I grew up in an environment that is very different than my sister’s. My sister was born in USA, and raised in Canada all her life. She speaks Arabic sometimes like Armenians did long ago in Lebanon (ie. Masculine and Feminine phrases are always mixed up), and she cannot read or write. She recently took a voyage to the middle east, Lebanon to be exact to see the family. She saw and stayed in the Palestenian refugee camp that has been there for 60 years. She heard guns in the middle of the night, she saw how poor people are, no electricity, muddy streets, water to be bought because the sink’s water is not healthy, and people who barely were living day by day. She saw the war torn area of Beirut from the Israeli invasion in July 2006. She saw 2 weeks ago Hassan Nasrallah in his car with people cheering down the streets when the 3 prisoners were freed from Israel and over 120 bodies returned to be buried. She saw so much in 40 days than she did in her almost 13 years of life.

I felt bad for her because she saw everything that our parents have immigrated from country to country to avoid. She saw why we were refugees and separated from other family members. She saw what it is like to be a Palestenian and Lebanese and how such a beautiful land was torn to pieces by political war fare and a neighboring hateful country. I felt bad for her. That’s the reason I refused to go to Lebanon. I refused to go because I didn’t want to see what I lived my entire life trying to avoid and forget. Also, I refuse to go to Palestine because I will not step into a land that is mine but I am not allowed to live in. I just felt bad for my sister, she saw too much, and finally understood.

She came back sad, broken hearted because she saw most of the family. She saw cousins, aunts, uncles, and was happy to realize that the family is big and she had other people that loved her as well. That we are not alone in this world. But she asked, “why can’t we all live together?”

Funny how attached she got in 40 days… that’s what I tried to avoid. I didn’t want the attachment because I didn’t want to go back to Canada with the constant questions, “why God us? What have we done? An entire nation? An entire culture? Why did we have to be spread all over the world and cannot be with the people we love?”

Depressed, They said what?

I was chatting with my best friend Lisa earlier. How I met her 2 years ago through my blog will always be memorable to me as long as I live. She emailed me out of the blue in February of 2006 one evening and told me that she goes to the University where I work and has the same problems as me. It was a meeting by fate. We only met because we have problems. That was really all we had in common.

I met her the next day, and I still remember it like it was yesterday. I left work during my lunch brake in that cold February day, and just went to the Library and found her. At that moment I didn’t make any judgments of the type of person she is. I didn’t think of why in the world I am meeting a person off my blog who believed that she had the same problems as me. Was it really fate?

On that day she told me that she shares the same birthday as me, but is a year younger. I was a bit shocked, but thought, no, this is a coincidence. Why her?

Our hour meeting at noon turned out to be a 2 hour meeting. Maybe even more. I don’t remember going back to work before 2. We talked and talked like we have known one another for years and we were just catching up. That bond of loneliness brought us together. Two torn hearts wondering why life turned out the way it did.

Her story is worse that mine in detail, but similar in actions. What did she do and how much did she sacrifice for someone she loved? What did I do and how much I sacrificed as well? It was too much. Far too much.

Then the days passed by. She lived a completely different life than me. We are opposite people in actions, reactions, and life choices. The more I got to know her, the more I was curious of why she was acting the way she did. Is this her type of reaction to loneliness? I felt that she lived two lives that somehow she was forced into. She was forced to be someone else when loneliness hit her more and more.

I didn’t understand it at the time, but I questioned it in my head. I just learned to be quiet and watch. If I gave advice, what was I going to gain? Would she change the way she is? I didn’t think so. The more she tried to change, the more lonely she felt. The harder she tried to forget and move on, the lonelier she became. She has a heavy shield around her. Worse than mine, or maybe similar. I don’t know. I never was able to analyze my self. All I know, that she expressed her loneliness in completely different ways than what I would have done.

At times, out of selfishness and wishing that I wasn’t the only person who has wasted years of her life, I just listened to her to make my self feel better. I kept wondering that maybe fate brought her to me to learn and feel another person’s pain. That I am not alone, and others suffer worse, and react worse to situations than me.

Me. What about me? I forgot who I am. I look into the mirror every day, and count the number of white hairs at the edge of my forehead. I look at my eyes and see that I have become a sad person. That a smile is hard to get out of me. I laugh because I have to. I smile because it is the only way to show others that I am alright. I can’t even walk alone anymore without thinking, what if? Why me? Why her? Why us? Is this our fate?

She moved shortly after I met her back to her home city. I didn’t miss her much at first. I wanted to test her motives and what type of person she was. All of the sudden she would come and visit. And she constantly did times and times again. I then realized that she would travel the distance for someone she cares about. In return, I would anxiously be waiting for her to come so I won’t feel that I am alone. We share those moments of simple happiness of being together and forgetting why life has turned out the way it did for us. To just forget.

However, earlier this evening, she was telling me that she called him. The one that she loved, the one that broke her heart, the one that made her life miserable for the past 2 years. And then she said to me, “his number doesn’t work anymore. Neither does his work number.” I just said, “maybe he is dead.” Don’t people die? Or we just wish they die so we can finally forget. Obviously my pessimistic answer didn’t please her, but that ounce of hope that she possesses is the same ounce that is left in me that I desperately want to remove from inside my heart. I want to forget. Things are gone. Things ended. I want her to understand that as well so maybe both of us will finally move on. To finally realize that we can’t keep pretending and living a memory of our past.

The memory is dead. It really is.

Depressed, They said what?

When I was in my teens I knew people who were older than me and they kept telling me that being in your 20′s is probably the best or worst thing you can ever go through.

I say it is the worse.

Why is life so complicated when we are in our 20′s?

Life is not complicated at all, but we make it complicated because we are young adults trying too hard to shape our lives, our careers, and try to be part of society and make a name for our selves.

How do we solve our problems?

We don’t solve our problems, instead, we create another problem to cover the first one. We think that two wrongs can make a right, but life does not work that way at all.

How do we deal with problems?

Most of us in this age group are quite irrational thinkers and we try to solve problems now. Now is not the way to go about things. We live in such a fast paced society that is making us act this way.

Why are we so emotional?

I noticed most people in my age group are not only emotional, but hysterical at times. We are emotional for various reasons. We want to get married, find a perfect career, have a perfect house, have perfect neighbors, and even have perfect children. The problem with us that we look back a generation of our parents and think, well, they did it, why can’t we? Has life changed so much that the gap between thinking and the outcomes we strive for are so far apart?

I am just tired. I keep thinking and thinking and wondering why my life turned out this way. I had such different view points and future dreams when I was 21 or 22. Now, I don’t even think of tomorrow because I don’t know what to expect anymore.

Blah Blah, Depressed, Random Thoughts

I am in therapy, and this is what I do to kill the unproductive hours at work.

Click to enlarge images.

Depressed, Sleepy Post, Whatever!

As hours pass by I just spend it thinking and thinking; as a result, my head ends up spinning in a million directions. I woke up this morning from my 3 or 4 hours of sleep with nauseating pain in my chest and head. I don’t know what is wrong with me and how I ended up this way. Why did I end up this way? I don’t ever want to discuss my real problems on my blog and I never will. Yet, I hit the surface on many of them and discuss the ones that I feel the time is appropriate for me to talk about them.

I ask my self these constant questions which many of you pretty much ask your self or even asked me about; who am I? Some of you even hate my guts and still come back, subscribe to my Twitter or RSS or email subscriptions.

But why?

I then keep reading my latest blog posts and guest posts and some of my controversial posts and wonder, why? I keep asking my self what have I done and why is everyone so interested? I wouldn’t be interested in me, and pretty much I would hate half the crap I have written here and never come back. However, I wrote it and I published it. I wrote how I felt as a person. Sometimes about the most mundane issues that make me question why? Many times people email me thanking me that I had the courage to speak out. Am I speaking out? What am I speaking out against? Me being an Arab? Me being a girl? Or just life in general?

As time flew, my writing changed dramatically. I became more of a curious real life diary that people are expecting to read every day. I don’t even want people to read it sometimes. Yet, I feel there are great expectations that I have to live up to.

Great expectations?

The past few days I have been getting many emails with so many questions about me, suggestions and self help tips, yet, the most obscure emails where the ones that said that I am not what they expected. What did you expect? What am I giving to people that they expect in return? A funny post? A rebellious political or religious post? Some post that defies the norm and so shocking? I am not writing for you or anyone. I am just writing. I had no other way left. I don’t do this for entertainment purposes. If my intention was to write about how I felt and about my life for entertainment purposes then I would come up with better content, but I am not a comedian. Dark and sarcastic, yes; comedic, no.

Do I care what you think?

I have been noticing a very negative view point from Arabs towards me. Yes, I am not perfect. Yes, I loved once and twice and three times. Is that a crime? I am not 100% religious but I don’t do anything that defies religion either. I don’t like being an Arab sometimes because I don’t agree with the Arab mentality that I find so repulsive.

Why?

I think that I did it for my self. I could have easily made it a simple diary blog with no people interaction what so ever. I have been doing that lately. Closing comments on certain posts because it is not necessary for me to read a comment by some stranger about how he/she thinks I am messed up or the most famous line, “your not the only one, so what?”

So what?

I didn’t plea for people’s help. I don’t mind the feedback, but I didn’t ASK for it. Also, don’t expect that I am writing for an “audience.” If I was, then I would be writing a fictional entertaining blog about how awesome it is being an Arab. I would take all the things that I think are negative, and leave the world with the 1% which is funny. Yes, we are funny people.

Am I like this in real life? What I am really portraying?

Remember this is a diary. A personal diary. I have one focus and that’s telling a story about me. Something I can’t do in real life. I am a good writer, and I express my self very well. In real life, I am the same in everything except expressing my self. I hide in real life. I am quiet. I really don’t talk much but if I do I am very defensive and I retaliate quickly. I don’t think when I talk. Not in a bad way at all. I am just honest if I don’t agree with something. I will not be fake about it and “satisfy” people with the proper answer.

Satisfaction not guaranteed.

I have no need to satisfy people. Would they satisfy me if I did? No. This is reality. This is life and people. Yet, people chose to read it. I wouldn’t personally read it. I don’t find it entertaining but heart breaking. Why would I read something like that? Yes, that’s the written part of me. Many people have things written about them, yet I chose to write about me. However, reading people’s opinions about me was devastating, yet, I chose to accept it. I chose to publish it to show the world what everyone else thought of me.

I confess, I am not who I am. Did you expect something different?

Depressed, Random Thoughts, They said what?, Whatever!