Calm before the storm

Calm denotes peace, serenity, the opposite of pressure and stress. I'm never really calm. And there is no real storm coming.

I just started a new job, working full time hours and some Sundays. My new semester just started and this semester I'm taking 5 classes. So all in all my schedule will be full. I know things will begin to get busy quickly, either get with it or get left behind. I'm trying to prepare myself as much as possible, so that I know what I need for each class, so that I don't freak out or decide it is all too much and I'm moving back home with my parents and abandoning my life. (As if.)

I keep saying, I know I'll be okay, I can handle it, I will be fine. I know I CAN handle it. The question is, will I?

People always talk about juggling things in life. A new full-time job + full-time school = no time for anything else. I even started considering cutting out TV in my life, and that's a big deal for me.

Well, who needs fun and relaxation anyway?

This one's for you, Ma

I've seen a lot of my mother in the past week. I used to go to Monsey for Shabbos a lot more, in the earlier days when they first moved there. But lately, between work and school and the general schlep of getting to Monsey, I've seen less and less of my family. (And that's just the way I like it.)

Last week was family day. My grandparents came to visit, and all of my nieces were under one roof. Now I know why people have kids. For all the funny, cute, weird, adorable, annoying, smelly, squishy, chubby inch of them. You know that expression, 'My heart melted'? Gag. But when little ER ran over to me randomly, gave me a hug and ran away, I wanted to keep her forever.

Anyway, back to my mother. She stayed with me for a couple of days. Apparently, she is telling everyone how great my cooking skills are, how I feed her so well, how she just loooves this restaurant. I don't eat out, and it's nice to be able to cook for my mother.

My mother is a selfless person. Always doing for others, barely for herself, never wants to get in anyone's way. My room is small, and when I have a guest over I put a mattress on the floor. Of course, how can it ever be said that I let my mother sleep on the floor? But I was tired, and she insisted that it was okay, and that it was actually respecting her is she specifically wanted the floor and I let her sleep there. Ya, she sure convinced me.

It is really hard for me to understand. I live a singular life. I take care of myself. I have no one else to take care of. I like it that way. Whenever anyone comes into my sphere of being, automatically they annoy me. Why are you talking to me? Why are you asking me questions? What do you want from me? With my mother, she is always, "Go in front of me in line, take the last piece of food, it's okay, I'm okay, we're all okay, do do do for everyone until she herself is obsolete.

I love you Ma, I really do. But do you know how annoying it is when I'm trying to make the bed, and she says, I can do that. I am making her food and she says, you don't have to do that for me. But I want to. So LET ME.

You can be selfless, but let people give back to you. Let me do for you, not because I have to, but because I want to.

It has been so nice spending time with my mother alone, outside of the house, away from my siblings. Introducing her to my life, my mature adult life. Look Ma, I'm all grown up. Thank you for letting me be the hostess.

Is that the face of desperation?

When my oldest brother was approaching 30 and still single, my mother became desperate. She contacted a girl on his behalf who declined to go out with my brother, and wrote her a whole long letter about how wonderful my brother is and how great the girl would be for him. (I'm pretty sure that kind of behavior warrants a restraining order.) The girl was non too happy about being begged to marry my brother.

My mother would jokingly say, "He's a great catch, he comes with health insurance! And that's hard to come by these days." (She wasn't really joking.) She went to the ohel regularly to beg G-d to find him a girl to marry. She was so scared he would never get married.

Well, thank G-d married he is, with a beautiful daughter.

Next: my second oldest brother. (Still single.) One time we were sitting by a shloshim, and my mother was talking about her upcoming trip to Florida. Somehow she mentioned my brother (who lives in Florida), and a woman behind us said, "Sorry for eavesdropping, but what's he like?" My mother was so happy to have someone to sell her pitch to. She went on and on about all my brother's great qualities, about his self-starter business, about what kind of girl he needs. (I bet that poor woman regretted butting in.)

One purim, driving down Kingston Ave, we stopped to give tzedaka to a girl collecting money for a family who recently lost their mother. My mother, recognizing the girl who was collecting, said "Will you marry my son? You'd be perfect for him!" Ya, by then I was driving away screaming, "Ma! You're nuts!"

So now we have established that my mother will do anything to get her son married, and that she's a bit crazy.

At what point does one cross the line between doing ones part to find the right match, and doing things that can label one as crazy?

Does my mother wear the face of desperation?

P.S. Still single brother but declines to be set up, says he's done with blind dates. Believe me, I've tried.

When the world accepts a challenge

We have all seen what the world can do when following in the footsteps of evil. We are now seeing how much good can come out of following for the right reasons.

I was never much of a follower. As the great Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." Whether I follow that advice to be true to myself, or merely because I feel that many people are idiots and I'd rather not follow an idiot, matters not. Unconsciously, somewhere along the way I chose to decide for myself where I wanted to go in life, and not merely be a sheep following the masses.

I cannot help but notice the huge and necessary coverage that the ALS ice bucket challenge is spreading. Yes, people are doing it for fun, yes they all look like idiots, yes I have heard and seen my friends shriek more in the past few days then ever in my lifetime. All the famous people are doing it. It's trending. Everyone is dumping ice water on their heads for the cause. The question is, will you?

I was curious to know how it all got started. This article enlightened me somewhat. If there has to be internet trends, it should only be for a good cause like this one. If people have to get on camera and act like idiots, it should only be to raise money for a charity.

I stayed as quiet as I could and as far away from the videos in an attempt to not get nominated. Thanks to my friend, (I use that term lightly. You know who you are). I got nominated. The premise of the challenge is to take a video of yourself dumping a bucket of ice water on your head, or to donate $100 to an ALS fund, within 24 hours of being nominated. My coworker got nominated, and he told me to stop being such a scaredy cat and just do it. But really, who will benefit from seeing me dump ice cold water on my head? (Don't even think about me shrieking, that would never happen.) I especially like Charlie Sheen's stunt of dumping $10,000 dollars on his head (which he then donated to the ALS fund). Personally, I think that giving money is better than a little act on video. But the awareness it is bringing is amazing.

A Chabad shliach, Rabbi Yitzi Hurwitz, was diagnosed with ALS. If you would like to donate to their family fund, please do so here. I came across his blog, and I think it is amazing that he continues to inspire other people while going through such a great personal struggle. Such are the children of G-d.

Here is a video of a friend of mine doing the challenge, unfortunately her father passed away 9 years ago from ALS. Hearing personal stories brings it closer to home.

Tick tock, the day is almost over. Will I accept the challenge?

Sorry everyone who was waiting expectantly for my video. I donated to the cause instead.

YOU have been chosen. What will you do?

Existentialism

I smell like vanilla extract. That has always been one of my favorite smells. The cupcakes are sitting on the counter waiting to be frosted, the frosting is in the fridge getting nice and thick, waiting to be piped. My roommate had the nerve to ask me if I used Duncan Hines. Nope, not me. I'm a sugar n spice kinda girl.

You ever get that feeling waking up in the middle of the night, coming off of a dream or a thought, and not remembering what you were just thinking of? How it bugs you, and alludes you. Looking off into the distance, trying to find the answer, and then forgetting the question.

I am coming down off a high, not a high really, but a crash you get after writing a paper for school. The midnight deadline approaching, the rush, the stress, the panic, the nerves, the blaring music, the headache, the pounding behind the eyes, tick tock, the clock strikes 12, you are not finished, oh well, keep going, the screen blurs, 12:37, you are done, thinking, thinking, should you submit it now or read it over, and what good will it do to read it over in your exhausted state, alas it makes no sense, did it start out making sense and lose it somewhere along the way, or did it make no sense to begin with? And why are you still sitting here, and why are you still up, and why haven't you sent it yet?

And so you leap and you jump and you hit 'send' and that is that, and what's done is done, and what shall be will be, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

I've had enough of existentialism to last a lifetime, and that is the pun, isn't it. Well, here is the last paragraph of my essay:

"The Existentialists says that there is no meaning in life, yet all humans spend their whole lives searching for meaning. Absurdest philosophy says that humans search their whole lives for meaning, and yet find none. So then what is the point of looking? As in Rosencrantz& Guildenstern Are Dead*, they keep searching for their purpose, and in the end they die. That is true of humans. In the end, we all die. What is the meaning of life, the Universe, and the world we live in? Ah, that may yet evade us, but we will go on living until we discover the meaning, or until we die, whichever comes first."

*A brilliant film (featuring British actor Tim Roth) I highly recommend if you have the time. Nay, make the time. Such wit I haven't seem in awhile.

So then, what is our purpose here?

I can't say I have much of an idea, although after spending most of the day avoiding writing my paper and then scrambling to finish it at the last minute, I am not much clearer on that then when I first started. 

Stop while you're ahead. Okay then. Goodnight all.

Hello old friend

Remember your angsty teenage self? Ever get a glimpse of her? Usually accompanied with embarrassment, "oh my gosh, I can't believe I ever did that/ spoke like that/ thought like that/ dressed like that!" Oh yes, dear reader, there was a time when even I was not perfect. I wrote in all lower case letters. I spelled words like 'wut', I was uberly sarcastic and self-deprecating, way more than I am now. I came face-to-face with her today, and I can't say that I liked it.

I tripped over it by accident. An idea I came up with 7 years ago for our school play. We didn't end up using it. The funny thing is, the idea itself mirrors my life pretty accurately. In Freudian theory, you could say that my unconscious mind was trying to express itself. Unless I was very conscious of it, I can't really remember, it was 7 years ago.

I cringe. But here it is:

Written by me, 7 years ago:

"title: "the juggler" / the juggling act

A girl moves to a new town with her family. new school, new friends. in her old school, the girls were chassidish, and she was too. but here, the girls are not so chassidish, in dress, behavior, etc. Out of the need to fit in, she decided she has to be like them, but thinks, it wont be for real, just an outward act. at heart ill still be a good chassidish girl. she still keeps in touch with old friends, so when shes with them shes an aidel chassidish girl, but when shes with her new friends, shes just like them. 

one time, while shes hanging out with one group, the two groups happen to meet. and when they both see the other group that shes hanging out with, they pressure her into deciding who she really is. but at this point, she herself doesnt even know. the whole 'act' she thought she was putting on, turned into reality, wut she ended up becoming. by now she doesnt know wut to do at all. but advice comes suddenly, in a form she would never have thought, through a teacher at school. the teacher was telling them about galus and geulah. "galus is like acting", she explains. "its not the real thing, just temporary, till we have moshiach, the ultimate goal. but unfortunately, some ppl forget theyre supposed to be acting, and end up internalizing it, till they become it. ex: when s/o cares more abt a fancy car, or being rich, then learning torah. they forget that torah is the real thing, and the car is just an 'act'. 

this is wut the teacher says. the girl takes it to heart, internalizes it, and uses it to get herself out of her situation. shesw trys to think of a solution. finally, comes up with an idea. purim is coming up, and the school is putting on a talen show. she decides for the show shes gonna do a juggling act, to try to explain to her friends wut she was going through. 

gets up on stage by her turn, starts juggling nicely, then suddenly messes up, purposely. drops the balls, etc. she takes the mike and asks to say a few words. both sets of friends are there, at her request. she starts with saying, whoever i am talking to, will know who they are. she explains how until now she was putting on an act, didnt really know who she was, or where she belongs. till now, she was juggling two personalities. but now, she says, i dont want to juggle anymore. ive finnally decided who i really am. and she walks off the stage, and goes to stand with the chassidish group of girls. she was scared that after this, her new group of friends would reject her, but she sees that on the contrary, they respect her for standing up to them, and showing them wuts really right, and in the end, they start following her example. The lesson is, galus is an 'act', geula/ moshiach is the real thing, and we shouldnt lose site of it, stop acting, or we'll forget who we are."

 I copied and pasted this exactly as it was, therefore all mistakes are not my own, rather old me. I did go through this struggle myself in high school, trying to figure out who I wanted to be, what group I fit in to, who I was trying to please.

I am pleased to be able to say that I am now passed all that. I have found a balance, and it no longer matters to me what my friends or people think. I am finally living my life as I want it to be.

As scary as it may be for me to bump into my past self, she is or was once a part of me. She is me. Just old me. I no longer think like that, talk like that, or act like that immature girl of yesteryear. But I would not be the me I am today if not for those struggles.

This play may never see the stage, but I think its purpose is complete.

Date Night

I was expecting a rose, but I got none. I stopped and got chocolate. I was supposed to receive flowers. That was the deal.

I got dressed languidly, applying my makeup and picking out the dress and shoes, without the usual nerves normally accompanying a date.

We walked together in public. It was freeing, to be out and about and not worry who will see us, what people will say or think.

I saw a friend; She asked where we were off to. I said we were going on a date. She laughed and said, that's nice.

My father said, don't call it a date; but a date is what it was.

A date with my friend. Female friend.

No we didn't hold hands. I didn't get flowers or a goodnight kiss. I actually think she thought I was supposed to be the man in this scenario. Not sure why, maybe due to my take-charge attitude.

We saw a movie (not very good.)

We ate dinner at a fancy restaurant.

We took a leisurely stroll.

We walked arm in arm.

We took selfies.

We ate a heavenly chocolate dessert together, two spoons one plate.

I had a great time, minus all the stress of 'what is he thinking of me, how do I look, is this awkward? this is awkward, so awkward. What is he saying, am I even listening? I'm not listening, G-d this is so boring."

I was able to relax and simply enjoy the company of a good friend.

I wish all dates could be that stress-free.

Listen up ladies: a night on the town with your best gals can really do you good.

So forget about guys for a night. Strap on your heels, zip up your dress, grab your clutch, and go out and have fun!

This one's on me.

Snippets

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The kids were all finally sleeping. Ahh, time to relax, raid the kitchen, and make some money while doing it. Suddenly the pitter patter of feet sounds in the hallway. The 3 year old, with tears in his eyes, blankie in tow, and pacifier in his mouth comes towards me. I rush to him, hoping he recognizes me and isn't scare to see that his mother isn't home. He is mumbling something around the pacifier, so I take it out and ask him what's the matter. He says in a tear-filled voice, "Something's bothering me". I cannot even fathom what could be troubling a 3 year old in middle of the night. I lead him back to bed and sit with him until he falls asleep, a mere 5 minutes later. Oh, the burdens of a child.

 

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With headphones in his ears and a bag swinging from his hand, he ambles down the crowded subway platform, brushing by someone as he passes. The other guy turns around and says 'yo!' but Headphones cannot hear him. Again, he says 'Yo! My G, you just hit me.' I watch nervously, hoping it will not turn into a brawl. Headphones turns around and says something softly. I cannot hear the words, but I see him stick out his hand. The once huffy victim, now placated, slaps and shakes his hand and both go on their way. A simple apology and friendly handshake can go a long way.

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My mama came to school with me today

Kinda weird, but kinda awesome. My professor's late father, Rex Harrison, was a famous actor in his day, and my mother saw all the plays and movies he acted in. She was excited to hear about my professor, and wanted to meet him.

It was cool bringing my mother to class. I'm happy for her that she had a nice experience, and that I was able to do that for her.

P.S. in my last post I shared my friend's new blog, which has now moved from tublr to blogger. Check it out: http://talkjewishtome.blogspot.com/

Blogging: Oh how I miss you

I miss the sense of community, of being part of a greater whole.

I miss following link after link in middle of the night and discovering new worlds, new people, new perspectives, new ways of looking at things, things I have never even thought about.

I miss the rush, the excitement, the newness of it all. I miss being a virgin blogger.

After years of blogging away, I feel sullied.

It has become routine, to the point that I have scheduled posts in advance instead of writing spontaneously.

I have gone weeks without blogging, and felt not a twinge.

It is as if the reservoirs of my mind have dried up and disappeared, and while I grieve for the good ole days, it seems that the end may be near.

And that makes me sad.

Every time I try to recapture it I realize those days are dead and gone, and can never be had again.

I sat in class and froze when my teacher recited a familiar email address. It belonged to the guy sitting two seats away, and I recognized it as that of a former blogger.

My heart pounding, I wondered if I should introduce myself, say hey you, it's me, you may have read my blog, I may have read yours.

But after a quick search I saw that he hadn't blogged in 4 years.

Would that invade his privacy? Would he find it weird, or detached, so far in his past that he couldn't care less?

The more I thought about it the less I felt like asking him.

There was no need to ask him, I knew. I've met bloggers before, they come and go. I always thought I was different.

I'm not like them, thought I, not here merely to share the events of my day/week/life/bad dating stories. I'm a writer, and I will make something of myself someday.

One day a man called me 'unpractical' for majoring in English. He expressed his surprise that I hadn't read all the classics, that I couldn't name all the famous authors, that I wasn't like all other writers, weird and hip and high on crack.

Who am I, then?

Not a writer, not a blogger, not an academic.

Ah, the question I've been asking myself for quite some time.

As Mike-from-last-semester told me all about the novel he is writing, and I nodded my head and oohed and aahed to be polite, inside I was wondering if I could ever speak with that much confidence about anything I had written.

I wondered if the story I began, the one that I never finished, the one that, although it garnered positive feedback from my 'writerly friends' now sits in a dark box on my windowsill, will ever see the light of day again.

Oh, but the effort to force myself to sit down, the mental energy it takes to crank out a story, it hurts. It doesn't come naturally.

I do wonder about the effects of opium, the drug of choice for the Romantic writers.

Oh to be free of my own constricting mind, to be free of self-censorship, to be free of self-consciousness, to be free- to be free.

Ah, but my eyes grow tired and weary, my hands grow weak, and my words stutter and die.

Someday, my love. Someday.

Please, do take the time to check out this fresh new blog, a young friend of mine who is beginning her journey into the wonderful world of writing.

Update: my friend moved her blog to http://talkjewishtome.blogspot.com/, much easier format than tumblr.

Beautiful Person Award

Invisibility
was to be
the topic of the night.

But we'll leave that for another time.

Someone sent me a beauty award. Though at times I find it weird and creepy when people are overly nice to me, I decided to pay it forward. The premise is that you send the award to 3 people whom you find beautiful inside and out. Supposedly, if you get the award from 3 people that means you are truly beautiful. N.B. I don't really believe in forwarding stuff. But I'll give it a shot.

Your voice
like the calm ocean breaze
washes over me,
I can hear your laugh in the waves.

Your face
like the warmth of the sun
shines bright
I can see your full smile.

Your self
you give up for others
put them first
before your own needs.

Your life
you live for the good
of the world,
and G-d's will.

Yourself
you demean
but you are much more
then you give yourself credit for.

You and I
may not always agree
but to me
you will always be beautiful.