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Not Exactly Home When we decided to move to Southern California, I had never been to this part of the country. Six months before our move, we made a list of all the cities we thought we'd like to live in and then eliminated them one by one. We couldn't live in Chicago because it was too cold and too expensive. Jake wanted to live somewhere warm; I wanted to live by the water. We both wanted something that was a decent-sized city but neither one of us wanted the expensive rents and tiny apartments of New York City anymore. We eliminated all the way down to Santa Fe or San Diego. For weeks we pondered which but didn't really do much research. I had never visited either and Jake had only been to Santa Fe. We'd both been to San Francisco but nowhere in Southern California. Jake kept asking me which I preferred and I couldn't make a decision between two places I knew nothing about, but after two weeks I suddenly said, "We've moving to San Diego." When he asked me why, all I could say was that I had picked San Diego and that was that. We made up the reasons afterwards. Santa Fe got too cold in the winter. San Diego was closer to a major city with an international airport which made it easier to fly home. San Diego was in California, had the benefits of the West Coast but wasn't New-York expensive. We would have moved to San Francisco but we were really tired of living in small apartments. I wanted a house, badly. And San Diego had perfect weather. So it was settled. By the time we actually arrived here, there was no doubt we were meant to live here. We've now been in San Diego for four months. We don't have a house but we do have an apartment more than twice the size of the one we had in New York and the rent is almost half. We have a porch which we use quite often. The weather is somewhat chilly up in La Jolla but the sun shines every day and I have yet to wear a coat. San Diego delivered on all it promised. Yet I had no idea there would be so many things I didn't like. So many people I can't relate to. I didn't realize what a struggle it would be to learn to drive at thirty and to lack the independence driving provides here. I didn't think much of how my life in New York was surrounded by people I cared about and places that were so familiar to me until it all disappeared. I know that we've just gotten here and I know that it will take time to settle in and to make friends. I know that I will eventually be able to drive myself around and I will grow to love this beautiful city. But I don't know if I will ever truly belong here. When I see the streets of New York on TV, they are familiar like home. Yet, the ones here feel different. Distant. Like a vacation that's bound to end eventually. In the meantime, I plan to enjoy one of the main jewels of my new city: nature. I cherish the breathtaking beaches with sand pipers chasing after crabs, running away from waves. I am amazed by the inexplicable beauty of the Joshua Trees. I love that we can drive two hours out of the city and be in the middle of a desert and sit on the side of a cliff, staring into expansive flat land filled with jack rabbits. That is quite magical.  Don't be Scared The first call came Friday night around 2a.m, I think. All I remember is the phone ringing and my not being able to tell if it was real or my dream. When I answered it, I was so tired that it took me several minutes to recognize my mom. "Don't be scared," she said, which is the way we always start a conversation if bad news is about to follow. She continued to explain that two major synagogues in Istanbul were bombed, but that I shouldn't worry because they were all accounted for and alive. Jake's brother, who moved to Istanbul a week ago, was also safe and sound. I got up and read about the events in all the papers I could find. I read the Times and CNN and several Turkish papers and then I went back to sleep. The next morning I talked to my mom again. She said both synagogues had Bar mitzvahs scheduled and my parents were invited and had decided not to attend. Otherwise, they would have been in the synagogue at the time of the bombings. I asked if they knew anyone who was affected. A friend of mine's fiancee's brother, she said, was a guard at the synagogue and only 19. He is no longer alive. Another friend's mother was taking her granddaughter to school, Both dead. Last night, my cell phone rang around 3a.m. I had told my friend Tara, who lives in Ireland and was working on a college application which was due today, that she could call me if she needed a last look before she sent her paper in. So when the call came and I saw a long number on my caller-id, I assumed it was she. But it was my mom again and she started with, "Don't be scared," again. She said "Bad things are happening here and I don't want you to be worried. We're all fine and at home, I am still looking for Jake's brother, call his parents." I told her that I didn't want to call them unless we knew he was okay so could she please call me back. I went back to bed with my cell phone. She called back in fifteen minutes and said she had found him and he was okay. I called my father in law, read some of the web sites and went back to bed. I was to wake up in two hours and report to a twelve-hour workday. I had an 8A.M. meeting that I still hadn't fully prepared for. Sleep must have eventually come because I remember looking at my clock around 4:50 and then again at 6:15. Right after I arrived at work, my mom called again and said that they were all at my sister's and very shaken but alive. I remember the Tuesday morning of September 11th clearly and how thankful I felt that my dad was able to reach us before the phone lines went dead. In the twelve years I have lived in the United States, I have never had to wake up to the phone calls I have received in the last week. I am not sure how many more of them I can take. I am even more scared of the possibility that after another such horrible incident, they might not come. Moving back home has crossed my mind more often this week than ever before. I know that I can't protect them if I am there but at least I can live each day with them and be there. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense but I genuinely don't know how to deal with this situation. It also made me think a lot more about the insignificant worries that get in the way of my living my life with joy and how perspective only comes with tragedy. I am not naive enough to think such events never occurred before but I do know that they have suddenly become a lot more prominent in my life than ever before and I haven't fully figured out how to cope. Not that I want to learn to cope with this. Past, Perception, Rewriting "You are led through your lifetime by the inner learning creature, the playful spiritual being that is your real self. Don't turn away from possible futures before you're certain you don't have anything to learn from them. You're always free to change your mind and choose a different future, or a different past.' -Illusions by Richard Bach I remember reading the above line, years ago, when I was sixteen and pondering about it. I totally got how you could rewrite your future but I didn't get what he meant about the past. Over the years, I came up with many interpretations for the author's meaning. Since I haven't met and asked him, I am still not sure what he meant by that line, but I know what it means to me. All we have tying us to our past are our memories of it. And memory is selective. My interpretation of rewriting the past is remembering events differently. Since most of it is our mental game, we could choose to play it differently and, boom, the past is not longer what it was. Tonight I thought of another way we tend to rewrite the past. This case is slightly different in that, the past was actually different. I was looking at some old pictures. Months after the time the picture was taken, certain events followed. These events showed that at the time the picture was taken, there was some missing information, so now when I look back at the pictures, knowing what I know now, it changes everything. In this case, I am not rewriting the past, but I am realizing how it wasn't what I thought it was. It's all about perception. At times, it's hard to differentiate between reality and perception and we conjoin them more often than we should. Perception is why watching the same movie several times gives us different kinds of food for thought. Why the same book changes meaning with each read. Why it's important to go back and re-explore the past, the movies, the books after each life change. Each new path. Every few years. Not only can the past be rewritten. It is rewritten often and inevitably. Power There are times I wish that wishing was enough. This is the eleventh year that I've made this wish and still I know it won't come true. A wish that involves another person. A wish that is beyond my control. When I was little, one of my teachers told me that my wish would come true if I wanted it badly enough. I interpreted that to mean hard work and strong will. I always worked hard to achieve my goals. Things didn't always turn out exactly as I wanted them but when I look back on my life, I can't think of one unfulfilled wish that I still think about. Except this one. There have been times in my life where I was too scared or worried to take a path. I've regretted some and not others but I've always recognized that whether it be due to weakness or insecurity, the choices were mine and so is the responsibility. In cases where my actions, or lack thereof, have affected others, I've tried hard to apologize. Many have responded to my apologies with kindness and understanding. Some have not. In cases where another person doesn't feel the way I do about resolving an issue that might have come up between us, I feel completely powerless. There are many emotions I don't prefer to experience but feeling powerless in relation to something I care deeply about must be in the top five. I've talked to many people about this situation in the last ten years and the consensus seems to be that I should let go of it. "You've done all that you could. Just relax and forget about it." Easy for you to say. I can't forget about it. I choose not to forget about it. I don't want to forget the fact that there's a part of me that is capable of hurting someone so deeply that they won't forgive me, even a decade later. One might say, that should make me powerful; the fact that I can have such a strong influence on another human being. But it doesn't. I just makes me scared. It makes me sad. I care about this person. I want this person to be in my life again. I want to not have caused this much pain to another person. I want us to share moments of life again. To cherish the good memories. Yet none of that can happen without forgiveness. |
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