taking the title: “the walking nerve” too? 

Am I already there?

******************

EDIT: My sister Cathy read this post and commented on my facebook account and then posted a photo of her two kids & my other niece playing in the sprinklers, along with this comment:

 
"You're not alone - we all worry big & small. It's forgetting your worries for moments at a time that keeps ya sane! Enjoy the moment below."  :)Thanks, Cathy! I love this photo!  It definitely does bring back some nice memories!

Common Sense

I’m working on four hours sleep and two cups of black coffee. The rain outside is somewhat comforting, like little pellets of God's tears falling onto my skylight windows. It looks beautiful. The raindrops are making tiny circular ripples in each puddle they create out on my garden patio table. As the darker clouds move in, the wind picks up, creating a beautiful dance for the trees outside. Days like these, I don’t ever want the sun to come back out. There’s a certain kind of feeling I get when it storms like this. I live inside my head.

I tend to think too much, feel too much and react too much. Sometimes the rain brings out deeper thoughts on levels I never knew possible. Thoughts as: why are we here on earth? What’s our purpose? Why doesn’t God let us know why we’re here?  I know theologians and people of faith can bust that question in half and come up with a million reasons why, but truth be it: we will never ever know until we meet our maker. Why do we go through so much turbulence in our life? Why do people hurt others? Why are we constantly fighting and trying to prove something? Is it worth it?

It’s all meaningless.

“The fastest runner doesn’t always win the race, and the strongest warrior doesn’t always win the battle. The wise are often poor, and the skilled are not necessarily wealthy. And those who are educated don’t always lead successful lives. It is all decided by chance, by being at the right place at the right time. People can neer predict when hard times might come. Like fish in a net or birds in a snare, people are often caught by sudden tragedy.” -Ecclesiastes 9:11-12

We work hard to get from point A to point B. We work to pay the bills, to keep a roof over our heads and to maintain life as it is.  Some of us work to gain more power and abundance, while others simply try anything to get rich quickly. When a traumatic incident in my life hit home while I was sixteen, I decided to quit school and work, so I could help out at home since my mom was going to be without my dad for a while. During the right time and the right place, I got into a medical firm as a temp doing product control testing for computerized PDR handbooks in New Jersey. That led into advancement in my position to data entry, which led me into the world of accounting since I was very good at numbers. My career for most of my life was accounting and no one asked about my degree, because I had simply moved up from a previous position, which gave me hands on experience, plus tons of references. I had made more money than my friend who had finished college, stuck in a retail job making a bit over minimum wage.

All these jobs were meaningless. I just wanted to help my mom, take my parents on a vacation they would never forget and to have a savings of my own just to maintain life as is. I never wanted a big mansion or dreamt of having way too much than I can handle. I just wanted enough. I wasn’t settling for mediocre nor refusing to apply myself: I was just happy with the way things were. I was enjoying my life and still doing that.

A person who had been very close with me stated to a few people that I was “uneducated”.  She had said, “She quit school and she’s uneducated.” Of course, this being out of anger, I knew where it was coming from, but I was hurt nonetheless. While she sits at her entry level position, while having completed school for many years, and then coming back home to her one bedroom apartment not being able to pay the rent on time, I can only assume the motives of why this was said. Or, I can just believe her and chuck it up to, “Wow, I really am uneducated.”

Although I believe that education is important, I also believe that hands on experience and the determination to use the skills you already possess is better. There are some people who don’t even have a job of which they majored in---and that’s ok. But, to put down people who work hard and yet lack the desired “education” from a schooling program is detestable. My father stopped going to school at the age of fourteen and was able to provide a five bedroom house for his entire family and enough food for an army that my mom always cooked every night.

I think people place too much emphasis on “status” and focus more on immaterial things, rather than the accomplishments --- the accomplishments that one makes while having the talent they have used given by God...not school.   So yes, I may be “uneducated” in terms of finishing school, but I know better to why that statement was made in the first place.   Sometimes common sense outweighs book smarts in most cases.

Bittersweet Endings

Can a devastating event that had occurred in our lives from the past affect us in various ways today? I clearly knew it would happen. I waited for my boyfriend to come over so we can “talk”. I opened the door and saw his face. It wasn’t the same ‘at ease’ face that I had always known. It said more. I stood there with a glass of water, as he watched my hand tremble in fear. I knew the next words out of his mouth; I knew what was going to happen next. Before he started talking, tears streamed out from my eyes. It was the same feeling you get when you receive a telephone call about someone you care about who had just passed away. He was passing away from my life - not in the physiological sense, but he was choosing to leave my life. We stood there in the kitchen hugging for God knows how long. I wasn't ready to let go of him just yet.  I cried on his shoulder and held him as close as I possibly could.  This would be our final embrace.   It was a bittersweet and beautiful ending to our love relationship. 

I clearly remember getting violently sick, hugging the toilet bowl as though I had just chugged a bottle of vodka down in one sitting. I was completely sober. I was too sober. I remember calling my best friend, and then she called all of our other friends, even one that lived over an hour away who had to take a bus over to come and comfort me. I had 15 girlfriends over trying to help me with this traumatic event. It felt like I had died, but, at the same time, I saw how much my friends really cared for me. They were there, trying to make me laugh, holding my hair back at times when I got sick and just being there for me, no matter how long it took for me to calm down. I’ll never forget that. (Most of them are on my facebook account, so thank you!)

Although I’ve always known I was a lesbian, or at least had more of an interest in women, I did fall in love with that man---hard. We remained friends for a long time after our breakup. He even proposed marriage while our friendship was in full bloom, however at that time, I was already with Madelene.  He was even engaged to someone he was set up with in Pakistan. He didn’t want to go through with it. He would call Madelene “my friend”. He didn’t understand how two women could be together - it wasn’t natural - it was like being with a sister, he'd explained. He didn’t say that out of disrespect either. He was born in London but had Middle Eastern influences, which kept his ability to be opened about other lifestyles a bit limited. This didn’t mean he was ignorant or prejudice, he was just not knowledgeable about it.

With our history of being together and the wonderful times we have shared, I am so happy to see this man happy with a family of his own. He had always wanted children and to see that happen for him makes me happy. Even though we've lost touch, I will never forget the one person who was my best friend and lover. I fell in love with him the very first time I looked at him. I remember his big brown Middle Eastern eyes - something about a Middle Eastern man still does something for me. I find them most attractive out of all the cultures I’m familiar with. But it was more than just his appearance, it was the way he treated me. He was my complete other half - always listening to me without judgment and sharing his beliefs as a Muslim, yet respecting my beliefs as a Christian. I know I was young back then, but I have learned so much from this one person that I will never, ever regret dating him for those few years we were together.  

At times, I can still feel the pangs of our breakup, but I know that it was good for us, because we've both learned so much out of it.  We went through a lot and taught one another things we've never would have known today.  Even though it was over 15 years ago, I still remember everything he had shared with me: his vulnerability and bravery to show his soft side, his knowledge of many and various topics, his spirituality and faith that led him through in life, his family values and how compassionate he was to so many people, especially the ones that were close to him. His respect for his parents and family were amazing. He helped random strangers in need of assistance and had an underlining affinity for those who were struggling in life, because he knew what it was like to start from scratch.  He had to start over when he moved to the U.S., and worked his way up to own his own businesses.  He chose to do the right thing for his life, and I respect that.  I was ten years younger than him and going through my 'wild & crazy' phase.  He needed more substance; a woman who could provide a family and home for him.  I wasn't it.  I wasn't ready.  He needed to choose, and I respected that, through my selfish, salty tears that wanted him to stay with me.  

When I hear my straight friends talk about how there are no good men out there anymore, I always disagree with them. I know at least one man who is perfect. His wife and kids are very lucky to have him.  I'm sure there are many men out there like this.