Dichotomy

It's been like this forever, really,
as long as I can remember.
Fun, breezy and sweet
would turn dark and sinister quickly,
like two halves of one crazy whole.

We've tried, oh we've tried,
and it's gotten better lately.
Better as in, I'm hardly ever around,
better as in, we don't talk much anymore,
better as in, love from far far away.

I don't want to understand it.
I don't want to question it
and take it apart
and get to the bottom of it.
Because I fear that I won't be happy with the answer.

So I pack it up
in a neat little box with a label
and file it away in a deep dark place
and try not to think about it,
"Let's pretend this never happened".

And suddenly you want to be my best friend,
You tell me things like "Proud" and "Wonderful",
all the things I've always wanted to hear,
Which you should have told me years ago,
But now I find them hard to believe.

So I put the singing card in the closet,
and try to think about it never,
Why you signed your name differently this time,
as if we could erase all the bad times,
and start over fresh.

But I'm just not sure I have the strength for that anymore.
Cuz every time you smile at me,
inside I'm tense and uneasy,
waiting for the other shoe to drop,
As if I can't really believe you've changed.

Ain't Nobody Got time for that

I'm thinking of starting a new diet, and calling it "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That" (patent pending.) I am very methodical when it comes to my meals. I prepare a lunch every night to take to work the next day, because if I don't then my whole day is thrown off. There are no Kosher restaurants near my office and even if there were, I hate take-out. Even when I'm really tired I force myself to cut up a salad and prepare snacks for my day.

These days I've been so busy that I find myself barely eating any food. I forget to eat lunch and then it is such a bother to stop what I'm doing and eat. I make smoothies for breakfast because besides for tasting good they are much quicker to ingest than eating a bowl of cereal and milk.

There is an episode in How I Met Your Mother where Marshal is training for a big race and he is so busy that he tries to turn all his food into smoothies. He puts eggs and toast and sausages in the blender... I'm sure you can imagine the result.

My mind is moving a mile a minute, and when I remember about something I need to do I must write it down otherwise I will forget about it.

My semester is over in 2 weeks, then I have a week break and then.... dun dun dun, I'm taking Summer semester. Yay. (Sort of.)

It is nice to have Shabbos when I feel like I can get off the treadmill and slow down and just breath. Everything will be waiting for me afterwards but for 25 hours I get some respite.

Have a good Shabbos, and make sure to find the time for the little things in life.

High Five

You know that feeling you get when your presentation went well and everyone loved it and you were so nervous that you were barely paying attention to people's reactions, but some people made a point to come over to you after and tell you how awesome it was and how much they loved it and how well your group worked together and you know it's true and it feels so good and when the professor says that 'one group went above and beyond' and you bashfully know that everyone is looking at your group and you are smiling from ear to ear cuz you know that it is true and you just want to hug your group and 'high five' to your awesomeness....

No? Well, it is a great feeling. And despite the other members of my group saying 'we should totally keep in touch' it probably won't happen, because I am not even majoring in the same thing and we all have different schedules. And that makes me a tad bit sad because I really enjoyed working with them.

And it felt so good to be included, to be a part of something. I don't want that feeling to end but I know it will cuz the semester is over and we all say goodbye and move on...

But it was more than just a group project. It was fun. And when we were told we would need to work in groups I groaned because I hardly ever work well in a group. And yes, maybe I'm not the easiest person to work with, but we all did good.

It's funny how the only thing we had in common was where our last names fell in the alphabet which is why we got lumped together. But little did we know that we had the best group out there.

High Five to us, we were awesome!

Looking forward to our A (+ + + + + +)

The World revolves around Me

 
My mother always said, "The world does not revolve around Altie", when she wanted me to stop acting selfishly. (The next sentence would be that it actually revolves around my sister). Maybe it backfired. I don't consider myself a selfish person, but I do enjoy time dedicated to me alone.

My birthday is always my special day. Someone commented on something I wrote once that I am a "three times a year Jew". While I don't believe that to be true, my spiritual connection does seem to be lacking at times.

But then my birthday comes and I feel this push, this pull, this energy inside of me, a desire to do better, to BE better, to make the day the most it could be, to make resolutions for the coming year (which rarely last). My spiritual awakening.

This year I don't feel the pressure. Maybe that is a good thing and maybe not. I made a list of things I want to accomplish on my birthday and I hope to get through all of them. My family is coming in to take me out for a birthday dinner (which I am sharing with my niece whose birthday is two days later and she is turning one, so it's okay.)

I like my birthday Hayom Yom:

"My father related that he heard from his father quoting his father (the Tzemach Tzedek), who heard the Alter Rebbe refer to himself as the son of the Maggid (his Rebbe), and as the grandson of the Baal Shem Tov."

I like it because my family doesn't have any 'yichus'. And while this never actually mattered to me, there was subconsciously a feeling of who is vouching for me, who do I belong to. My mother would jokingly tell people that we are nothing from nothing. But that's not true. Because we come from someone and something and we are making something of ourselves.

The Alter Rebbe was not related to the Mazritcher Maggid or the Baal Shem Tov. But he considered them to be his father and grandfather. I AM a part of something, and yichus or not, I came from somewhere and I am going somewhere as well.

I believe that I was created for a purpose, and although I may never know what that purpose is, I know that I am special and there are things down here that only I and no one else can accomplish. I feel like on my birthday I come full circle.

It has Baruch Hashem been a good year, and I feel like this is the first year in awhile when I can look back with hardly any regrets or uneasiness. G-d willing this coming year will be good as well.

It is my sincerest wish for all of you that Hashem bestow upon you many brachos in all areas you may need it, be it health, parnasah, Shidduchim, children, shalom bayis. May you all find only happiness in all that you do, and your paths should be clear, free of obstacles and filled with wisdom.  

G-d willing may this be our very last year in Galus, and we should all see Moshiach Now!

Back to the basics

Sometimes you just need to
bring it BACK to the beginning
where your story first started,
and remember why you are doing this
who you are doing this for,
and what THIS really is.

Laying on the grass
under the sun,
I open my eyes just a bit,
and see blue, so much blue
and I wonder if I'm looking at the sky
or if I will see that blue every time I close my eyes.

Smiling, smiling,
standing this way and that
pictures, pictures,
kallah and friends,
and heels and dress
and feeling good.

Happy and radiant she stands,
dimples and blue headband and long flowy dress
and all of us together again,
the COOL ones,
the FAB four,
we rock the party,
we ARE the party.

And I miss those days,
the ones we left behind,
but I also feel a contentment,
a peace with myself and my past.
Because the present is good
and the future is bright.

And I will always have my girlys to face it with.

So I smile, and I stand,
this way and that,
and I put my feet through torture to look pretty,
and I feel pretty, oh so pretty,
and I want to capture THIS moment
in my mind forever.

So that every time I close my eyes,
I will see us all together again,
laughing and talking like old times,
except these are NEW times,
and I want to drink a lechaim to us,
and to our Futures.

Because the past is fading as we speak,
thank G-d for that.
Thank G-d we get to leave the bad behind us,
and that every time I close my eyes
I will see that bright blue clear sky,
And I will no longer ever see you.

Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but you can never hurt me.

I'm different

Hello world. I'm still alive. Just busy. Very busy. But I did miss you. Every time a great idea for a post popped into my head I was so tempted to stop everything and sit down and write. But I'm busy. Oh so busy. Thank G-d.

Boredom breeds negative behavior, so keeping busy is a good thing. At work they added new tasks to my workload, which is fine once I get used to it. But it takes awhile to juggle a normal workload and the extra stuff.

At school I am really busy with end of term papers. I was up last night until 3 am editing a paper which was written as a group, and given my seal of approval. Not to be pretentious, but I am good at editing. So I had the final say and everyone loved it and I am looking forward to my A for effort.

I don't have enough time in my day to sleep, so (shrug), oh well.

My friend got engaged (Mazal tov!) and I am helping bake stuff for the lechaim. My roommate named herself my official taste-tester.

I'm so tired. I'm tired of grammar and punctuation and paragraphs and citations and papers and grades and tests and quizzes. I'm tired of traveling every day, to work and back and school and back, and then do it all over again. I'm tired of doing laundry and cooking food, and buying food, and eating food. Sometimes when I'm tired I think I should really not talk cuz who knows what will come out of my mouth.

My art teacher showed us a painting of Moses with horns. We all know that he didn't have horns, but still people think Jews are hiding something under their Yalmukas. So my teacher said, does anyone here know why Moses has horns? Anyone wearing a Yalmuka? No one raised their hand. So he started making something up, and then I raised my hand, and then he laughed and said he was joking, he knew the real story.

When they talk about Jews I feel like everyone is looking at me even if they are not. When they talk about Israel I feel like everyone expects me to jump up wearing an Israeli flag and protest. When they talk about Jewish holidays they look at me for approval to make sure they are pronouncing it right. Today a guy said his coworker gave him Matzah, ("Is that how you say it?"), and it was great.

Hey everyone! I'm Jewish! I AM JEWISH!

I used to be so tired of being lumped together with everyone else. I spent my whole childhood trying to "discover myself" and separate myself from the masses, and be different. I wanted to be different because everyone was the same and I wasn't like everyone, so what was I.

I protested the box, the cookie cutter mold, the stereotypes. I vowed to take my own path, to do my own thing, to be my own person, to be different.

When my brother was dating, my mother would tell people that he needed a different kind of girl. So people tried to set him up with girls who were weird, or funky, or not religious. My mother had a hard time explaining that my brother was different, but not that kind of different. Yes, there are many types of different.

Instead of being part of the masses I broke away and did my own thing and no one bothered me and life was good.

Then I entered the real world. And my differences were glaringly obvious. I tried to pretend that they didn't exist, that I was 'just one of you'. Suddenly, I hate being different. I hate standing out. I hate having to explain why I can't shake hands, why I wear skirts all the time, why I can't take an exam because it's our holiday, ("What holiday? Shavuot? What's it about?" I have no idea, we eat cheesecake.) Why we live in Israel despite the fact that the Palestinians think it is theirs. Why women wear wigs. Suddenly, I just want to be they same.

I want to be recognized as a person, because I am smart, and articulate, and skilled. I want people to know that I have what to add to a group discussion and class presentations and that I am not just different because I am Jewish, but because I am me and I am not you.

I do realize that years ago I may not even have had the opportunities I do now. People would taunt and hurt Jews, not look at them like interesting creatures under a microscope to be studied and questioned. Should I encourage questions? Probably. Do I have all the answers? No. Sometimes they ask me questions that even I question. What do you say then?

Some people might tell me that this is a beautiful opportunity to enlighten the world and be a good example, etc. Yes. I know. But when we talk about stereotypes and they say that some people say Jews are rich, it feels weird that they are singling ME out, and I laugh along with everyone else, but I keep quiet because I am hoping no one is looking my way.

No, I'm not ashamed. Not in any way. I admire frum guys for wearing tzitzis and yalmukas on campus and I would proudly do so if I were a guy. And yes it is less obvious just by the way I dress that I am a religious Jew.

I'm different. I know I'm different. I'm different because when my professor brings Italian cannolis for everyone and asks if there is anyone who can't have and I say me, and it's not because I'm allergic and then he offers to bring me a 'rugale', I laugh and say no thanks.

But sometimes I just wish I could eat that cannoli with everyone else and not feel so out of place.

Why should I believe you?

I'm so used to all the lies, that when you tell me the truth I'm not sure if I should believe you.

You ask me how things are going, and I try to gauge if you are really interested or just trying to make polite conversation. After all, isn't that your job? To pretend to care, to resolve issues as they come up, to keep things running smoothly? Do you really want suggestions, or do they go in one ear and out the other?

But I give it a try, and I tell you how I'm feeling. You speak to me like an equal, even though we both know that's not how it is. You listen, or pretend to, and you respond in kind. Part of me feels a burden lifting, a bad energy dissipating, but the cynical part of me holds on to it for later. You know, just in case this feel-good situation does not work out.

You address my concerns, and apologize, and say all the words you are supposed to say. I smile, we laugh, things are better now, we are on good terms. I'm no longer mad and upset at you, because after all, as you explained it is not your fault.

Why should I believe you? Because you sound so sincere. Because I feel myself deflating like a balloon losing air, and it feels so nice to have someone listening to me finally. Because the things you are saying make sense.

Will this resolution last? I hope so. Only time will tell.

You tell me that suggestions are always welcome and I want to believe you.

I have to believe you, because it helps me get through another day.

Maybe things will be better now, because you tried to understand.

If nothing else, I believe that you tried. And that's something.

Sparks

I watch the fire longingly,
Yearning for something beyond myself,
Wishing to be free of this body,
Sparks flying in the air,
Going higher and higher,
I watch as they disappear into oblivion
Forever.

Tilting my head I see an airplane passing over us,
I wonder what we look like from up there.
Do they notice the fire blazing down here,
Or are we just a pinprick of light
In this dark world?
I stare into the fire wishing to BE it,
Wanting it to wrap me in its warmth.

I watch you, too.
But you don't notice me.
You never do.
And suddenly, my good mood dissipates,
As fantasy takes over,
And reality disappears,
All reason gone with it.

I need to get away from here,
I want to be a spark
And soar high above the crowd,
Pass you by
And keep on going forever,
And never come back,
Because it hurts.

I laugh at myself mockingly,
The things we go through to be noticed,
But alas, if only I were Her,
Or her, or her,
And not plain ole me.
Maybe I will never be good enough,
Or maybe you never thought about me at all.

I see myself as an observer would,
Laughing, talking, trying to impress the world,
I notice him noticing me,
Or maybe that is my imagination,
As I see him standing there,
Looking like Mr. Perfect,
But maybe not perfect for me.

I spin it in my head,
Until I have my whole life planned out
With the stranger who glanced my way.
He sits down, and I wish to be like that spark,
Brazen and bold,
I want to sit and say "Hi, is this seat taken,
Maybe we can talk awhile".

But instead, I get out of there as fast as I can,
Because I am invisible.
My spark has died out long ago,
Way up high in the atmosphere,
And this is no place for me to be,
When I can't seem to separate Fantasy from
Reality.

Helpless

Pressure building inside of me,
threatening to explode,
like a pressure cooker,
ill timing though that sounds.

Pressure waves pushing in on me,
suffocating me, crushing me,
under its weight.
My limbs feel paralyzed.

Want to put my head down,
and hide from those around me,
But they hold my head up,
and make me listen.

Force me to focus,
force me to write,
to speak, to say,
When I just want to be silent.

Feeling like I'm bound to fail,
failure frightening me,
scaring me into immobilization.
Can't even hide it.

They look at me pityingly,
knowing that I'm full of lies,
knowing that I'm dumb,
that I just can't "bring it".

Maybe it's all in my head.
Maybe I am my own saboteur.
Maybe I'm not as good as I thought I am.
Maybe I'm nothing at all.

So comes a time,
when I whisper for help,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when I ask for help,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when I beg for help,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when I scream for help till my voice is hoarse,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when tears well up in my eyes,
and I try to hide it
but also wishing someone will notice.

Until I realize that
My mouth never opened,
and no one can hear
the pleas in my head.

So comes a time
when it becomes evident
that I may just need someone
to save me from myself.

But no one hears me.
And no one comes.
Cuz I couldn't open my mouth
To ask.




Post Script: this was written last night, and the situation is now resolved.
Wishing everyone a good Shabbos :)

Save Your Breath

Save your breath
For those times when you will really need to speak.

Don't waste your time
Sparring with the enemy.

Don't waste your words on
Those people who hurt you.

Don't waste your words on
The haters, the ones who want to see you fail.

The lovers who think they know what's best for you
But try to keep you in the very shell you tried so hard to break out of.

The ones who try to help you
And insist on it
When you say you don't need help.

Are they trying to help you
Or are they glorifying their own need
To have and to hold?

Do you want me to want you?
Do you need me to need you?

Can you honestly not believe that I've changed?
I've grown. I'm all better now.

Maybe that means I don't need you any more.
And maybe that bothers you.

So you lash out at me.

What do I owe you?
Do I owe you an apology?
Have I wronged you In any way?

Do I owe you an explanation?
When I feel like you are invading my thoughts
My feelings my personal space
And planting things there that are false.

There was a time when I needed you.
Unhealthy as it was.
That time is gone now.

Friends for a reason.
But I know when it's worth it to keep talking-
And when its best to just save my breath.

So I hit delete
And I silently say goodbye to you
And that time in my life.

Stop trying to protect me.
When I say I'm fine and you choose not to believe it-
I know its time to let you go.

Don't stand so close to me

I saw his
Bright orange jacket
Through the train window.

He, friendly that he is
Nudges me with his elbow
In greeting.

He who offers me
Trail mix, and asks to
Borrow my book.

He who grows on me
While discussing class
And our nutty professor.

He who's name
Ends with a z
And is not very Jewish at all.

What harm can come from
Sitting and laughing
And discussing literature.

He who sits
too close to me
And holds out his hand to shake mine.

I pass by the train window
And find a different car to sit in,
One that is far away from him.

Better to be safe than sorry.

What are you good at?

“Find a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life”.

Do you love what you do? Do you do what you love?

I don't know how many people my age even know what they want to do with their lives. Many people switch jobs often because they are not happy with what they do.

Do you have a job, or do you have a career? 

This is a hard question for me to answer. I have a job, one which I enjoy and try to do my best at. In addition, I am working towards a career in a field that I am good at. I feel it is hard to plan ahead, because you can never know what will happen. I try to avoid answering questions that people ask me, "What do you want to do?". Even if I want to, it may not happen.

At my current job, my employers try to change things up every once in awhile, so people don't get too used to the job and slack off. I think this is a good thing for the company, but it is hard for me because I like my comfort zone, and I don't like trying new things once I get one thing down pat.

Last night I had a weird dream in which my boss made me try out child care, (teaching), and then he fired me because I did a horrible job with the children. (I will probably resent my boss tomorrow, and he will have no idea why.)

I know a lot of people who teach, or are assistant teachers, or work with children. I always said, I don't want to be a teacher. I am not one of those weirdos who are uncomfortable around kids and hold them like a football because they've never held a child before.

I like some kids, same way I like some adults but not all. Some kids are cute and easygoing, and some children get on my nerves. Some kids are like mini adults, and they say "I'm tired, I'm going to sleep now" (kids I babysat). Some kids make me smile, and some kids make me say things like "I'm never having kids".

I don't enjoy working with kids on a constant basis. They are exhausting, require a lot of attention and patience, which I have very little of.

How will I ever be a mother, you ask? I think I will just grow into the role, and hopefully learn to love it. My nieces are adorable. But I don't need to feed them or change their diaper or comfort them when they cry. I pass them off to my sister.

Once you know what you are capable of and what you are good at, it is important not to force yourself into a role that is not for you, lest you end up failing because you are not cut out for it.

I know what I'm good at. I just have to figure out how I can make a career out of it, and still enjoy it.

Everybody's got a dark side

Dark and twisted
Are my forte.
Hello Darkness,
and 3 AM,
My best friend,
where have you been,
haven't seen you in awhile.

Is this what they call being normal,
and sane,
what gain comes from sadness
and pain.
If only we can choose
our moods
And our baggage.

They say that everyone comes with baggage,
you need to learn to look past it,
and see the person hiding behind.
But what if the baggage
is a whole carousel,
What if you pay extra
for the excess weight?

You pay for it every single day,
when you wake up sad
and you can't explain why.
When your life seems pretty okay,
but you are mad for no reason,
and everything seems bleak
like you are looking at the world with dark glasses.

You speak a foreign language
because no one understands you
so you stop trying.
You, who claim to have great communication skills,
clam up and can barely get out the words,
to explain why you are so different.
Different. They say it with disdain.

Oh, that poem you wrote that showed your pain,
and your fear and your doubts,
did you not see the funny looks
on the faces of those who you showed it to,
wondering what is wrong with you,
and you wonder the same thing too,
as you raise your hands to shield yourself.

You want them all to go away,
yet you fear being alone forever.
You want them to ask,
but you feel like a freak.
You think they won't understand,
but maybe you never really tried to explain.
And maybe you are not that different after all.

Hello Darkness, my faithful friend.
You've been there with me through it all,
and every time a smile crossed my face
you stabbed your way through,
covering up the bright gay colors
and reminding me that
happiness was not mine to be had.

Oh, I tried, I tried hard.
But only the weak admit their pain,
and ask for help,
and even as you say that word you feel sick.
You think you are better, greater, smarter.
You think you are invincible.
Funny girl.

Oh pain, pretty pain.
I was disappointed to discover that
you did not attract attention,
nor sympathy.
Everybody's got a dark side,
we all suffer in our own way,
some not at all.

Oh to be happy all the time,
you fake ones.
What is your secret?
Shake them and make them break,
like a child mad at a doll.
Stupid, perhaps.
But then, how can anyone be happy all the time.

But you can't take my darkness,
just as I don't want the burden of your pain.
I wonder what would happen,
were you to discover the depths of my thoughts.
Would you run?
Don't answer that
until you know what you will find there.

Hello, Happiness.
Never expected to see you again.
But then one morning,
the sun streaming in my room,
and summer coming,
I realized that you are around
way more now than ever.

Yes, life happened.
I laugh because you are funny,
I smile because you are nice to me.
But as before,
there are no reasons,
no explanation,
for why everything is suddenly okay.

But hey, never look Darkness in the eye,
Don't ask for something you don't want.
Everybody's got a dark side.
You may take some time to get used to mine.
But I'm discovering that I like the sunshine better.
Contentment,
Fulfillment.

Goodbye Darkness.
Here, we part.
Hopefully for good.

Yay or nay?

Do you think this is helpful, or creepy?

Jew-in-a-box exhibit at Holocaust Museum in Germany.

I like the Chabad Rabbi's quote at the end: "Here Jews will be happy to answer questions without sitting in a glass box,"

We have been answering questions for centuries. Why the need to put us on display?

Propaganda

Whenever a tragedy occurs, The Internet responds swiftly and with heightened emotions, looking for an outlet for their thoughts, prayers and tears. It is understandable. As humans, we have a need to come together in a time of tragedy. We need to understand, we need to mourn, we need to comfort one another.

Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment and the chaos directly following a tragedy, misinformation gets passed around, people don't bother to check their facts, and stories become stilted and distorted.

I noticed on Facebook a picture of this beautiful little girl being shared over and over again, with the headline:

“R.I.P to the 8 year old girl who died in the explosion today. All my thoughts go.. #prayforboston"

Even though I had read in multiple articles that the 8 year old child who had died was a boy. (My father always taught me to verify your facts, and not always believe everything you read. It has served me well many times.)

Yes, a little boy named Martin Richard died yesterday. There is a picture of him looking cute and youthful, with one of his front tooth missing. He was waiting to hug his father at the finish line, and was tragically killed.

I don't usually react the way most people do. Sometimes, I just don't understand grief. Sometimes, I am unable to experience sadness the same way other people do. Maybe I cannot relate to pain on such a global and joint scale.

What bothers me is the way people jump on pain, on tragedy and use it for their own public needs. This little girl did not die. I have no idea who she is. But someone out there felt the need to take a picture and pass it around, even before any names or images of the victims were released.

Why? I don't know. Maybe they wanted to give people a place to say "We are so sad this happened, we are thinking about you and wish we could be there to grieve with you."

Human nature? Probably.

Maybe. Either way, I don't like how people inflate a tragedy, and then in a few weeks time they forget all about it. Is tragedy merely an opportunity for famous people to say things because they know people will be listening? Everyone points and says, looks what he said, look what she said, it is so beautiful and profound, let's quote them until the end of time.

And these famous people, do they mean what they say, or is this a platform for them to cry crocodile tears, give over carefully worded quotes and speeches which they know will be remembered forever after?

And if one does not 'like and share' as Facebook demands, does that mean they don't grief privately?

And if one does not grieve privately, does that make them a callous horrible person, or perhaps cynical, or hardened to pain?

No one should ever have to feel that kind of pain or tragedy firsthand.

Propaganda or not, may this tragedy encourage more good deeds and only help humans become more kind and understanding to each other. And hopefully G-d will see how affected people are by the fate of someone they never knew, and He will banish pain forever.

Oh, to be outside playing catch

Oh, the feel of fresh cut
grass on my bare feet,
tickling, itching, cool damp earth soothing.
Pollin tickling my nose,
Sneezing, breathing in the deep fresh
air, craning my neck to see all around,
So many sights and people to watch.

Oh, to be outside on this cool Spring day,
And not in here, this stuffy, cramped classroom,
with its faint smell of previous occupants.
Plants growing up the wall, tapping
at the window, begging to be let out,
jealously watching the trees outside
spread their branches leisurely,
stretching, thriving in the openness.

Daydreams taking me far away from
here, tittering laughter coming from
the corner, I missed the joke, mind elsewhere.
Watching the game, arm flexing unconsciously as if to
catch the ball, but can't reach through the glass and concrete.
Ball soars through the air, fumbling hands
trying to catch it.
Bounce, and miss, and grab, and arm drawn back
like a sling, forward in motion,
imagining I hear the ball whistling through the
air, but I just can't reach it.
Watch it descend in slow motion,
down...
            down....
                         down......

MISS!
If that were me, I would have caught
the ball.
Heart thumping,
running backwards,
out of breath,
running...
             running...
head tilted at an awkward angle,
everything riding on this,
just one chance...

SMACK!
Into my hand,
a red mark forming on my palm,
staring at it in disbelief,
I caught the ball!

But of course,
That is my imagination talking.
Outside beckons to me, yet here I
sit at a wooden table,
head craning to see out the window,
until people start giving me funny looks,
and I wonder if I missed anything important.

And the ball, the ball has rolled
behind a bush, and the people have all
disperesed.
Quad empty now.
Game Over.

Loser

It was self-sabotage really,
That dropped me from the race.
Starting with the best of intentions,
Planning to make it to the end
This year.

I feel like a cheater,
After a near-miss,
Carrying on as if
Nothing happened, as if
I was trying my best.

When inside I knew
That I was wasting my time,
That I was a fraud.
And so I missed another night
Intentionally.

And I felt bad,
Seeing the time pass,
Day turning to night,
And knowing that this time
I was really through with counting.

"London Bridge is falling down"
Perpetually, until the end of time,
Always falling, but never being rebuilt.
And when I fall, I can't repair.
I need to destroy.

Start again from scratch.
New beginning, new material,
No rips or tears,
No way to repair.
So build anew.

But what if there was no do-over?
What if you had to live with
Your small mistakes forever after,
Knowing that you went wrong
But unable to fix it?

The irritation build and builds,
Until one day you can't take it anymore.
Tear it to shreds,
Destroy it,
And watch the debris settle around you.

Knowing that perhaps
You will be left with
The broken pieces of Humpty Dumpty,
Unable to put it back together
Ever again.

There

Here, I struggle with my words,
Trying to explain,
Getting mad when you just
Don't seem to understand.

So I stop trying.
It is hard enough to speak my mind,
And have you stare back at me blankly,
Or ask me what I meant.

You want me to explain.
But I can't.
That's not how my mind works.
Move with it or you will be left behind.

But there, in that place of intellect,
Their eyes light up when I talk,
They gaze at me with interest,
Because they get it!

I am briiliant.
They understand me.
They praise me for my knowledge.
I leave feeling good, feeling worth something.

But I can't live there forever.
I return to this quiet little world,
Where no one seems to understand,
So I simply stop talking.

But that time,
Of tripping over my words
I can't get them out fast enough
Because I have so much to share.

And to be told that I am articulate.
They make exceptions for me.
That I will have no problem doing a presentation.
'Take it as a compliment'.

There, I am different.
Special. Understood.
Because the mind is a beautiful thing.
And my mind is worth something

There.

Do you really want to live forever?

A twitter app which will record people's personalities based on their tweets, and then continue to tweet for them when they pass on? Does it get any creepier than that?

"The LivesOn application will keep tweeting after you pass on. The service will utilize advanced analysis of your main Twitter feed, to carefully select appropriate subjects, likes, or articles that would have been likely to interest you, posting them on your behalf for your friends to read."

What happened to, once your heart stops beating you are dead?

I always find it a tad bit creepy when people post on deceased members' Facebook pages. Yes, they are no longer alive, so do yo really have to tell them, "So sorry to hear you died"? Will they reach beyond the grave and write back, "Thank you for your condolences"?

We only have one life to live, besides for cats who supposedly have nine lives. We are taught to live life to the fullest, take chances, spend each day like it's your last, etc. And one it's over, it's over.

So why would you want an artificial program continuing your supposed life for you?

There are movies and books like "P.S. I love you" where a dying husband writes letters to his wife and schedules them to be delivered after he dies. It is sweet and poignant and we cry and say how sad he died but how nice it is for the wife that she still has a part of him, like he is there with her.

A person may 'live on' after their death, whether or not they had the foresight to reach beyond the grave and let loved ones know that they are still around.

But keeping up your twitter feed once you pass on- I think that is taking it a little too far.

I think this may fall under 'no extraordinary measures'.

Happy Tweeting.

Woman in a Man's World

Easy camaraderie between friends,
and coworkers.
Just 'one of the guys'.
Except I'll never be a guy and I will never quite get their humor
and their quips,
their insults rolling off me like rain,
because I know they don't mean it,
and I can pack a mean punch too,
or rather, throw a mouse and hope he'll duck.

Their strength is reassuring,
and their laugh reminds me that it is easier to smile than to cry,
that quick wit will get the job done,
and slow on the draw will cause mistakes,
but they will be there to clean it up
as you smile sheepishly
and hope they don't comment.
Don't ask questions if you don't want the answer,
and hardly ever do you want the answer.

It may be hard to be a woman in a man's world,
grow your skin too tough and you will never be you,
but too thin and you will break
at their sniggering and crude humor.
Behind that fake smile, do you want to punch them?
For aiming where it hurts.
Until you realize that they are not laughing at you
but with you, and that they have accepted you
as one of them.

And that is when it is time
to get out of there
lest you turn into
just 'one of the guys'
and they will never again see you
as that elusive,
desirable, mysterious
superior WOman
in a Man's world.

Round-a-bout

Six feet between us, but worlds apart.
Caused a flutter in my heart.
So I said hey good-looking let's go out sometime...
Except I didn't.
Cuz that would be unacceptable in the world we live in.
Where shadchans rule with an iron fist.
You need space between you when you kiss dance
Except we don't dance cuz that would be like, wrong.
So wrong.
Wrong like your kids will be affected if you touch.
So a look is all you get.
Look but don't touch.
And saying hello?
Hel-no.
Never gonna happen.
No first you must find someone to make the call
That starts it all.
So it's like dun dun dun... hello shadchan?
Guess what? I met a cute guy.
So like, can you set us up?
Then they ask you:
So tell me... are you short? Are you tall?
Are you skinny, or fat, or in between?
Or curvy or muscular or any other way to say
Heavy "Beautiful".
Who's your mother?
Who's your father?
No, like who are they?
Are they a somebody?
Are you related to somebody?
No, I mean like, somebody.
Do you have yichus?
Do you have money?
Curly hair or straight?
Oh you wear a ponytail?
Do you work that ponytail?
Do you own that ponytail?
Did you ever get lower than an A on a test?
So like, are you frum?
No, I mean are you frum?
Do you own a tv?
Oh so you do watch movies.
Uhu. Let me just make a note here...
So how do you spell your name?
With a Y, or IE?
Oh your name is NOT Mushky?
Do you like mike n ikes?
So, like, can I have your number?

We do this dance,
Over and over again.
10 phone calls and 7 continents later...
'He's busy'.
'He's not dating right now'.
He 'His mother doesn't feel it's 'shayach'.
He asked all your friends about you....
He checked you out on Facebook...
He hired a secret investigator to find all the dirt on you...
And he's not interested.
He's busy.
Oh, did I say that already?

So, like, hey good-looking.
'How you doin'?'
No, how are you doing?
Are you mentally stable?
Do you have a job?
Are you smart?
Are you funny?
Not funny-looking.
You want to go get a cup of coffee?
You don't drink coffee?
What is wrong with you?
Oh me neither. How weird.
What is wrong with you?
Do you want to get a cup of tea?
How come no one says, 'let's go get a cup of tea'?
Weird, right?
So, um, listen, umm, I was wonderin’, can I have yo numba?
Oh so you don't give out your number?
Oh, so it's like that.
I see.
It's cool.

Well, stranger across the room...
You and I
May never be 'we'.
I would never shake your hand and say 'nice to meet you'
Cuz we would never shake hands chas veshalem 
Because it may not be nice to meet you.
But this whole 'system',
Let's be honest.
It's kind of exhausting.


Hello, Shadchan?
Oh he said YES???
Oh it was SO worth it.

(Said no one ever.)

Fail

Drumming my fingers,
Nervous energy,
Making me move.
Can they tell?

All eyes on me,
Suddenly,
Speaking fast and tripping up,
What should I say?

How can I prove
That I am worth something,
That I will not mess up.
So much pressure.

Follow the leader,
But I have never led.
And I don't like to follow.
This is not where I excel.

Forced into something
That I was never made for.
Lone wolf,
Thrust into a pack.

On my own,
I will be just fine.
On my own,
I excel.

Announce a "group project",
And my heart speeds up,
I can't sit still,
I'm going to screw up.

But the problem is,
If I fail,
I drag three other people will me.
Unless one person saves us all.

And that would just prove
That I was worth nothing
All along.
...

Bring. It. On.

Creating memories

She giggles as I finish counting to 10 and start 'searching' for her.

I've been playing this game a long time, I'm quite a pro.

"Hmmm, where could she be? Is she in the kitchen?"

I hear a tiny voice say 'No'.

Haha. She does not know how this game works.

"Hmmm... is she under the table?"

'No!'

Big smile on my face.

"Is she upstairs...?"

'Noooo'.

"Ah! Here you are! I found you!!".

She laughs. Her turn to look for me. I make it pretty easy. I hide on my bed with the covers over my head. She finds me right away. She doesn't shriek. She just stares at me.

Wherever I hide, she hides there right after she finds me. Where's the challenge in that?

So, I make it interesting. I pretend that I don't see her, as she follows me around, and keeps saying, "I'm here!". I tap her on the head and say, 'Excuse me little girl, have you seen RL?'. She says, "I'm here!". So I laugh and say, "Ohhhh you hid so well I couldn't find you!"

The best part of the game was when I hid her under the table and told her my brother was going to look for her so she should be very quiet. To which she responded (while in hiding) "Okay!"

We all had a good laugh.

She wanted me to hold her hand when she went down the slide, even though she insists that she is a 'big girl'. My gorgeous niece just turned 3 this Pesach. She doesn't need help putting on her shoes. She doesn't need help feeding herself. She laughs when I push her on the swing and says 'higher, higher!'.

But when I see her scared look as she sits on the top of the slide, and she says to me, "Hold me..." I hold her hand tight and catch her at the bottom.

When she leaves, I give her a big hug even as she squirms to get away. Every time I make a kissy noise she copies me. And when she wanted chocolate, even though she knows her parents will say no, she says, "Maybe someone could give me chocolate?" And we all laugh cuz she is so sneaky. When she wants something and she knows she can't have, she looks at it curiously and says, "What's that?" And my sister tells me, she knows very well what that is, she just had one of them.

Smart kid.

Pesach is all about family, and sometimes I can't stand mine. And sometimes home is the only place I feel comfortable, on a second day of yom tov when my makeup has rubbed off and I don't feel like going outside. When we fight about nothing and everything, and my father has to make shower times so everyone gets a turn, and everyone is screaming, and instead of helping I hide out in my room on the computer and say I'm helping by not getting in the way. And when everyone is eager to have chometz right after pesach and I am perfectly content with fruity pebbles.

When I was in high school and the end of yom tov meant going back to school I would dread it every time. But now it means going back to my own room in my apartment, back to work, back to my busy schedule. I am looking forward to it. Because it's a life I created and one where I belong.

It's 5 am and I have to get up in 4 hours to go back 'to life'. That's how it seems. This is my home, except I'm never here. And that's perfectly fine with me. Except I miss the quiet, I miss 5 am from my old life when it was okay to stay up the whole night because I had no obligations the next day.

But I can't wait to go home and unpack. It'll feel good to get back into a normal routine, and detox. I'm so sick of food.

Goodnight/ Good morning to all.

Spiritual Cleansing

Cleaning for Pesach means little to me these days. My cleaning consists of trying to decide if I should sell my chometz or throw it away, which cabinets in my apartment to sell, whether I should use this opportunity to thoroughly clean my room, or enjoy the fact that I don't need to.

I always enjoy introspection, to a degree. The best places to think are sitting by the water, or on a mountaintop, reveling in the beauty that G-d created. But I will not be waking up every morning at 3 am, to climb a mountain, to reach it by Sunrise, to sit there and take in the view, and meditate on my life. As tempting as that sounds.

We have many opportunities for cleansing and introspection, most importantly Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. But we learn that as we are physically cleaning our homes for Pesach, it is a good time to clean our souls as well.

Tonight and tomorrow is Yud Aleph Nissan, the birthday of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. It has even become a noteworthy day by the US government:

Education and Sharing Day USA (1978-Current)

 

To emphasize the vital role of education in society, the United States annually marks "Education and Sharing Day U.S.A."

Established in 1978 by a joint Congressional resolution, Education Day U.S.A. focuses on the very foundation of meaningful education: instructing our youth in the ways of morality and ethics, and teaching them an appreciation for divine inviolable values.

The Presidents designate annually Education and Sharing Day U.S.A. on the anniversary of the birth of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, who dedicated his life to the cause of education.

The Rebbe is the one who implemented special Mivtzahs for ones birthday, and he taught us to celebrate it and use in as a special day of prayer and introspection.

As the Rebbe is a Nasi Klali (general leader) and contains a part of every Jew, we celebrate his birthday in a fitting way. It is also a time to give a 'gift' to the Rebbe, and the things that were most important to him were working on our avodas Hashem, and most importantly, Ahavas Yisroel.

How can I make the Rebbe proud of me?
How can I better my Avodas Hashem?
What am I not doing now that I should be doing?
What am I doing now that I should not be doing?
How can I become a better person, a better Jew, a better friend, a better daughter, a more helpful member of society?

Being that this is not a diary, I will not answer these questions here. I find that I have little time, or rather little opportunity to look inwards and think about change. But if you never change you will always remain the same. If you are not constantly growing, you will fall. I have learned this the hard way.

I will not be home in time to physically help clean for Pesach, but I know my soul can use some scrubbing.  

I may not have a mountaintop, but I know that if I 'close my eyes and take a ride inside', I will remember what it felt like.

(Real Picture taken with my camera in Eilat)

Paranoia

Conspiracy theories,
With truths right under our noses,
But we don't see them,
Because they hide it from us.

They want to control us,
They want to destroy us.
Population reduction,
Workers camps.
All this right on our soil.

Or so They say.

Looking around furtively,
Not sure who to trust,
Who is real,
And who is part of the lies.

And who created these lies?
And who is trying to feed you the truth?
Because they try to control your thoughts too.
So many theys,
That trust becomes hard to give.

Everywhere you look you start to see things,
People that are not as they seem.
Is that simply a man in a suit,
Or is he someone sent to watch you?
Are They listening right now?

You say the Holocaust can never happen again,
Will never happen again,
But They tell a different story.
Open up your eyes, look around you.
This place is not safe.

And so, the doubts start creeping in,
And with it, the fears,
So many fears.
And reality starts to blur,
With what They say is lurking out there.

But somehow, no one else has heard of this.
Or only a small group.
Is it because no one cares,
No one fights back,
No one knows.
Or simply because none of it is true.

 Paranoia sets in.

And as they take you away,
White white walls surrounding you,
'I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy!'
But nobody hears you,
They don't hear you
Because they won't listen to what you say.

I huddle on the Subway,
Let it rock me into a false sense of security,
Is that a homeless man,
Or an agent in disguise?

I close my eyes,
And try to block out the images,
And the words,
The words that just keep coming.

And I look inwards,
And try to remember what I believe in,
Who I believe in.

I hate it when They make me doubt everything,
Because sometimes I'm just not sure what I believe.

It's official!

Today is the first official day of Spring!

Ironically, it snowed this week.

I am sick with a cold.

It doesn't feel anything like Spring.

It is 34 degrees F outside.

Last year I was in sunny Orlando for Pesach, and this year... Not in Jerusalem.

I still can't decide if I like Spring or Summer better.

With Pesach a few days away, I wish everyone an easy time cleaning, cooking, preparing, shopping, worrying, stressing, freaking.

I can't wait for the day when I can switch from a coat to a sweater, when the sun will shine down and the air will smell sweet and fresh and I can inhale deeply and say, "Ahhh, I can feel Summer coming."

Happy Spring!

They got me too

What gets me out of bed at 9 am on a Sunday? Not much.

Ping. My phone tells me I got an email from my bank. I get these every day. Usually they just tell me my daily available balance.

This one said: "We detected irregular activity on your debit card".

Oh, B of A. I thought you had my back. I thought I was exempt from fraud. It was happening to everyone else lately, but no, it could never happen to me.

Dragging myself out of bed, I call the fraud department. They go through each transaction that I did not make, and put a stop to the card.

"Did you make a purchase for World of Warcraft?". No sir, I did not. I don't really know what it is. Some video game?

This reminds me of an episode in F.R.I.E.N.D.S where someone stole Monica's identity. Instead of pressing charges, she joined the same tap dancing class that the woman/thief used her card to purchase. Monica decided that the 'Fake Monica' was living her life better than she did. So she lied about her name, befriended the thief and went to all these fun exciting places with her. (She was probably fitting the bill for both of them.)
In the end, the thief gets apprehended, Monica is sad and returns to her own boring life.

These days, credit card fraud is so intricate it is very hard to trace it. I always assumed I would feel more violated and upset if I ever got credit card fraud. (This is called impact bias for any psych majors.) But I'm actually a little sad for the person who feels they have to stoop so low in order to get what they want.

I'll get my money back, and I hope it never happens again. You can't exactly stop using a credit card in the fear that it may be stolen. Then again, if you only had cash and it was stolen, it is very unlikely that you'd ever see it again. At least credit cards have some measure of security.

I have some weird desire to try out World of Warcraft.

Beauti-Full

They say that
"Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder".
But what if you don't behold
The same beauty that I see
Staring back at me
every day?

They say that
You can study a poem
Or a beautiful painting
For years, without really seeing it,
Without understanding
Its very essence.

G-d is my sculptor.
He is the brilliant artist
That crafted me
From His very being
In every fine detail,
And every blemish.

Your eyes are not my eyes,
As your heart will never beat
Inside my chest.
We may never be physically one.
But the other half of my soul
Would feel the void.

You may see false beauty
'At first sight'.
You may never see it at all.
But 100 years down the line
Will you still find beauty
As you did that very first time?

Beauty is subjective.
I cannot wait around,
For you to 'come around'
And see the very beauty
That has existed
Since the day that I was created.

What do you do?

What do you do?
Is a question you will come across
Over and over again
As strangers struggle to define you.

I want to tell them that I am a writer,
But there are negative connotations that come along with it.
Oh, so you're a writer.
Dot dot dot.

Fill in the blanks.
Will they even understand
What I think deep inside
Will they see it as I do?

Will they interpret the humor,
The poetry, the pain?
Will they tear up when I cry
And rejoice when I smile?

When they ask what type
And I don't quite know how to answer that
Will they know that I write a little of everything?
That I just can't categorize me?

When they ask if I've been published
And I cite magazines they've never heard of
Will they take me seriously?
Or will they dismiss me out of hand?

Will they care of the internal struggles I go through?
When they ask to see my writing
And I so want to show them
But I fear what they will think.

Will they scorn, will they mock, will they ridicule me?
For something they think is nothing,
And I used to think was everything,
But now I'm not so sure.

Fear and security

Next week Tuesday, President Obama will be leaving the country to visit Israel for the first time during his presidency.

Next week Tuesday, Vice President Joe Biden will be leaving the country to go to Rome for the new Pope's inauguration.

It is uncertain whether their trips will overlap. It may leave the country with no physical presence of a leader in charge.

That leaves John Boehner, Speaker of the House, 'in charge' in case anything were to G-d Forbid happen to either the president or vice president while they were away.

Then again, previous presidents have been assassinated on our very own soil. So what is the difference?

Most people won't even notice or care. Very few people think about or anticipate every small danger before it happens. It is when we are thrown into tumult that people feel scared and look towards a higher authority for guidance.

We have that every day. We have a Higher Authority every second of every minute of every hour that we are alive. It is amazing how much trust we put into the hands of mere flesh and blood.

We trust doctors every day. We trust that there are (some) politicians looking out for our best interest. We trust lawyers with our freedom and our lives.

Not everyone likes or trusts or respects the president. But that is how it is during every presidency. The fact is, if we were to find ourselves suddenly and swiftly without a leader, many people would be scared enough to realize that the very security which they took for granted is missing.

I don't trust very many people. Trust must be earned, never given freely. But the only one we must trust, and in fact we are commanded to, is G-d. 

So really, Tuesday will be just like any other day.

Backwards thinking

Why would you choose to be poor?

This family is living with no money, only the good will of other people, "as activists who are on a money strike to protest what they call our “excess-consumption society.”"

In short, they take favors from other people to protest the fact that our society is wasteful and spend-thrifty.

Yes, we are a wasteful society. Yes we have way more than we need, and we waste a lot of it. But how is it a solution to- make no money have no money spend no money- but TAKE from other people who have and make and spend money, on you? As the wife put it: “As consumers, we support the system, and we are all responsible for making a wasteful society,” Raphael Fellmer, 29, told Yahoo! Shine. “This strike is to inspire other people to reflect about our other possibilities.”

What other possibilities? Living off other people? Draining their resources? The man in question took a trip around the world "simply depending on the goodwill and excess resources of others".

So, hmmmm... Instead of maybe, making a billion dollars and sharing it with other people, or using it to help the environment, you abstain from money altogether, unless it comes from someone else's pocket? Smart.

What about this guy? 

Matt Damon is protesting the fact that there are people in various developing countries with no clean toilets. He says that we can give $25 for one person to have clean water for life.

His solution:

"In protest of this global tragedy, until this issue is resolved, until everybody has access to clean water and sanitation, I will not go to the bathroom."

So, Matt Damon? How much money do you have? Maybe give some of that money to buy people toilets, instead of causing yourself bodily harm. The same way that "eat your vegetables, there are starving children in Africa" will not feed those starving children, refraining from going to the bathroom will not solve the global problem you so kindly pointed out.

As one great commentor put it: "So should I flush the $25 down the toilet? Will it reach the right people?" (Beck Beck)

Apparently, Damon was joking, and merely trying to spread awareness. You sure got my attention.

On to Rosa Parks. Yes, the woman who started the Civil Rights movement, and helped African Americans gain equality. We all know the famous story of how she refused to get off a full bus and give her seat to a white person.

On December 1 2005, exactly 50 years to the day that Ms. Parks refused to budge, there were signs on all public buses throughout America stating that she changed history and inspired us all. "It all started on a bus... Please reserve this seat in her memory."

So, there were many many empty seats that day, causing old and young people alike to stand in the isle, in order to commemorate the day that Rosa Parks refused to stand? Does that not sound backward? Maybe they should have put EXTRA seats on the bus, and said, whoever is tired, come rest your feet!

Sometimes it makes me laugh when I see supposedly smart people doing incredibly stupid things.

Maybe they just don't have a 'Yidishe Kup".

Slipping away

I so want to write,
but don't know what to say,
and I'm slipping, slipping away.

The crowd disappears,
at the end of the day,
and I'm slipping, slipping away.

I'm so scared,
of that moment,
when you realize time moved on.

And there's no turning back.
No more yesterdays.
No more familiar laughs.

You tell yourself that you're busy,
that life comes first,
so many things to do.

But the words trickle out,
and the fans have gone silent,
The arena has closed for the night.

Onto bigger and better things,
that never came.
and time keeps fading away.

I miss those days,
when I talked and had no care
as to who was listening.

But times have changed,
Have I?
Is it time to say goodbye?

But I'd miss it so,
With no where to go,
and I'm slipping, slipping away.

Oh drama drama

Pity me, pity me,
for I am to be pitied.

In this world, pity abounds,
at the sound of
another's misfortune,
Do you pity,
or feel glee
that it was not 'me'.

Do you feel happy,
when someone else succeeds,
where you have failed,
over and over again,
when will it end?

Do you care?
Care not,
Tear not,
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
Alas, to where will you flee?

There is no where left to run,
to hide,
do you cry inside?
Do you laugh,
What do you do?
What is expected of you?

I just find it funny,
so funny,
and you may think I am crazy,
though you'll never understand.
But I want to laugh
and sing.
At someone else's good fortune.

And what of me?
Do I deserve pity?
Oh no, no.
No drama.
No pain.
No gain.
No hurt.
No growth.

So they say.
What do they know?
What do I know?
Maybe I know nothing,
and You know it all.
You. As in, Capital Y-O-U.

Not you.
Or me.
For we
know naught
For we are fraught
with pitfalls.
At every turn.

We yearn to
return to You
Every day.
But today,
I speak words,
words words words,
that mean nothing.

Giddddddddy.
It's funny,
really.
And as the world turns,
here I sit,
in my own little corner,
in my own little chair,
and the fear
has gone.

For "It's all good".

Haha.

It will be.

Memories

I want to have those kinds of memories where you say, "Remember when we were little and we used to do those crazy things?" And even though they groan and say, "Oh G-d don't remind me, I can't believe we were that stupid", you love that you can share that with someone and be able to reminisce about it years later.

New relationships are great, but old relationships are like fine wine. And you will always share the memories, that time and distance cannot erase.

I just want normal

I have an urge to throw my phone across the room because I don't want to hear you talking anymore. Aggressive? Me? Not usually. I'm just tired. And frustrated. Because I hate this game. And you know it. And yet you force me to participate.

I love that you are trying. Once upon a time you left it upon my shoulders alone, and refused your help. Now, I don't care. It's just a game to me, a cruel game in which I seemingly have many disadvantages, and I am trying to make you understand why I am just so sick of playing.

They may think I am ill, because my hands are shaking, my foot is tapping, and I can't sit still. Nervous energy, they call it. Mostly because you called and left me 3 long messages, and I don't have the time or mental capacity to deal with it right now.

I just want you to understand that what might be okay for you might not be fine for me. What might be 'good enough' for you is not acceptable to me. We are very different. You may not understand me but I am trying my best to explain.

And when I am tired and frustrating, I just stop talking. Because I can't explain myself. Sometimes it is just too hard. 

I just want normal. I want it so badly. Yes, normal has many definitions. Normal is subjective. But please, let me have my own form of normal. Let me define myself, my needs, my desires. Do not tell me what you think is good for me, because as well as you know me, I think I may know myself a little more.

You tell me it's okay. It's okay. You understand. I hope you do. But if not, you decided to respect me and not push it. And I appreciate that.

Because I just want you to understand my definition of normal.

In Debt We Trust

We watched this video in class. Quite long, but very informative. As you can see, the National debt has grown in the last few years by a few trillion. Most likely it will keep going up.

We discussed how credit card companies push credit on people that they know cannot afford to pay it off. I was shocked to hear how young college students around my age are 15-20 thousand dollars in debt. It baffles me. How can you spend money that you don't have?

I have seen both sides of the coin. Growing up, in my house I knew what the word 'creditor' meant when I was very little. They were the 'bad' people who wanted money that we didn't have. When we got caller id, we learned not to answer when they called.

Talking about money usually makes me very uncomfortable. I hate owing people money, I hate borrowing money from people. I usually don't have a problem lending people money, but I feel bad asking them to repay me.

Understandably, growing up in a household where money was tight, one can go one of two ways- either follow in their parents' footsteps, and spend what they don't have. Or make the smart choice and budget well.

Here's the other side of the coin- my grandparents are very smart with their money. I know that they bought a house straight out. They don't believe in mortgages.

Contrary to what the video portrays, no one was throwing credit cards at me. In fact, I was denied the first few times I applied. The reason- I had no credit. 'Derrrr'. How can I get a credit card to build up credit if no one will give me a credit card because I have no credit?

I do now have one credit card. I pay it off regularly. I don't treat it like fake money. I only use it if I know I can pay it off within the month. I B"H have a nice sum of money in savings. I am proud of myself.

My mother said it is a great thing that I am doing. I don't think so. I think it is just common sense.

Then again, common sense isn't all that common.

With G-d's help, I hope to never know what it is like to be in debt, or, as a classmate put it, to be so 'Po' that I can't even afford the o and r.

Pro·fan·i·ty

Old man,
Stop embarrassing yourself,
and us,
When you 'cuss'
like a drunkard.

You sound like a fool,
not cool,
We don't talk like that.
At least not I.
I try.

Do you want to fit in?
Though not a sin,
you sound like the 'younguns'
with their pants half off.
Makes me cringe.

Does self-respect
mean nothing anymore,
You have tenure,
and a position of authority,
Professor at a University.

Yet you curse like,
you are one of 'us'.
Except you are not.
And never will be.
And we don't talk like that.

Please stop.
Get your mouth out of the gutter,
and start talking
as expected of
a man of your stature.

As old as
my grandparents,
and yet you curse like
a bum
from the slums.

And it doesn't make me
want to listen to you
very much.
No sir.
It does not.

When you curse like that.

Hangover

I think I'm drunk.
Not on happiness, or love.
No, none of those for me.
Not this year anyway.

I think I may be drunk.
As I watch the road blur in front of me.
Is the road wet?
Or are those tears in my eyes?

And why do I cry?
And why?
As the anger pours forth from me,
And I feel the wrath.

At Haman's name,
I stamp my feet,
And think of all the evil in the world,
And wish it to be gone.

Yes, even the evil that has touched me,
And I think that must be selfish,
But I want so very badly,
To be rid of these demons once and for all.

I think I may be drunk,
The lively music still playing in my head,
The gorgeous faces of the children,
The sticky cotton candy.

And the crumbs, oh the hamentashen crumbs.
They are everywhere.
Even on the dance floor.
And as I show my moves, the room blurs.

I wonder if this blackness
Which engulfs me on the
Supposedly happiest day of the year,
Can be drowned out in any way.

Will alcohol take off the edge?
Will it make the darkness that much lesser?
Will the evil in the world be gone,
along with my senses?

The music blasts in the car,
And I can't hear my own voice,
And that is probably for the best,
Because I think I may be screaming.

And as the barrier looms ever closer,
And I realize I may hit it,
I know it would be of my own doing,
Because alas, I am stone cold sober.

It started with a whisper...

It always starts with just a rug. And then it grows into a whole house.

I like buying things for other people. It makes them feel good, and consequently, I feel good about it. But I am really not that great at remembering birthdays or special days. Once in awhile I will get a burst of inspiration, a thought that I should send someone a gift, or a card. A wedding present, or maybe just money, since I am horrible at gift ideas. How much money should I give? Is it too late to give someone a wedding check 4 years later? Welcome to my brain.

Once I decide to do something nice... then I start thinking about every single person that I know whom I haven't sent a card or bought a gift for in awhile. I am an extremist. Either all or nothing. Everyone, or (usually) no one. So instead of sending just one Shaloch manos to one friend, the list grows bigger and bigger, more elaborate, more people.

Hmmm... should I give that lady who invited me to her Shabbos meal that one time? My first grade teacher? The crossing guard?

If I think to send my grandmother a birthday card, then it reminds me of all the relatives I have neglected over the years.

So I will either be sending many gifts with notes saying, "10 years too late but... Happy Birthday!".

Or I will save myself a headache and do nothing.

Happy Purim, and if you get a Shaloch Manos from me, just know that you hold a special place in my heart.

My (everything home-made even the frosting) Shaloch Manos:

Depth perception

When your hand misses the light switch by a few feet...

When your pen somehow never makes it to your desk...

When you almost walk into a door because it looked closer than it was...

When your brain is tired you cannot accurately perceive depth.

When you are tired it is hard to translate your thoughts into words.

When you are tired the world seems to move in slow motion.

When you are tired your reflexes are slow.

Your guard is down.

Something that used to bother you may not even receive a passing thought.

Something that shouldn't bother you makes you so mad.

You can't explain it. The second you wake up and look at your clock and realize you are an hour late for work...

The whole day is thrown off.

When the person drinking coffee says 'I'm so tired', and you do not ever drink coffee nor can you drink coffee since it is a fast day and you just want to tell them- "You don't know what tired is".

When you have an urge to cry for no reason- I think it's time to get some sleep.

No good deed goes... unrewarded?

Good job, little boys and girls. Put away your toys, don't fight with your siblings, respect your parents, don't steal.

Don't steal. We are taught that at a young age. One of the commandments in Jewish law is to return a lost object that you found to its rightful owner. The law is so intricate, in fact, that if you see a loaf of bread lying in the street, you can not just pass it by, you must take it and find its owner. Only if you are certain that the owner has given up all hope of ever finding the lost item may you keep it.

Read this article about a brother and sister who found a large sum of money on the street, and returned it to its rightful owner. Clap clap clap. Yay them. Except, they weren't little kids. They were 21, and 25 years old. So what is so special about doing the right thing?

They were rewarded, they were praised, they were offered jobs and given $200 gift cards each, and an anonymous person bought the girl a laptop. All for doing something that is morally correct, and halchically required. The children's father even said that he 'was "in awe" of what they did.' Why? Why is it so shocking that 2 people would do the right thing instead of, say, keeping the money for themselves?

I think I will go around doing good deeds just to get noticed. And hey, a new laptop wouldn't hurt.

A tiny sliver of truth

I wondered when the words would dry up,
the page would go blank,
and my mind would stop thinking,
my heart would stop dreaming.

I wondered when I'd freeze up in fear,
paralyzed, unable to move.
Unaware, of the world out there,
shrunken to my tiny reality.

I hold his little body close to me,
as he drifts off to sleep.
I gasp, and he jumps,
startled awake.

I rock him gently and pat his back,
and tell him that everything will be okay,
that we are going to be just fine.
I know he believes me.

I believe it too.
I know I will be okay.
I know, because here I am,
years later, strong as ever, and still going.

I know, because every time life kicked me down,
I got right back up,
and laughed in its cruel face,
And steeled myself even more.

But sometimes,
I don't want to be just okay anymore.
Sometimes,
I don't want to be just fine.

Sometimes,
I want to scream to the world,
how I'm feeling,
Spray it on the wall for all to see.

Sometimes,
I want to get mad at how things turned out,
except I'm not really sure
where to address my anger.

I will be okay.
I will be just fine.
Sometimes,
that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Be Mine

Like putty in my hands
I move you, shape you
into something
that works for me.

I want you to be
my every dream
the one who completes me. 
And sets me free.

But we
were never meant
to be together
you and I.

We try
over and over again
but then
we destroy each other.

Together
we are good.
And bad.
We make each other mad.

I'm sad
knowing that we
will never be friends
again.

But when
time moves on
and I'm able to see
more clearly.

I know that the best thing for me
is to let you go.
We both know
that we hurt each other.

Like a mother
who watches her child
walk away.
It's okay.

I know now
that without me
you will shine.
We will both be fine.

Because you were never meant to be Mine.

Commit to the moment

I rush home from work, checking my phone for the time every step of the way. I arrive home, out of breath. 5:30 on the dot. Good timing. I quickly say hello to my roommate, asking her about her day. Sit down to a quick dinner, relishing every second I have to breath.

5:50. Got to go. Darting through foot traffic, trying to get around the slow walkers without appearing to be rude. I rush towards the Subway, and seeing the throng of people walking up the steps towards me, I know I've just missed the train. Oh well. On the days when I get on just at the last minute, I feel good about it, like leaving that extra minute early really helped.

This is my life now. I work full time, and I go to school full time. I'm exhausted all the time. I have no time. You see the pattern?

I love it, and I'm so proud of myself for what I'm doing. On my way to school after a long tiring day of work, I grumble in my head. Why am I doing this, I'm so tired, I don't want to drag myself out again. But then I tell myself, just do it. Just walk. Just go. Just this one class. Just these 2 hours. Then you will be able to go home and go to sleep.

I was never one for commitment. I dreaded the question, "So what are you doing in the summer? Or next year?" Who knows that far in advance. Certainly not I. I take it day by day. Semester by semester. And slowly, I'm doing it.

When your life is so full thank G-d, and you don't have a lot of time, you find yourself cherishing the time that you do have. The twenty minutes that I have from when I get home from work until I leave for school, feels like such a long time, because I can breath and relax a bit. My one night off a week feels like a vacation. My weekends stretch out forever.

The key is to commit to each moment. Nobody said anything about a lifetime. Whatever you are doing, whenever you are doing it, be THERE and only there. Forget about everything else. Forget about what you have to do tonight, tomorrow, next week. Forget about the phone call you must make, the report you have to do. Be in the moment and live in the moment, and make it the best moment you can.

I'm working towards a degree, and I hope to finish it, however long it takes. I see it as investing in my future. I know there's a chance I may never 'make it', but right here right now in this moment, I'm doing it. And that feels really good.

Tznius at the Grammys

We've all heard it for years: "Frum girls these days have a problem with tznius. We need to crack down on them now, to fix the problem. Skirts too short, legs too bare, clothes too tight, etc".

We all thought, 'ya ya, okay, so we can be better, but at least we don't dress like them'- them being 'the outside world'. We don't dress like girls looking for a good time, we don't show all we've got.

But the world finally got the memo- tznius is not just for frum girls anymore. Sit up and take notice.

In a memo sent out to the guests of this years Grammy awards ceremony, there are now strict dress codes in place. In short, the memo says what we all already know- that your private parts need to be kept private. As they say, common sense isn't all that common.

The website that leaked the memo, Deadline.com wrote: "Isn’t it pointless for CBS Standard And Practice to issue this ‘Wardrobe Advisory’ in advance of the 55th Annual Grammys broadcast this Sunday when nudity is the norm at that awards show?"

This is true. Who will actually abide by this? Will there be peer pressure to follow the rules, or peer pressure to defy the rules? After the Grammy awards on Sunday, there were countless articles about the stars that 'didn't get the memo', and showed too much flesh.

Do they enjoy showing off their private body, or are they so used to the pressure of competing, that when it comes down to it- they simply have a problem covering up?

I think we can all take a lesson from this when the world sits up and says- enough is enough. It is time to enforce the rules.

Palestinian Rights

You have the basic human right
To live
And breath
And exist,
As it is God's will.

You do not
Have the right
To instill fear in our hearts
Every day
That our brothers and sisters might not make it out alive.

You do not
Have the right
To hurt and kill us at every turn.

You do not 
Have the right
To kidnap our soldiers,
And hold them for years like animals,
While you sit comfortably in our jails like kings.

You do not
Have the right
To take our provisions,
Our food and medicine, given freely,
And use it to make yourselves stronger
To kill us some more.

You do not 
Have the right
To call yourselves victims,
While you victimize us every day.

You do not
Have the right
To equality,
When you behave like animals.

You do not
Have the right
To protest at the injustice being done to you,
When you have no idea
Of what is just and right.

You do not
Have the right
To a land that you simply wish
To destroy.

If these are the rights
Of which you speak,
Then no,
You do not
Have any rights
At all.