A little over a year and a half ago, I lived in Japan for about six months. Knowing I was going to be alone in a non-English-speaking country for that long, I brought along twenty-three books. I figured they would last me at least for the first month, after which I was scheduled to be in New York to celebrate the new year with Jake, and to be at work for Y2K support.
One of the books I had with me was Jane Smiley’s Duplicate Keys. The novel, in my opinion, isn’t Smiley’s best. Actually, it was quite forgettable and such I can’t remember most of the plot.
But, as in most of her novels, the characters were enticing and one of them mentioned something that stuck in my mind. Since the novel is about a murder, each of the characters that has a key to the apartment where the murder occurred, of which there are many, starts discovering things about the others and suspecting them. One of the characters mentions that she’s surprised how little she knew about her boyfriend with whom she’d been for quite some time.
The question of “how well do we know the people we think we know” starts dancing around in my mind. I sit down at my computer and start typing everything I know about Jake. I start with the basic facts: how he looks, his family, his background, etc. I move into preferences, past concerns, life goals, wishes, dreams, failed attempts. Then I move onto the really private things. Traits that I assume only I, or an exclusive set of people, know.
I look through my list and feel good. After five years, I know Jake quite well. Or so I think. I move on to make lists for the other special people in my life. Close friends. Even my sister.
I’m surprised at some of the details I remember. I’m also interested to see the pattern in some cases where I know a lot in one category and practically nothing about another. If it’s so consistent, it must be me and my way of relating to others.
I like the idea of ‘seeing’ how much I know about a person in my life. I like knowing the holes in my familiarity. I like speculating on why they’re there. Was it my choice or his? Did she just not want to divulge or did I never think to ask? Are we really as close as we seem? Do I know anything about her childhood? What about his disappointments?
I recommend that you try to make your own list. At least one. Pick a significant other, a best friend. Write down all you know. From the most obvious to the subtlest detail. Put it all on paper.
See how well you know the people closest to you.
Previously? Permanence.
Forever didn’t use to be a scary thought to me.
I was the sort of person who made long-term decisions and stuck to them. I decided to come to the United States for college at the age of twelve. I chose computers as my main field at seven. Those goals never changed. I came here; I studied information systems. I got a programming job.
The same pattern applied to my relationships. I hung on regardless of how bad situations got. An abusive boyfriend. A cruel best friend. But I was in it for the long run, I knew how to stick around. I didn’t do things on a whim.
I was Ms. Consistent.
Deep down, I always resented myself for not being daring or impromptu enough. I secretly wished to do something crazy, like get a tattoo or pierce my tongue. But I never had the courage.
Today, I was chatting with Daphna about how I don’t like tattoo’s anymore and it got me thinking. Why had I changed my mind?
And I realized that getting a tattoo wasn’t necessarily an out-of-character thing for a person like me. Whether the receiver is aware of it at the time or not, a tattoo is a permanent commitment. It’s quite difficult to remove and even then leaves a scar. It’s not temporary.
It seems I’ve decided to put permanence on hold for a while.
Temporary sounds more attractive for now. Not temporary in the sense of “this week” but temporary in the sense of “it’s okay if you change your mind ten years down the road.” I want to try different things. Do something that I’m passionate about. Shake my beliefs up. Shake my life up. Not worry about doing something that wasn’t ‘part of the plan.’
I want to fall and get up. Just to see that I can. Just to see that there’s nothing to be scared of. I want to conquer surviving within a world of unknown and handle situations as they come my way. I want to stop anticipating potential problems and worrying about them. I want to stop putting myself on a path. I want to climb trees instead and figure out what branch to jump to at the end of each one.
At least just for a little while.
So I don’t secretly wish for a piercing anymore. Instead, I’ll have temporary tattoos, henna, jewelry and beads.
But no tattoos.
Previously? Body Image.
I think there’s a skewed opinion of body image in the world.
Well, at least in most of the cultures in which I’ve lived.
Many women try to change their body structure to fit the range of what’s ‘desirable to a man’. Most of the women I’ve talked to who are struggling with their weight or self image seem to link it to being wanted. If I’m pretty, men will get attracted to me more, and then I can find someone to like me. It might sound convoluted and desperate to some people, but I’ve heard this concern multiple times.
Putting the issue of whether you need someone else in your life to feel good about yourself aside, the notion of getting thin to please men doesn’t really work, in my opinion.
From what I’ve experienced, the ones that judge women’s bodies are other women. Most men I’ve met are not really affected by weight as much as women think they are. Some like thinner, some like fuller but none of them notice the extra five pounds you gained last week. At least not the men who are worth having.
Women, however, size you up and down and can tell if the skirt you wore yesterday is a tiny bit tight, if you’re bloated from your period, if the shoes you’re wearing are scuffed. Women scrutinize other women. It’s as if they find you to be a constant threat and therefore need to find fault. Not only do they analyze you to bits, but then they call up your mutual friends and share.
Of course I’m generalizing. Of course it’s not true for every woman. Some women are wonderful and kind and caring and don’t spend any time feeling good about other women’s weaknesses. But, in my experience, women notice other women’s body structures and criticize them a lot more than men do.
Most of the women’s magazines give tips on losing weight and looking thin. They promote thinness simply by plastering their magazines with thin people. They don’t come out and tell you that it’s bad to be above a size 4 but they imply, coax and leave subtle hints.
In my opinion, many of today’s eating and self-image issues are caused by the women in our lives. The magazines, the movie stars, the family members, siblings, and many others.
So if we want to address these problems, I think we should really start looking within our gender.
Previously? Web People.
When Jake and I bought tickets to go to West Palm Beach, Florida, I emailed the three people I’d love to meet.
The next day, on Aim, I asked Rony if he was sure he’d like to meet us.
He said, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Sometimes people don’t like to meet web-people.”
“But I’m not just a web-person, I’m person-person, too,” he replied.
Which of course made me laugh.
I’ve met web-people before. By web-people, I mean people whom I first interacted with over the web. Each time I hung out with people whom I’d conversed on the net with, I worried that we might feel awkward when the opportunity for face-to-face interaction arose.
But I never did.
The fact is, as many impostors as there may be on the web, every person I ever met was more real than most people I call friends today. The web creates a barrier through which people feel comfortable releasing their true self. It takes the place of the mask we wear in our day-to-day interactions. This causes the conversation to be more real, deeper and accelerates the friendship process. By the time you meet the person, you already know so much about them that it’s nearly impossible not to get along.
But none of this prepared me for how easy it would be for Jake and I to hang out with Daphna and Rony. We met at 5pm on Saturday afternoon and chatted till after 10pm. Conversation flew like water, not even one single awkward silence in five hours.
   
We then coaxed six into meeting with us at 10pm on Sunday evening. Here’s a person whose name I didn’t even know until a few days ago, but whose life I’d followed for months. Someone who helped me do a lot of soul-searching. Another encounter that surpassed our already high expectations.
As if we hadn’t taken up enough of their weekend, Rony and Daphne met up with us once more on Monday to introduce us to the pleasures of Cuban cuisine. And it really wasn’t spicy! They were way too kind and generous. It was as if we’d met long ago.
The great thing is that, to me, Daphne, Rony and Six are no longer web people.
They are real and I have the pictures to prove it.
Previously? South Beach.
I don’t think I could ever live in Florida.
We drive down streets surrounded by palm trees. The sky is covered with soft, white clouds like dots on a Dalmatian. The buildings are a rainbow of pastels.
We leave the jacked-up air conditioning to be taken over by the humid heat. A block from our hotel, we can see locals walking on the beach, colorful bikinis showing much of their perfect bodies. People are suntanned. People are dancing on tables while they sip fruit drinks. They’re laughing, chatting, partying.
It all seems too good to be true.
I stare at my surroundings and mentally compare the environment to the one at home, in New York. New York is just as hot right now. But it has no palm trees. The buildings are much taller and they are brown, gray or mirrored. They tower over you and pierce the sky. People have no time to chitchat. They’re walking down the street in hurried steps while talking on the phone about an urgent matter.
Women wear stockings. Men are in suits and ties. Each person is carrying a nondescript briefcase and looking at their watches every three minutes. Most of them don’t acknowledge their surroundings. Who has the time to look around? They all have things to do, places to go.
No one notices the trees on Wall Street.
Life here seems so different. People are relaxed, they try to enjoy life. They don’t seem to spend their time running from meeting to meeting and even if they were, the streets and the weather make running so much more fun here. The entire place feels like a continual summer resort. How can anyone be miserable in this weather, in these surroundings?
I look at the beach again. I wonder what I was thinking when I turned down the job offer in Florida.
And then I realize that I could never live here. This feels too much like vacation. If I lived here where would I go for vacation? If these beaches were the norm for me, I’d be so spoiled. I’d probably end up taking it all for granted.
And then I’d have nothing to whine about.
Previously? Spontaneity.
Jake and I are not the most spontaneous people in the world.
I tend to enjoy mulling over issues for weeks before I come to a decision (even though the big decisions seem to invariably be decided during inspired whims). I spend hours considering the benefits and disadvantages of even buying a sweater.
I’ve always considered this to be a negative personality trait. Some small voice inside me insisted that as a teenager, and then as a twenty-some-year-old, I should be more creative and less logical. I should be able to act on a whim. I should do crazy things. I mean if I didn’t do them now when would I ever do them?
As with most of my recognized weaknesses, I tried to find ways to remedy the lacking by looking for opportunities to show that I could be spontaneous.
A few years ago, my company had a Valentine’s Day special where you could go to Paris for the Valentine’s Day weekend at a pretty low cost. This was my chance! I grabbed the phone and excitedly explained the plan to Jake. I told him how romantic it would be and how we would just pick up and go. And he brought me right back to earth. How would I get a visa so quickly? Did I really want to spend fourteen hours on a plane to be there for about the same amount of time? February wasn’t really the best time of year to visit France. And so on.
I felt deflated.
Even though I knew he was right, and that this wasn’t the best idea, I was mad at Jake for ruining my chance to be out-of-character. A few more opportunities rose in the last few years, but we turned them down pretty quickly.
Spontaneity simply wasn’t in our blood.
The last few weeks have been very taxing on both of us. Due to a change of arrangement at work, I found out that I’d get a five-day weekend this weekend and Jake wouldn’t be working on Monday and Tuesday for the first time in over a year. This time, we seized the opportunity. Last night at 11pm, we bought last-minute-deal tickets to Ft Lauderdale, Florida and made car rental reservations. Today, we booked a hotel. Tomorrow morning at 6am, we will be leaving for Florida.
Our first spontaneous trip.
We have no set plans. We didn’t book it months in advance. As of 10pm tonight, we haven’t even packed, yet. Our only mission is to have a great weekend. No matter what.
Maybe there’s room for change in us after all.
Previously? Anonymity.
My friend Manu talks about writing personal entries.
I’ve had my own battle about this subject matter.
I started writing this site about a year ago. For the first few months, I didn’t really know what to say and I spent too much time reading different logs and emulating their styles. I wavered back and forth between posting links and short vignettes and opinions, etc. I was very aware of my audience and the need to please them. And pleasing an invisible audience is a very difficult task.
I spent the first few months concentrating so much on how many hits I got and whether my visitors came back for more, that it didn’t occur to me to worry about divulging personal information. I remember telling a few coworkers about my page and feeling slightly weird about it for a little while.
And then everything went downhill from there. I went through a bout of utter discomfort about my content. I kept questioning every idea, pausing on every word and it got to a point where writing a post became more torture than fun. And what’s the point of doing this if it’s not gonna be fun?
I emailed some of the people whose sites I read, ones who published content that I considered very personal. I asked them how they managed to feel comfortable divulging so much about themselves and the people in their lives. I read their thoughts and I thought.
I thought for a long time.
Finally I came to the conclusion that it’s a lot of work to read my site daily. Or even once a week. I write long entries that require more than glance and a click. Most people would probably get bored before they hit the third line. So if anyone actually bothered to read my site religiously to find out my personal thoughts, opinions, feelings on things, they can be my guests. At that level of dedication, they deserve to know everything about me.
As someone intelligent once said, “If you stopped worrying about what people think of you, you’d notice how little time they spend thinking about you.”
So I made a few rules; I rarely mention names (since my friends might not share my opinions on not needing anonymity and they deserve their right to privacy), I don’t say anything that I would mind someone repeating back to me, I don’t post issues that I am extremely touchy on or news that I’m not ready to tell the world, yet. I also choose the people I tell about my site. I don’t explicitly tell any family member, work mate, or really close friend about it.
That’s about it.
If people track me down using a search engine and find the site on their own, than they’re welcome to read all about me. So far, this system has worked wonderfully for me. I write what I want and I really haven’t gotten email or comments about anyone that made me anything short of proud of what I write.
I think the call on how much you divulge is totally yours. If you don’t want to get personal, don’t. But if you do and feel constrained by an invisible audience maybe you should rethink.
After all, like your life, you should be the one who has control over the contents of your site.
Previously? Meanie.
I’m not mean.
I’m sure most people would say that’s a cocky thing to say about myself. After all people aren’t allowed to make self-personality assessments unless it’s deprecating. Who am I to judge my own self? No one would really say they’re mean, would they now? So obviously I shouldn’t be allowed to defend myself on this subject matter.
Maybe in the past, I would have agreed with the above opinion. I might have said that other people’s opinions of me are what matter as you are who people think you are.
Wanna know how I feel now?
I don’t give a flying fuck.
Recently I’ve been told that I’m mean. It was a patronizing conversation. One that involved the words “I would never want to be a person like you. You’re so mean.” This wasn’t a close friend. It wasn’t even someone who can claim to know me well. However, it was a person with whom I deal with daily and it completely broke my heart.
My feelings for this person aside, the fact that he felt comfortable calling me mean angered me. Mostly cause it injured my feelings. If I were truly mean, surely his words wouldn’t have affected me, would they? For the next few weeks, I gave him several chances to retract his statements, but he never did.
And I kept caring and I kept feeling bad and I kept apologizing to him in different ways. I figured if he thought I was mean, I must be a bad person, and I kept trying to overcompensate. I bent low and lower. I tried to talk to him many times. And it went nowhere.
Well, that’s not exactly true.
It got to a point where I started having a low opinion of myself. I started believing that I was mean. I got frustrated and unhappy and actually became meaner. Which, of course, made matters even worse.
Today I got so fed up and so miserable that I hit my lowest point. And you know what’s great about being there? It can’t get any worse.
So I took a good look at myself, decided that this guy was full of shit, and started believing in myself again. I know who I am and I know who I am not. I know my weaknesses and I’m open to suggestions on how to fix them, but when it comes to abuse, I’m not your gal.
Not anymore.
Previously? New New Thing.
Jake and I want to reading by Michael Lewis tonight from his most recent novel, Next.
At one point, Lewis mentioned a study by Robert Sapolsky of Stanford where, quite unscientific, research was executed on why older people show an inability/reluctance in adapting to change. Lewis explained that the research team discovered that people’s ability to adapt to change was closely related to their experiences at a younger age.
For example, if you hadn’t pierced your nose by 25 or so, there was little chance that you’d ever consider piercing your nose. The team supposedly wasn’t able to figure why this was the case and they couldn’t find any specific area in the brain that is used in adapting to the “new” which somehow depreciated with age. However there was ample evidence in favor of this idea.
Which would mean that it’s crucial to try as many things as possible at a young age.
Or that seeds of open mindedness and curiosity need to be planted early on.
Sitting there, I thought to myself that I would hope to never be one of those people who have a hard time adapting to change. When I meet people who are negative on computers today, I find myself thinking how these people are choosing to overlook something that might improve their live tremendously. Of course there are negative aspects of technology but to completely rule out the possibility of it affecting your life positively seems nothing but small-minded.
I want to make sure I’m always open to new things. I don’t want to be afraid of or intimidated by my lack of knowledge. I want to be open to uncharted territories and jump in the bandwagon. I try to do that in my twenties and I need to make sure that I also do it in my fifties. The idea of becoming the sort of person who’s bitter towards change is a frightening thought for me.
So should I run out and pierce my nose?
Well, no. But I think I should be open the idea. I should consider it. It’s not doing everything, as much as being open to the possibility of doing it.
That’s what I never want to lose.
I’ve always been a firm believer that you can learn at any age. There’s nothing extra-special in my brain that makes it easier for me to acquire a new language. People who claim that a language can only be learned at a young age can talk to me. I learned Japanese at 25. So I know that it’s bullshit.
Humans are very good at making excuses. We’re very resourceful when it comes things we don’t want to do. We use lack of time, other commitments, work, family, anything and everything as a reason to not accomplish something. If you don’t want to do something, you should just say so. It’s pointless to use excuses. And there’s no rule that says you have to learn anything. (well, there might be work requirements, but that’s another issue)
I might like to pierce my nose, learn Swahili, a new programming language, or I might not. But I’d like to have the option. Now and forever. If that means I need to start now or try a bit of everything at a young age, then that’s what I need to do.
Suddenly taking all these classes and turning my life upside down has an even bigger purpose.
Previously? Shortcut into Heaven.
“The point is…the point is how I feel. I don’t care what gets done. I just don’t want to die feeling that I never tried. I don’t believe in Heaven, or anything. But I want to be the kind of person who qualifies an entry anyway. Do you understand?
Of course I understand. I’m a doctor.
Nick Hornby’s new book, How To Be Good, raises many interesting points about the meaning of being good, marriage, family life, charity and cynicism. Although it’s not directly related, the exchange above made me realize why I don’t like some of the ideas that have become linked with Heaven and Hell.
My personal beliefs on the existence of Heaven and Hell aside, I don’t like the implication that someone should “do good” so they can be allowed in Heaven. To me that sounds just as conniving as lying to get your way.
You should never do anything because you expect something in return. I’ve always believed that doing something because you want to or like to is the only acceptable reason. Anything besides that is guaranteed to leave you, and the other people involved, displeased.
Life is so very short and it makes no sense to waste your precious moments on something that makes you unhappy. I understand that people work so they can earn money so they can go on vacations or afford other things that make them happy. And, while I have another rant saved just for that case, that’s not the scenario I’m talking about here. I’m talking about doing something because someone guilted you into thinking that’s what you should do.
What’s the point of doing something out of guilt? How much satisfaction do you feel after you’ve completed an act that someone else thought to be “important that you do”? How much energy do you put into doing something that someone else deems necessary? Do you think people are so stupid that they don’t notice your heart’s not in it?
What’s the point?
Are you trying to cheat people, or God in the case of heaven, into thinking that just cause you go through the motions of doing something that someone else ‘strongly urged’ you into doing, that they suddenly will think you’re this amazing and dedicated person? No one, but you, loses in the end. You’re the one who gave up the time to do something that you didn’t care to and you’re the one who doesn’t truly feel rewarded since deep-down you know you never wanted to do it anyway.
Talk about a sell-out.
I think you should help the homeless if it means something to you. Six mentioned a while back about reducing your guilt and how you should call your old grandma Jane only if you actually want to talk to her. There are no guarantees in this life and real and honest people, their emotions and God can not be bribed. Guilt is nothing but manipulation and doing something in the hopes of getting something in return is awfully close to bribery.
Stop fooling yourself.
Previously? Crush Me.
I’ve always had bad luck with crushes.
At 11, I had a crush on one of the guys in my group. I guess over here, it would be called my “circle”. Anyhow this guy was two years older than I and we were friends. He was always nice to me but never in the way I actually wanted him to be. I never really knew whether he was aware of my crush or not.
Until one summer day, we were chatting in the disco at the club in Burgaz. (the island where we live in the summer) He asks me who my crush is.
I, very coyly, say, “I’m not telling you.”
“Well is he in our group?” he hollers over the music.
“Yep.” I say softly, snuggling closer so he can hear me. Any excuse to be physically close to him.
“Is he my age or older?”
“Yep.”
He smirks. “I’m the only guy in our group who fits in that category.”
DOH!
Talk about stupid. Amazingly, even after my totally moronic give away we never dated. A few years later, I got the impression that he might have been interested in me, but it was way too late.
At fifteen, I moved on to concentrate all my efforts on another completely unreachable goal. This one wouldn’t even talk to me unless it was for a cordial greeting. Sadly, we never moved beyond that and eventually my interest waned. To this day, no one knows that I had a crush on this guy. Our mothers were good friends and after the previous disaster, I’d sworn that I wasn’t telling anyone. Twelve years later, it’s still my little secret. It’s going to the grave with me.
At eighteen, it took me all of ten days to construct a huge crush on a classmate in Calculus. A quarterback nonetheless. He and I were good friends for a while. We did the math assignments together and it seemed to work well and it gave me a reason to see him regularly. The football program I mentioned a few days ago was purchased due to this crush.
My best friend and I ran all around campus trying to buy one of these game brochures once we discovered that this guy’s picture was in it. But the game had already started and the school wasn’t selling them anymore. So we walked around the benches and my friend flips out a ten-dollar bill and says that she will give it to the first person who gives her the program (which had been worth only five). Three people rushed in at once and one very happy man gave us the coveted booklet. Which I still have.
One of my friends in high school had told me about how she used the codename 143 to say I love you. So I figured it might be a good idea to embarrass myself thoroughly once more, cause it had been a while since the last time I did that. So, I wrote a letter to this guy. I can’t even remember what it said, but it wasn’t a declaration of love or anything. All I did was put a “P.S.” on the bottom that simply said 143.
Wasn’t I clever?
Well, not really. He figured it out. And yet once more, surprisingly, he stayed friends with me so much so that he confided in me about his crush on my roommate. And then proceeded to date her best friend.
After him, I swore off crushes.
Previously? The Right Moment.
Here’s what’s been on my mind for a few days:
What’s a good time to let go?
When do you know that you’re in over your head?
There is such a thing as caring too much. There are people who suck your emotions and sacrifices out of you, enough to wipe you clean. Enough to drag you down with them. Enough for you to lose control of your life and not even notice it.
I’ve had loved ones with severe problems. People with substance abuse issues. Anyone who’s been on either side of that kind of a relationship will tell you that there is almost nothing you can do for someone who’s using and abusing unless they’re ready to face the truth.
Talking doesn’t do any good. It might appear as if you’re getting through to someone, and at times the person might even start understanding what you mean, but in the end, the power lies within him. And only him. (or her)
There is a fine line between being there for support and giving up your life for someone.
Let’s take the following scenario. Let’s assume you’re female (Cause I am and it’s a pain in the ass to have to write she or he each time.) You’ve been with your boyfriend Alex for two years. You like him and you’ve even thought of making long-term plans at times. In the last few weeks, Alex has started hanging out with his work friends and drinking. I don’t mean every now and then, but each evening. He always calls and says he won’t be home till late. You’ve tried talking to him a few times, but he gives you good excuses. He says that he needs to go out so that he can fit in at his job.
You can put up with it for a few weeks but after a month or two? You’ll probably eventually decide that it’s simply not going to work out. Hopefully, you’ll have talked to him about this and tried to resolve it before you packed up and left. Either way, no one will blame you for leaving him. You might be sad, but you won’t feel like you deserted him.
Now, imagine the same scenario, but Alex is an abuser. He is hooked on alcohol, drugs, he joined a movement, or he’s gotten fired. In short, his world has twirled out of control and he’s dragging you down with him. He’s depressed, he yells at you, he pushes you away. You know that he’s not doing it purposefully, he’s in pain. He’s not thinking straight. How can you leave him now? When he loves you so much and he’s fallen so low. What an awful creature must you be to even consider leaving.
That’s the thin line. There will never really be a good time to leave.
So you make a decision. Do you say, I’ll stay with him and risk going down the black hole or do you walk away and be the bitch? I’d assume the answer might depend on the nature of your relationship. If you and Alex are married you might have a different answer than if you’ve been dating a while but have no official attachments. Then again, sometimes love is the tightest bond.
Either way, it’s a tough decision and there are no right answers.
Anyone who says that there are hasn’t really been there.
Previously? Four Years.
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projects for twenty twenty-six
projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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