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[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Daniel #4

I had a day full of many realizations last week which kept coming to me sitting in silence at work. And they kept being confirmed in things I read in books and experienced through the day. I have been uncovering a lot since mid April. I think revelations of the self end up being divine revelations of the spirit. God and the individual are inexplicably linked. To really know oneself, both the good and bad, is to know God. This makes self-awareness a necessary trait. I suddenly see how I possess some of the same sins and struggles as my mother though I point the finger. I see her pain more everyday now that I get further from my own. Which only makes me love her more and increases my patience. There is a lot of truth in the concept of wounded healers; the wisdom to heal only comes through difficult personal experience which forms the basis of knowing how to really love. I find this meditating on my childhood and parents to be of extreme importance for me to know myself, break the many cycles I see and do not want to pass on. I try not to hold my parents in judgement, but only to understand for my self and future kids which becomes future generations. And I hope one day my kids will have the wisdom to look at me and my mistakes objectively and see their upbringing for things they do not want repeated or need to see for their own healing. המשיכו להיות מאושרים בדברים שקראתי בספרים וחוויתי במשך היום. אני כבר חושף הרבה מאז אמצע אפריל. אני חושב התגלות של עצמי בסופו של דבר להיות התגלות אלוהית של הרוח. אלוהים והאינדיבידואל קשורים באופן בלתי מוסבר. כדי לדעת את עצמך, גם את הטוב והרע, הוא לדעת את אלוהים. זה עושה את המודעות העצמית תכונה הכרחית. פתאום אני רואה איך יש לי כמה מאותם חטאים ומאבקים כמו אמא שלי, אבל אני מצביע על האצבע. אני רואה את הכאב שלה יותר כל יום עכשיו, כי אני מקבל יותר משלי. וזה רק גורם לי לאהוב אותה יותר ומגביר את הסבלנות שלי. יש הרבה אמת במושג המרפאים הפצועים; את החוכמה לרפא רק מגיע דרך ניסיון אישי קשה אשר מהווה את הבסיס של לדעת איך באמת לאהוב. אני מוצא את זה meditating על הילדות וההורים שלי להיות בעל חשיבות קיצונית בשבילי להכיר את עצמי, לשבור את המחזורים הרבים שאני רואה ולא רוצה להעביר. אני מנסה לא להחזיק את הורי בשיפוט, אלא רק להבין את עצמי ואת ילדי העתיד שיהפוך לדורות הבאים. ואני מקווה שיום אחד הילדים שלי יהיו חוכמה להסתכל עלי ועל הטעויות שלי באופן אובייקטיבי לראות את החינוך שלהם על דברים שהם לא רוצים לחזור או צריך לראות עבור הריפוי שלהם.

I remember when I started going downhill to depression, I became obsessed with barely ever receiving the understanding I so readily give others. Or the love and empathy. I was exhausted. It drove me to deep emptiness and isolation because it was absent of the only pure motivation for such actions: love. Love gives while truly expecting nothing in return. But my motivation was human, one of the ego, of selfishness, although I didn’t see that until Tuesday. Something performed and seeking of the flesh. A basking in my given gift of authenticity for the wrong reasons. It was giving to get. It was craving something I must have once known deep down and must have still longed for, something that only comes from God— love in its pure form. But we become separated from it when we are no longer children. I see a new sin within me. A sin my mother has not yet recognized in herself. Acknowledgement and humbleness is the only way to purify it. I believe our salvation comes from our individual sins like the light which comes through cracks. So it was just this oddly magical day. It was because from the start I felt that true love for all humans and acted on it so freely. It was all consuming and wasn’t the selfish love of wanting in return but instead actual love. For everyone. The love you  seem to give me. It was a love bestowed on any and everyone no matter their reaction. In turn this didn’t leave me empty as it usually does, it left me full. I am in no way explaining this to the depth of which I want. Contemplating on it leads to more and more which could be said.

אני זוכר כשהתחלתי לרדת אל דיכאון, נעשיתי אובססיבי בקושי בקושי מקבל את ההבנה שאני כל כך בקלות לתת לאחרים. או האהבה והאמפתיה. הייתי מותש. זה הסיע אותי לריקנות עמוקה ולבידוד משום שלא היה לה המוטיבציה הטהורה היחידה למעשים כאלה: אהבה. אהבה נותן בזמן באמת מצפה שום דבר בתמורה. אבל המוטיבציה שלי היתה אנושית, אחת האגו, של אנוכיות, אם כי לא ראיתי את זה עד יום שלישי. משהו מבוצע ומחפש את הבשר. A basking במתנה הנתון שלי של אותנטיות מהסיבות הלא נכונות. זה היה נותן לקבל. זה היה השתוקקות למשהו שהייתי מוכרת לו פעם, ועדיין השתוקקתי אליו, משהו שרק בא מאלוהים-אהבה בצורתו הטהורה. אבל אנחנו הופכים להיות מופרדים ממנו כאשר אנחנו כבר לא ילדים. אני רואה חטא חדש בתוכי. חטא שאמי עדיין לא הכירה בעצמה. הכרה וענווה היא הדרך היחידה לטהר אותה. אני מאמין שישועתנו באה מחטאינו, כמו האור שמגיע דרך סדקים. אז זה היה פשוט יום קסום מוזר. זה היה כי מההתחלה הרגשתי את זה אהבה אמיתית לכל בני האדם ופעל על זה כל כך בחופשיות. כל זה היה אכזרי ולא היתה אהבה אנוכית לרצות בתמורה אלא באהבה ממשית. לכולם. האהבה שאתה נראה נותן לי. זו היתה אהבה שהוטלה על כל אחד וכל אחד, ללא קשר לתגובתם. בתורו זה לא השאיר אותי ריק כפי שהוא עושה בדרך כלל, זה השאיר אותי מלא. אני בשום אופן לא מסביר את זה לעומק שבו אני רוצה. בהרהור על זה מוביל יותר ויותר אשר ניתן לומר.

I also so clearly saw the evidence of this love. How you can leave someone better than you met them, even if your interaction was for a few seconds. One is always crossing paths with strangers if they don’t close themselves off. And every action has a reaction. Simply smiling at a worker who asked if I needed help led me to overhear him later telling another worker that “someone actually smiled when I asked them if they needed help, that never happens here”. But THAT is how the world changes. I see that there are many ways to heal people, but also just one— love which comes from a pure place and isn’t selfishly motivated. People glow within its bounds though some reject it from deep envy or hurt. It’s piercing. But it can actually rescue people— or really, help them rescue themselves.

If there is something I understand, it is darkness. I can get so stuck in it. And many dark things have happened to me or I allowed them to happen to me. But I see that it’s almost impossible to differentiate bad happenings from good in the end. From bad often comes good. We cannot always see the larger picture. Something really awful that happened between my mom and I weeks ago has worked for good now. For the both of us. We are closer. I am in a better place of understanding. It was no coincidence it took place. Parents teach their children, and children teach their parents.

אני גם ראיתי בבירור את הראיות של אהבה זו. איך אתה יכול לעזוב מישהו טוב יותר מאשר פגש אותם, גם אם האינטראקציה שלך היה במשך כמה שניות. אחד מהם תמיד חוצה נתיבים עם זרים אם הם לא סוגרים את עצמם. ולכל פעולה יש תגובה. חיוך פשוט על עובד ששאל אם אני זקוק לעזרה הוביל אותי לשמוע אותו מאוחר יותר אומר עובד אחר כי "מישהו ממש חייך כששאלתי אותם אם הם זקוקים לעזרה, זה לא קורה כאן". אבל זה איך העולם משתנה. אני רואה שישנן דרכים רבות לרפא אנשים, אבל גם רק אהבה אחת שמגיעה ממקום טהור ואינה מניעה אנוכית. אנשים זוהרים בתוך גבולותיה, אם כי יש כאלה שדוחים אותה מקנאה עמוקה או מכאב. זה חודר. אבל זה באמת יכול להציל אנשים - או באמת, לעזור להם להציל את עצמם.

אם יש משהו שאני מבין, זאת החושך. אני יכולה להיכנס לזה כל כך. והרבה דברים אפלים קרו לי או שהרשה להם שיקרו לי. אבל אני רואה שזה כמעט בלתי אפשרי להבדיל בין התרחשויות רעות מטוב שבסופו של דבר. מ רע לעתים קרובות מגיע טוב. אנחנו לא תמיד יכולים לראות את התמונה הגדולה יותר. משהו נורא באמת שקרה בין אמא שלי ואני לפני שבועות עבד עכשיו טוב. בשביל שנינו. אנחנו קרובים יותר. אני נמצא במקום טוב יותר של הבנה. זה לא היה מקרי. הורים מלמדים את ילדיהם, וילדים מלמדים את הוריהם. But I also see the results of how as a kid she would withdraw her love from me if I disagreed or said no or gave my real opinions as an individual. Or if I ever told her anything vulnerable about myself or things that happened to me. There was no sense of calm in our house. How unpredictable her extremely irrational reactions were over simple things. If a child doesn't want more food, it isn't something to take offense to personally or a reason to guilt them or withhold your love. If they have a bad dream, it doesn’t mean they have a demonic possession. “Don’t tell your mom” was a common thing my dad would tell us to keep the peace. Kids are individuals with rights to their feelings and the ability to be their own person. So I learned to always give in to others and what they want, to silence ourselves, to just hide things and to just do whatever the other person wanted to not hurt feelings or cause unpredictable reactions of anger. This has caused me a lot of trouble creating boundaries in life and speaking of my feelings. I literally had no boundaries before. I let people looking for a victim tramp all over me. I learned to always say yes. To feel obligated. I learned to smile when I didn’t feel like smiling. This set me up for having no self esteem and no ability to communicate or set boundaries. And boundaries are protectors of the soul. The soul is your property and such it's also the property of God's. It's important to protect it. The world needs less shame. Less resentment. Healing shame comes from empathy. Healing resentment comes through healthy boundary setting and communication. And these only come through love. Boundaries and empathy are expressions of love. Love of self and love of others. Last summer at this time I was in Jordan at a table arguing with a Turkish woman who told me that deep deep down I knew there was a god. I argued that there wasn’t. It is no wonder that I fell into such a dark place. My very self was being rewired. I felt as though I knew so much but I knew so little. I will probably say the same thing in one year from now about my current self. אבל אני גם רואה את התוצאות של איך כילד היא היתה למשוך את אהבתה ממני אם אני לא מסכים או אמר לא או נתן את הדעות האמיתיות שלי כאדם. או אילו סיפרתי לה משהו פגיע על עצמי או על דברים שקרו לי. לא היתה שום תחושה של שלווה בביתנו. כמה בלתי צפויות התגובות הלא רציונליות שלה היו על דברים פשוטים. אם ילד לא רוצה יותר אוכל, זה לא משהו כדי להיעלב באופן אישי או סיבה לאשמה אותם או למנוע את אהבתך. אם יש להם חלום רע, זה לא אומר שיש להם חזקה דמונית. "אל תגיד לאמא שלך" זה היה דבר שכיח שאבא שלי היה אומר לנו לשמור על השלום. ילדים הם אנשים עם זכויות הרגשות שלהם ואת היכולת להיות האדם שלהם. אז למדתי תמיד להיכנע לאחרים ומה שהם רוצים, להשתיק את עצמנו, רק להסתיר דברים ולעשות כל מה שהאדם האחר רצה לא לפגוע ברגשות או לגרום לתגובות של כעס בלתי צפויות. זה גרם לי הרבה בעיות ליצור גבולות בחיים ולדבר על הרגשות שלי. לא היו לי גבולות לפני כן. נתתי לאנשים לחפש נווד קורבן בכל חלקי. למדתי תמיד לומר כן. להרגיש מחויבים. למדתי לחייך כשלא רציתי לחייך. זה להגדיר אותי על כך שאין הערכה עצמית ואין שום יכולת לתקשר או לקבוע גבולות. והגבולות הם המגנים של הנשמה. הנשמה היא רכושך וכזה הוא גם רכושו של אלוהים. חשוב להגן עליו. העולם צריך פחות בושה. פחות טינה. הבושה המרפא באה מתוך אמפתיה. ריפוי טינה מגיע דרך גבולות בריא תקשורת. ואלה באים רק באהבה. גבולות ואמפתיה הם ביטויים של אהבה. אהבה עצמית ואהבת הזולת. בקיץ שעבר הייתי באותו זמן בירדן ליד שולחן, מתווכח עם אישה טורקית שסיפרה לי שעמוק עמוק בתוכי ידעתי שיש אלוהים. טענתי שאין. אין פלא שנפלתי למקום כה חשוך. העצמי שלי היה להיות rewired. הרגשתי כאילו אני יודע כל כך הרבה, אבל ידעתי כל כך מעט. אני בטח אומר את אותו דבר בעוד שנה מעכשיו על העצמי הנוכחי שלי. I am also learning to release the feeling of carrying my parent's burdens. It's very hard. I just see their marriage issues more clearly than ever now but in the end, it's their issues to fix and not mine. I cannot carry their worries too. It pains me to see their lack of love and complete absence of communication to one another. How they lie to each other and silence themselves to spare hard conversations and how they have let resentment towards each other build for decades. I never want a sexless, loveless marriage devoid of communication. I see all my mom has sacrificed and how she looks to my dad for an ounce of male attention or emotional feedback, but he doesn't even notice. She doesn't have friends and she's lonely. He runs away to fix cars at the neighbor's every night leaving her lonely and frustrated. Then he won't take care of himself and can barely use his right arm anymore because he never got help when he fell years ago and messed up his shoulder. He won't lose the weight. He won't get his hernias fixed. He's getting old so these issues will only worsen and shorten his life. And he just sits for hours in front of the television everyday. They say nasty things to eachother. They never touch. There is barely any eye contact between them anymore. How sad to see him not look at her when she speaks. But they both refuse to change, I cannot stand it. I want more for them but I guess they have to want it for themselves. That is one of the reasons why I said for so long I didn't want to get married or have kids. I figured that's how most marriages are, which is actually true sadly. It's why half of marriages end in divorce and most of the others just remain unhappily married due to finances or religion or status and then they commit adultry or simply exist in the bitterness of unhappiness. And so I'm always learning to love and to have faith and trust instead of worry. That's the unity of every human's karmic path in life. To try to reflect the perfection of God's love. So what I can do is love them, be an example and also never let this happen to me. It's certainly a difficult process to let go as I tend to take on other's pain. But I will learn. אני גם לומד לשחרר את התחושה של נשיאת הנטל של הורי. זה מאוד קשה. אני פשוט רואה את הנישואים שלהם בעיות יותר ברור מאשר אי פעם עכשיו אבל בסופו של דבר, זה הבעיות שלהם לתקן ולא שלי. גם אני לא מסוגלת לשאת את הדאגות שלהם. כואב לי לראות את חוסר האהבה ואת העדר מוחלט של תקשורת אחד לשני. איך הם שוכבים זה לזה ומשתיקים את עצמם כדי לחסוך שיחות קשות וכיצד הם נותנים טינה זה לזה לבנות במשך עשרות שנים. אני אף פעם לא רוצה נישואים נטולי סקס, חסרי אהבה, נטולי תקשורת. אני רואה את כל אמא שלי יש הקריב ואיך היא נראית לאבא שלי עבור אונקיה של תשומת לב גברית או משוב רגשי, אבל הוא אפילו לא שם לב. אין לה חברים והיא בודדה. הוא בורח לתקן את המכונית בכל לילה של השכן משאיר אותה בודדה ומתוסכלת. ואז הוא לא יטפל בעצמו, ובקושי יוכל להשתמש בזרועו הימנית משום שמעולם לא קיבל עזרה כשהוא נפל לפני שנים ופישל את כתפו. הוא לא יאבד את המשקל. הוא לא יקבע את הבליטות שלו. הוא מזדקן, כך שהנושאים האלה רק יחמירו ויעצרו את חייו. והוא פשוט יושב שעות מול הטלוויזיה כל יום. הם אומרים דברים מגעילים זה לזה. הם אף פעם לא נוגעים. בקושי יש קשר עין ביניהם. כמה עצוב לראות אותו לא להביט בה כשהיא מדברת. אבל שניהם מסרבים להשתנות, אני לא יכול לסבול את זה. אני רוצה יותר עבורם, אבל אני מניח שהם צריכים לרצות את זה בעצמם. זו אחת הסיבות שאמרתי כל כך הרבה זמן שאני לא רוצה להתחתן או שיש לי ילדים. חשבתי שככה רוב הנישואים הם, וזה בעצם נכון בעצב. זה למה חצי הנישואין מסתיימים בגירושין, ורוב האחרים פשוט נשארים נשואים באומללות בגלל כספים או דת או מעמד ואז הם מתחייבים לבוגרים או פשוט להתקיים במרירות של אומללות. וכך אני תמיד לומד לאהוב ולהיות בעל אמונה ובטחון במקום לדאוג. זוהי אחדותו של כל נתיב קרמתי בחיים האנושיים. לנסות לשקף את שלמות אהבת האל. אז מה שאני יכול לעשות זה לאהוב אותם, להיות דוגמה וגם לא לתת לזה לקרות לי. זה בהחלט תהליך קשה להרפות כפי שאני נוטה לקחת על עצמו את הכאב של אחרים. אבל אני אלמד.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Daniel #3

As far as me. We talked last week but a lot happens so fast. I have been eagerly trying to find a new job because my one job isn’t enough anymore, I’m trying to find one that I like and that pays well enough. I’m sad I’ll lose the flexibility of being able to travel but stability and security is needed at this stage of my life. I got a new food delivery job which I would like except that some days I only make 2$ an hour because minimum wage isn’t required as a private contractor. It is simply not worth my time or the gas or wear and tear on my car. So I’ve been applying to many other jobs. Searching, applying, emails, phone calls and interviews take up a lot of time and energy but I hope to find something I enjoy. I’m regretting that I didn’t get a higher degree, everyone here in my generation has them as you must for any decent paying job, I’m far behind and living way under my actual potential. Life gets more and more expensive and my options are limited. I also know myself very well and would hate to settle for a job I dislike. I wish I were a psychologist or mental health professional, so I could help others how I am good at while also calling it a job. I have transitioned into a different period of life lately and need a sturdier foundation.

מבחינתי. דיברנו בשבוע שעבר אבל הרבה קורה כל כך מהר. אני כבר מנסה בלהיטות למצוא עבודה חדשה, כי העבודה שלי אחד לא מספיק יותר, אני מנסה למצוא אחד שאני אוהב וזה משלם מספיק טוב. אני עצוב אני אאבד את הגמישות של היכולת לנסוע אבל יציבות וביטחון נדרשת בשלב זה של חיי. קיבלתי עבודה משלוח מזון חדש אשר הייתי רוצה כי כמה ימים אני רק לעשות 2 $ לשעה כי שכר המינימום אינו נדרש כקבלן פרטי. זה פשוט לא שווה את הזמן שלי או את הגז או ללבוש דמעה על המכונית שלי. אז אני כבר פונה הרבה מקומות עבודה אחרים. חיפוש, החלת, הודעות דוא"ל, שיחות טלפון וראיונות לקחת הרבה זמן ואנרגיה אבל אני מקווה למצוא משהו שאני נהנה. אני מצטער על שלא קיבלתי תואר גבוה יותר, כל אחד כאן בדור שלי יש להם כמו שאתה חייב עבור כל עבודה משלמת הגון, אני הרחק מאחור וחיים תחת הפוטנציאל האמיתי שלי. החיים מקבלים יותר ויותר יקר האפשרויות שלי מוגבלות. אני גם מכיר את עצמי טוב מאוד ולא הייתי רוצה להסתפק בעבודה שאני לא אוהב. הלוואי שהייתי פסיכולוג או מומחה לבריאות הנפש, אז אני יכול לעזור לאחרים איך אני טוב בזמן גם קורא לזה עבודה. עברתי לתקופה אחרת של החיים בזמן האחרון ואני צריך בסיס יציב.

I see people who remind me of you all of the time now. Today a dude on tv in a cowboy hat in the background of a show. And this guy walking sowntown. Do you ever see girls who look like me? It startles my heart when it happens.

אני רואה אנשים שמזכירים לי אותך כל הזמן עכשיו. היום אחי בטלוויזיה על כובע בוקרים ברקע של מופע. והבחור הזה הולך במרכזה. אתה רואה אי פעם בנות שנראות כמוני? זה מבהיל את הלב שלי כשזה קורה.

Yesterday my brother had a terrifying panic attack in front of me. It was hard to witness. He lost touch with reality. Couldn’t stand, hyperventilating, tense, saying scary things mixed with not being able to speak, sweating and crying. I have seen him like this twice but both other times were on drugs (ecstasy, lsd). This time he was sober and it really frightened me because he’s been struggling with anxiety lately. We usually text everyday but he’s so overwhelmed with life that we can’t even do that anymore at his request. I understand absolutely, but I’ve lost an outlet and communication with my best friend. He’s like me, too much sensory input and physical demands are overwhelming as is a job with not enough rewarding meaning. His new 9-5 “big boy” job has taken a bit of a toll. He says not to worry but I can’t help it. He said some crazy things and doesn’t like to be a burden to others. Again, like me. My sister also is going through something stressful but she won’t tell me what it is. I can see how much different and bothered she is. And my boss also opened up to me this week that she thinks she’s depressed. I saw it in her face and actions before she told me, though she tries to hide it. But scarred hearts recognize other wounded hearts. I recognize them more and more as I get older. So, they are all on my mind a lot, because I love them. I wish I could help them. But we are all still lucky to have each other. I used to be the sick one, now I’m the strong one. I believe that is for a reason. We all oscillate in waves. And there is a bigger plan to every obstacle we can’t see just yet. That’s how God works.

אתמול היה לאחי התקף פאניקה מפחיד מולי. קשה היה להעיד. הוא איבד את הקשר עם המציאות. לא יכולתי לעמוד, להרעיד, מתוח, לומר דברים מפחידים מעורבב עם לא להיות מסוגל לדבר, מזיע ובוכה. ראיתי אותו ככה פעמיים, אבל שני המקרים האחרים היו על סמים (אקסטזי, LDS). הפעם הוא היה פיכח וזה באמת הפחיד אותי כי הוא נאבק לאחרונה עם חרדה. אנחנו בדרך כלל טקסט כל יום אבל הוא כל כך המום עם החיים שאנחנו לא יכולים אפילו לעשות את זה יותר לבקשתו. אני מבין בהחלט, אבל איבדתי לשקע ותקשורת עם החבר הכי טוב שלי. הוא כמוני, יותר מדי קלט סנסורי והדרישות הגופניות מדהימות כמו עבודה עם משמעות לא מספיק מתגמלת. החדש שלו 9-5 "ילד גדול" עבודה לקח קצת אגרה. הוא אומר לא לדאוג אבל אני לא יכול לעזור. הוא אמר כמה דברים מטורפים ולא אוהב להיות נטל על אחרים. שוב, כמוני. אחותי גם עוברת משהו מלחיץ אבל היא לא תגיד לי מה זה. אני רואה עד כמה היא שונה ומטרידה. וגם הבוס שלי פתח לי השבוע כי היא חושבת שהיא מדוכאת. ראיתי אותה בפניה ובפעולותיה לפני שסיפרה לי, אם כי היא מנסה להסתיר זאת. אבל לבבות מצולקים מכירים בלבבות פצועים אחרים. אני מזהה אותם יותר ויותר ככל שאני מזדקנת. אז, הם כולם על המוח שלי הרבה, כי אני אוהב אותם. הלוואי שיכולתי לעזור להם. אבל כולנו עדיין בר מזל שיש לנו אחד את השני. פעם הייתי חולה, עכשיו אני חזק. אני מאמין שזה מסיבה. כולנו מתנודדים בגלים. ויש תוכנית גדולה יותר לכל מכשול שאנחנו עדיין לא יכולים לראות. ככה אלוהים עובד.

I was approved to be a volunteer on a crisis text hotline. So I’ll go through a course and then 2-4 hours a week I’ll get to message with people in crisis situations. I’m excited about that; it’s fulfilling.

Besides finding another job, I am stressed about medical bills. The US isn’t like Israel, we don’t have free healthcare as a basic right so we have outrageous medical costs. It’s my first year paying for my own insurance and figuring out how to navigate it. My bill came for all of the lab tests the doctor ran and it’s absolutely shocking how much money it is. Months of rent. I thought it was all covered by insurance but it’s not. I’m wishing I never went to the doctor. I initially reacted with anger, but that was probably a result of my own stupidity at how expensive our system is. It makes me want to prepare for the future even more. I do not understand how families can afford health costs as a protective measure or when sickness strikes.

I still cannot orgasm but i'm continuing to push it out of from my mind and focusing on other things because that is too big of a worry to pile on.

The very talented photographer of this site has asked me to be a model and do a creative shoot. You’ll be the first to see the finished product whenever I end up posing. We may do a ballet-centered shoot.

https://www.madheiress.com/mad-heiress-main-page

Kristian’s bachelorette party is this weekend in Charelston, South Carolina. Per the American Bachelorette party tradition of penis everything, I’m baking her a penis shaped cake haha!

I know I’m more of a writer than you. And the translation can be hard. So you don’t need to comment on everything here. I would rather hear about you. I do wish you’d tell me more. But I know how busy you are with the falafel stand too.

אני אושר להיות מתנדב על מוקד טקסט משבר. אז אני אעבור קורס ולאחר מכן 2-4 שעות בשבוע אני אקבל הודעה עם אנשים במצבי משבר. אני מתרגש מזה; זה מגשים.מלבד מציאת עבודה אחרת, אני לחוץ על חשבונות רפואיים. ארה"ב אינה כמו ישראל, אין לנו שירותי בריאות בחינם כזכות בסיסית ולכן יש לנו עלויות רפואיות מזעזעות. זו השנה הראשונה שלי משלם עבור הביטוח שלי, להבין איך לנווט אותו. החשבון שלי בא על כל בדיקות המעבדה שהרופא רץ וזה בהחלט מזעזע כמה כסף זה. חודשי השכירות. חשבתי שזה היה מכוסה על ידי ביטוח אבל זה לא. אני מצטערת שלא הלכתי לרופא. אני בתחילה הגיב עם כעס, אבל זה היה כנראה תוצאה של טיפשות שלי על כמה יקר המערכת שלנו. זה גורם לי לרצות להתכונן לעתיד עוד יותר. אני לא מבין איך משפחות יכולות להרשות לעצמן עלויות בריאות כאמצעי הגנה או כאשר מחלה פוגעת.

אני עדיין לא יכול לאורגזמה אבל אני ממשיך לדחוף את זה מתוך המוח שלי התמקדות דברים אחרים, כי זה גדול מדי של דאגה להסתער על.

צלם מאוד מוכשר של האתר הזה ביקש ממני להיות מודל ולעשות יצירתי יורה. אתה תהיה הראשון לראות את המוצר המוגמר בכל פעם שאני בסופו של דבר. אנחנו יכולים לעשות יורה במרכז הבלט.

 https://www.madheiress.com/mad-heiress-main-page

מסיבת הרווקות של קריסטיאן היא סוף השבוע הזה בצ'רלסטון, דרום קרוליינה. לפי המסורת הרומנטית האמריקאית למסיבה של הפין הכל, אני אופה לה עוגה בצורת פין haha!

אני יודע שאני יותר סופר ממך. והתרגום יכול להיות קשה. אז אתה לא צריך להגיב על הכל כאן. אני מעדיפה לשמוע עליך. אני רוצה שתספר לי עוד. אבל אני יודע שאתה עסוק מאוד עם הדוכן פלאפל מדי :)

Things can change so fast. From the time I wrote this, some feelings or worries can fade and different situations can arise. I am fickle, turbulent, but growing markedly in equanimity.

And here I am in my oversized ugly work uniform haha, I hate polos!

דברים יכולים להשתנות כל כך מהר. מרגע שכתבתי את זה, כמה רגשות או דאגות יכול לדעוך ומצבים שונים יכולים להתעורר. אני הפכפך, הסוער, אבל גדל במידה ניכרת בשלווה.

וכאן אני במדים גדול מדי העבודה שלי מכוער, אני שונא פולוס!

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Daniel #2

I think my words confused you. It turned into the misunderstanding I’m always frustratingly on the receiving end of. Since then I’ve become increasingly saddened by the failure, feeling misunderstood, the projected outcome of the beginning, the language barrier... And that I can’t ever speak of myself without regretting it later in frustration. (I replay and analyze things in my head constantly). It’s layered, layers upon layers of meaning and experiences and feeling and observations I can’t ever spill even if trying my best, much less to the precision I would like and is needed. I know it was rushed and I get very uncomfortable and become rather mute at questions. But I worry because action means it’s more real, outside my head and fantasy. And I notice I always naturally try to simplify my words/phrasing and usual nonlinear order when speaking to you which makes me hesitate and more gets lost on top of the regular difficulties. I know that is not a fault of yours, it’s just a consequence, but a real one so it hurts me to write as it’s a hard truth which worries me. Difficulties stacked on things already difficult. My sister tells me she often sits in frustration for hours with her fiancé crying and trying to get words out, but they’ve known each-other six years and both have English as a first language.

But then I see your perfect patience is there.

I think the meaning didn’t translate correctly to Hebrew for the word vulnerable. I looked it up, I think it’s more נוֹחַ לְהִפַּגָע or פָּצִיעַ, not the one I showed you. Definition: “Sensitive, open, capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt. Unguarded with trust.” Since I speak best in metaphor— Imagine a flower that has not bloomed, or one that has tried to bloom before but gets wounded at the start so it closes for protection and in refusal, it remains shut; it’s protected from bugs and the force of the rain and wind and hands that want to pluck it from where it grows safely in the ground. In theory it wants to open to blossom to the world, isn’t that what flowers are meant to do? It wants to feel the sun and show its colors— but that means it’s exposed and makes it increasingly vulnerable with each flawed and fragile petal it shows. It means it’s out of control, uncomfortable. Not only does it not know how to bloom fully, it also remembers being hurt when it has trusted and tried before.

So, it’s a good thing I feel MORE vulnerable. It means I’m opening a little or at least preparing to, but it is scary (though I said no to this question before, it always takes me more time to think on things to accurately respond. I always fail in the moment, it comes later with thought). I usually thicken my skin to the world. I am full of warmth and people always open to me but I stay guarded, calculated. Even more so romantically because those I’ve wanted before have not wanted me back when it really came down to it, quickly poisoning me with sickeningly sweet words I found out through their actions that they didn’t mean.

I just feel very overwhelmed. My seas are rarely calm. And I’m struggling with many more internal things right now. Other really tough questions and decisions and realizations. I cannot stop crying writing this...

I hope the word and how I used it makes more sense. But this is just musings on one of many changes regarding that question you asked me. And even small shifts in an individual’s ideals, values, priorities and goals have huge implications in time. Like if one number is changed in a math sequence... Cause and effect. I’ve been rewired and I’m digging up some nasty demons and doubts. And I do not know how or if to cut certain ties... I’m always getting ahead of myself with my worries. It’s the fault of my intuition.

Our hearts are entangled. My instinct is always to run away; the voices are here again. I am trying my best to fight it.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Daniel

I am trying to figure out why I think of you constantly but struggle to contact you. Even now I’m struggling with what to say and how to say it. I put it off day by day and this has taken me days to write. Every word carries so much meaning to me, just as you do. For some reason it is an emotional labor above all others. You represent many things to me, in both a symbolic and concrete way. I am changing a lot, as I’m sure you are too. I see so much pain in other people, people closed off to the balance of head and heart, people fearing the core part of them where their purpose lies, the things that give their lives meaning as all humans seek, and I see this resistance to put in the effort to change themselves. I’m glad we are two people not resistant to the pain that is required for growth; we are seekers. But it’s a painful process to integrate new parts of oneself. I find many people will do anything to ignore the dark parts of them, or to not trim the outdated parts which don’t belong on the path down potential and a more moral alignment. If the foundation of a house is outdated, one must re-structure it, take things apart at the bottom and rebuild though it takes blood, sweat and tears. It’s a hard process but, only the wounded who take on the difficult journey can use their knowledge to help heal others. It’s the birth of wisdom. I had experienced synchronicity after reading what you saw written about birth, life and death. I read an article which said “there is no rebirth without death, there can be no wholeness without realizing our brokenness, and no self-actualization without suffering.” It is immensely true. There is a concept I’ve been reading on in Jungian psychology called “enantiodromia”, defined as “the tendency of things to change into their opposites, especially as a supposed governing principle of natural cycles and of psychological development.” In the continuum of time the unconscious opposite will emerge, and I am riding along on this pendulum in the parts of me that have long gone without balance. Maybe you can see this in the course of your own life too? It has been a difficult past few weeks, but people always emerge out of tunnels back into bright light with more clarity. I recognize my vagueness. I’ve come to think concepts of a more Divine nature are better articulated through the vagueness which comes from words and forms of art not fully graspable by the human mind. Love too. Things only our intuition can see the mere outline of in comparison to its actual scope and significance. Things like paradoxes or metaphors interpreted from the place of a human’s subjective experiences. Life is both humorously simple and torturously complex. You know a year ago we hadn’t met yet. A year ago I also didn’t believe in a God. Now, a year later it’s not a question of belief, I have come to “know” there is one. And not through the upbringing of my parents, my views are different from what I was raised with and it’s been a crazy journey to get here as an individual with her own views. I think most all religions aim to express the knowledge we have in our souls of this force so incomprehensible and greater than ourselves. And it loves us more than we will ever know. Maybe even our consciousness is a way for it to experience itself. I enjoy thinking on these things. Impractical things. Also, I can suddenly see my childhood wounds, much revolves around the impact of my mentally ill mother. (She has many untreated severe mental health issues I won’t expand on here). More and more I see my parents’ descent from the idealic God-like beings of childhood as all children view their parents in this way; they have become so much more human and flawed as we all are. I think it’s an important step every person must make to become an individual, to understand themselves and to be able to properly care for their parents as they age. But the evidence of time on their faces pains me to the core. Time passes too quickly and I cannot save them, only love them. My viewpoint in regards to them has greatly changed my relationship with them. It is now one of greater love, maturity, sacrifice and absolute appreciation although it’s more painful. This too stretches beyond them and to my widowed grandmothers. There’s so much more I could summarize. I deactivated all of my social media for a few reasons including the time I felt myself wasting. I have gifts I’m meant to give the world, it’s selfish to sit and rot away. And for an improper allocation of my creative energy as well as too much attention seeking and external validation behavior. The vanity and masturbatory qualities of it. I needed to cut the cord; I do not want to be on my deathbed one day with flashbacks of my cellphone. I’m oversimplifying for the sake of brevity, but it’s been building for a while. I also know I’m gifted at understanding and helping people heal psychological wounds or deal with life events by giving advice and I enjoy it; I am figuring out the best specific career path to pursue and the steps to get there. I am also figuring out how to best be a writer as I love to write and want to share stories and human observances with others. Besides my first job, I’ll also be working sometimes at a costume shop my boss just bought. A girl came in with her mother looking for an Esther costume for Purim. How has it been almost a year since we celebrated together? My roommate Dustin will be asking my other roommate Kristian to marry him tomorrow. I am so excited for them. I have lived with them for three years, I do not know what this means for me but I know soon the time will come for me to leave them. I want to start volunteering and recording stories from the elderly. I want to continue to help people travel and see the world when they think they can’t. My parents may get a divorce. I’m going to my Moroccan friend’s baby shower tomorrow, she’s had her second boy. I have fallen so in love with Lola Marsh’s new album. She makes me think of you. I go home every Sunday now to meal prep for my parent’s lunches. I want my dad to lose weight and my mom to be healthy but they won’t do it alone. My brother is home from Europe after four months, he’s an Italian citizen now. It’s so good to have my best friend home again. I hope this message finds you well. I almost wish there weren’t blockades like technology when it comes to the heart. Messages like this and words like yours deserve the personal touch only handwritten letters bring. Something not meant to dissolve gets dissolved. Technology can devalue so much when you’re as romantic at heart as we are. I’m hoping much of this isn’t lost in translation. This is just another barrier we have between us (not to mention a whole ocean!). I sometimes find myself wondering the sacrifices I’d need to make to be with you. It sounds silly but my head thinks of the big picture, intuition is always mapping out the distant future because today’s decisions formulate it. I should take things day by day but I can’t help my worrying. What do we do? I am sorry I feel as if I am treating you as if you were my journal. But a journal entry is very personal so perhaps it’s a good thing to share my thoughts with you. And written words are the paint on my life’s canvas. So few words reach my mouth when I speak, it’s a mere trickle to the ocean of my mind. I would love hearing your comments on anything that struck your thoughts from above; I know it’s a lot. I’m glad the package finally came safely, what a trip it’s been on! And I see your hair is growing back ;) Have you seen the movie “Fiddler On The Roof”? It’s about a Jewish family, you’d like it. My family loves it. What have you learned during your time in Spain? On what day do you leave Spain? Do you have plans when you return? At what moment in your life did you feel closest to the presence of God? What callings or pulls in your heart do you currently feel? How is your family and Jenny? Tell me anything and everything about your life. So many lyrics in songs I hear differently now since I met you. Especially these from a song I’ve known for years: “I find the map and draw a straight line Over rivers, farms and state lines The distance from here to where you’d be It’s only finger-lengths that I see I touch the place Where I’d find your face” Your face has such light when you’re awake and I recall the peace it showed as you slept. I want to crawl in your arms and be coddled like a child. That sounds so soothing. Let’s talk soon. Shalom and Love, Alicia

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Contradictions

I want to drink more beer. But I want to be hydrated. I want to collapse. But I wanna be awake to write well into the night. I want to scream. But I want to quiet myself. I want to dance in ecstatic freedom. But I want to lay here in thought. I want to not care to the point of being unapologetically authentic. But I want to care to the point that I can change something or someone. I need to experiment with an alternative consciousness. But I should face my sober reality. I want to cross the ocean again. But perhaps I should be stable and grounded. Maybe I'm a free spirit confined to the influence of the one-way mentality of the traditionalists. Or maybe I've built an odd defense mechanism of flight. I want to wallow in nostalgia. But I want to fight against it and not look back. Maybe I do love you. Maybe I don't and cling to the romanticism. Damn all of my contradictions. Why can't I just know my answers?

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Walmart Parking Lot

I'm prone to analysis paralysis as I can see an endless amount of viable paths within even a small framework and I obsess over how each minor movement will affect the desired outcome. Then I'm frozen or use that to procrastinate. But I really should just purge for the relief of it. That'd the only consistent and predictable reason. Why worry about the outcome or twist anything for the sake of an audience? Shouldn't truth triumph over everything else? If I censor by dilution or omission it just becomes me viewing myself through another person's eyes; and then I manipulate myself and my words with the awareness of knowing how I'm going to be perceived out of self-protection. I'm sick of doing that. It strips me of some truth and I want truth. I'd like to think others do too. Manipulating an audience simply for favor, no matter the context, is not a symptom of truth. I'm tired, I really shouldn't be but I'm tired. Existence is exhausting blah blah blah I'm sick of my own internal diologue churning away with its pattern making when I sit in silence and of how this stupid screen flashes and vibrates all day and I'm sick of repeating mistakes while knowing better. Stupid vague ramblings. Stupid need for attention. As a woman these screens give us too much. I hate it. I love it. I want someone to magically understand it all. ALL. But there are limitations to language and that's just one of the many plagues of a human's existence. And it's why feeling understood is intoxicating. I'm always being bombarded with these random images and memories from this trip and being thrown into waves of emotions and cursing my mind for not letting me forget things while thanking it for sweeping me away despite the ache. I know what to do to quell it so whyyyyy haven't I done it? And whyyyyy am I sitting in a Walmart parking lot writing this? There's some high schoolers on winter break exiting their car with nothing better to do in the boondocks than to make an adventure out of a trip to Walmart before curfew. They seem happy and so young; I see their naivety in the way they move. I remember doing the same thing some years years ago with the newfound freedom I found with a driver's license. A man is wheeling two pink bikes with training wheels in his cart, Christmas gifts for kids. His children? His face is crinkled from stress, not age. Oh god he looks to be around my age. That could easily be my life. I can't think of the love he must have for them. I mean, I can, but I only get rare tastes of the most powerful form of love. Like on that bench in Tel Aviv as I watched the separated family cross the street. And the other day I fleetingly understood that kind of love again as my sister and I watched my dad say it to the baby version of my brother in a home video where my dad honestly looked just like my now grown-up brother. "Do you know how much I love you?" he smiled and whispered in my giggling brother's ear as the camera faded out to black and then pixelated back into another moment from the past. We both felt the wave overcome us and turned teary-eyed to one another to lock eyes in our unspoken mutual understanding. There's a pole decorated in candy cane stripes out front of the "Home and Living" section. December in North Carolina means I'm always turning my AC to heat and heat back to AC in the car, and I'm always checking the weather to see if the day calls for a tank top or a winter coat. How is it a few weeks until Christmas? And how can I be in this headspace one moment but I'll likely be smiling and inquiring about the overworked cashier's life in a few minutes as the barcodes beep? Is everyone else's mind as chaotic as my own? Do they want truth and understanding at the expense of their own comfort? Whatever. I need some cheap, shitty imitation crab sushi and some of those random items that adults are always running low on no matter how they try to keep up.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

The New Year

My priorities are changing. 2017 has been rearranging them. Healing and caring about others comes naturally. Commitment to others does not. As I sat in a bar in 2015 once with rowdiness clinking around me, a man (boy now seems more accurate) drunkingly told me what my vice was without pause. My charm was shaken and I recoiled at the truth of it. But only after this year have I come to understand it-- its effects, its severity, its power, the tubes that feed it and its repeated act of failing me. You’d think an 8 month trip where I spent my days so close to the organized religions I dislike so much would have pushed me further away from a higher power, instead it guided me closer to it. If there's one thing I learned this year that I've either not seen before or been in denial of it's that something good always comes from the bad given enough time, shifting your perspective, seeing how love is present or just seeing the rippled effects of occurrence and relationship. Something small. Something big. It always unfolds eventually. Sometimes it's revealed, sometimes you must search your own psyche going places you'd rather not go. I can look back on events of this year and years prior and see no exception to this. No matter where the experience falls on the scale of negativity. A year ago I'd have laughed at anyone who told me that good always comes from bad or found within it. And I’d inwardly want to spit in my suffering at any chipper soul who’d have said this when I didn’t want to be alive. But here I am, a more finely tuned instrument preparing for whatever tune this instrument is meant to play. I love to write. This year gave me the fodder to recognize that it could be a passion that’s up there with ballet. This was the first year I felt (was given... first was open to accepting…) a love that rivals my family's love for me. And all from someone who was a stranger a year ago. Shocking. Terrifying. Confusing. Exciting. Everything about this experience branches out into other areas of my life and my understanding of self. It’s ignited a battle. There’s so much more I could say but I don’t bother with the energy expenditure of telling people who don’t care to give it all of the attention it takes to be understood. This paragraph could apply in two scenarios actually. Children. I’m suddenly open to having my own after countless years of espousing that I do not want any, ever. I can trace this directly to a few causes. Ohhh 11/11/17. And here’s the first time I’ve spoken of the night before, in an empty house as I was wide awake. Laid down my head and the moment I closed my eyes not a bit tired I heard a loud "Alicia" to the point I sat up, not in fear but in response and awareness. It was not a hypnagogic hallucination. I am not schizophrenic. I don’t have an answer. Love. Generations. Circle of life. Wavelengths. Truth. Collapse as necessity. I ruminate at the closing of every year. Resolutions? Not so much; I try not to constrict personal-growth, goals and learning lessons to a date on the calendar though I see why a slate with a new year’s date certainly seems to be whiter than the morning of any old new day. And there’s so much more I want to say about other main chunks of this year but it’s simply not for Facebook. Or even my journal in some cases. And this is long enough as is. But I’m freer, looking at my weaknesses and continuing to work on shedding my compartmentalization, fears and privacy. I know so little about the world and its workings but I’m capable of knowing myself; and I am a part of this unknowable world after all.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

My roommate versus me

My roommate: *Sees a man on a TV commercial worrying about practical matters* See! That right there is my whole internal monologue through the day. Did the mail arrive? How can I make more income on the side? I need to call the insurance company. Are we set for the month? How are my retirement and bank accounts? How much milk is left in the refrigerator? What is the weather going to be like tomorrow? When is the first day I can file my taxes? Me: Really!? For me it’s like... Will it ever be possible to prove or disprove that we are living in a simulation? Do others experience synchronicities in the numbers that I do? Do my parents experience pervasive sadness refreshed every time that they look at their aged faces in the mirror? How can I bring them more joy? If happiness isn’t achievable as a continuous state then what should my life’s aim be? I wonder what Elon Musk eats for breakfast. Someone is committing suicide right now... *Replays a person’s words and body language* Oh wow, having such overwhelming insecurities must be painful in a world like ours; I hope they fight to love themselves. I have no idea which way of existing is “easier” or “better" but I find that I envy him. I doubt he envies me; it’s more likely he sees me as too cerebral and lazy. I should focus more on practical matters but action and being in my five senses is not a natural preference or interest of mine. I live in a world of feelings and concepts and ideas. It’s amazing how different people can be all the while being so similar. If one thing is certain, it’s that the world needs both kinds of people.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

The phone call and time

I choose to hear my mother's voice, hi it’s mom. I should answer more, keep my patience, one day your excitement and concern and all of your tears and inflections will be left to that triangular button I won't have the strength to press. You speak of ice skating in heaven, of your father with the mother he never knew, of the loneliness you feel as another anvil loads onto my back, you need me there even in death so you preach and preach and beg as I retreat, you crackle at the regret after laughing at the recall of that sock puppet. Remember that artificial cobalt blue sand by the crumbs on the counter under the RadioShack radio? I’d flip it and watch the grains fall. One hundred and twenty seconds. Dad repeats what the Bible says by the boiling water. Life is vapor and I watch it rise and return to its nothingness. I get it now. Your pain feels like mine and I see you and the child you were. Are. When you go to dye your hair, are there greys? I see me in you but it hurts it hurts to love and really see. Your innocence. My responsibility. You sewed, you should reap. Alicia, please do not fear death. I don’t anymore, not mine anyways. You kept me alive years ago, just the love that surrounds me even with all of its complications. You tilted the scale by a feather. You don’t know and will never understand. Love verses the understanding I rarely feel. Love. “Dying Woman Shares Message About Life”. She’s joined the 27 Club and smiles at me through death but I’m just trying to check my email. He told me as I was distracted by my senses, call your parents, they love you so much, more than you know. He’s my self-fulfilling prophesy but it’s only because I already know.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Eternity and The Gumball Pillowcase

When I was 8 or so I’d lay my head down against the rainbow gumballs of my cotton pillowcase trying to understand the concept of forever before dozing off. My mother would warn me that when you die you go to heaven or the fiery pits of hell "forever" and so I'd lay there without rest and try to picture this "forever" that she spoke of. I would pose many questions and scenarios to myself, the main one being, "Well, it has to end sometime, right? Everything has an end" to which I'd attempt to answer myself, "No... forever doesn't end. Ever. It just goes on and on and on with no end". And then, without fail, no matter how many nights I would attempt to conquer this concept, my heart would sink into the place that a human's heart goes at the feeling of sheer incomprehensibility.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

The Couple

With what seemed to arrive not out of any logical chain of thought today, my mind soared to a memory as I looked past my reflection and into the backyard as I washed dishes. Yeah, the return of the weight and absolute abruptness of it made tears come and yeah, it will not leave me. Again. So, I looked back at my unshared travel writings for the details of their story and I will share it with you now. I see them. Their differences are what make them stand out so much to me. I’m sitting with Ahmed smoking every Arab’s go-to flavor shisha: double apple. We hover on the bridge over the Bosporus as it reflects both the darkness of the night and the bright lights of Istanbul. The grey smoke that I shouldn’t be inhaling considering my family’s history exits my lungs in long drags as the water undulates in constant disarray with the motion of the passing ferries. I’ve come to visit Ahmed’s restaurant daily since meeting him. He is very comfortable to me. This is a rarity, even among the dozens upon dozens of people I seem to meet. He is the kind of comfort I haven’t felt since Adelaide had to leave me a month ago back in Jordan. People will always return to comfort. I see the man beside Ahmed waiting politely for a break in our conversation to interrupt, so I gesture that the man would like his attention. He is homely, skin aged by the sun, belly swollen from too much pita bread and I doubt he even reaches 5 feet tall. But as he stands there he is glowing. He’s smiling and it’s in that moment I can sense his spirit. I cannot tell you how I know but I just know he’s a good man. Maybe it’s because the warmth he emits resembles my father’s warmth. It is ineffable, and it is pure. I don’t understand a word but I’m sitting and smiling as I watch their interaction. If you had bribed me with money I would not have been able to stop the upward turns of my lips as this man’s love of life and of the world leapt across the table and onto me, my face becoming a truthful reflection of him—the mirror. They are exchanging goodbyes and it’s clear Ahmed knows this man as a regular customer or something. His wife approaches; she too is homely and unusually short but she’s beaming and just as lovely in spirit. As she smiles and says her goodbyes to Ahmed her dark rotted teeth become exposed. They both notice how happy I seem to be watching them and before they turn to leave the woman leans and reaches her arm across the table to acknowledge me by touching my hand. We lock eyes. Another mirror. “Oh my. They are absolutely lovely people.” I remark to Ahmed as I’m left in the wake of the afterglow. “You know, I can’t really explain it but sometimes you just know---well, more like ‘feel’ a person’s heart although you don’t speak the same language. I can feel that they are good people deserving of good things.” He confirms what I say is true. I find that he really understands and agrees and isn’t just saying that he understands and agrees. It’s another reason I enjoy his company and it’s a reason that I even chose to make a verbal remark on what I was thinking. My thoughts rarely reach my mouth. And before I can begin to ask, Ahmed starts to give me their story. “I’ve known them for years. They come to Istanbul year after year.” “Oh, so they’re tourists? Goodness, they’re so adorable.” I say, still smiling. “No, they come to see the doctors.” He says with dejection. “Why? Are they alright?” “They want children. And they keep trying.” I feel my heart sink at the unfairness. “They can’t have children??” I say, doing that thing I hate-- asking a question which I already know the answer to simply to allow time for my mind to catch up with what I’ve just heard in the world outside of my head. “No, they can’t have kids so they come to meet with the doctors here in Istanbul to keep trying. They keep coming back, year after year.” He pauses. “They want it too much. They always ask me to pray that they will have a child and that this time it will work. They just want it so, so much.” I cannot escape the weight of this. They keep returning to my maze. It is why I am writing about it now on this rooftop days later as the hostel partiers howl beside me. How their kindness and happiness with the world so quickly contrasted with the sadness of their story-- a story that they do not wear on their faces. May this writing purge me of those nurturing fatherly and motherly souls unable to bare children, for they have become imprinted on my mind.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

The Meaning of a Word

We sit around for the climb and I watch the interactions around me, feeling rather connected to everyone in the act of observation. It's strange, you feel it rise through your body in a breath to be released in some way. Some men sit chatting in Turkish over the beat of the electric music and others sit staring down, aggressively chewing gum with the glow of their phones on their faces. A man with a handsome yet boyish face walks in as the newest stranger in the room. I note he goes unacknowledged and sits in the first seat he sees, next to me. I initially assume he's a late arrival and the last piece to this friend group until I take him in. He sits for a while in silence, far back in his chair and I sense his nervousness-- that feeling of wanting to be seen yet not wanting to be seen. Oh, I've known it all too well. I didn't know yet that this was the first time he ever worked up the courage to use Grindr to meet up with other gay men. When he left after his brief appearance I inquired more about him to find this was all new to him, a leap from his comfort zone to go where he knew no one to seek only what I can imply. The others eventually tell me he's likely a virgin and it doesn't surprise me despite his good looks. It's hard enough being gay in a tolerant country, much less the Middle East. At this discovery I feel deeply for him in so many ways. His building anxious energy emanates so strongly I dive in to relieve him not just for the sake of inclusion and empathy for having felt how he currently feels, but also for my endless curiosity with regards to people and the genuine connections which feed my human behavior database. This understanding leads to more understanding. I lean in and smile, charged with welcoming expression. I begin to ask him question after question as his body language loosens up. He has a gentle heart grazed with the self-consciousness many of these kinds of hearts bare. He seems so relieved to finally be acknowledged as the tightly bound book of who he is opens to show me the first few pages. I'm always grateful as trust through comfort is why people choose to reveal their pages to you. It's a gift. I keep leaning in closer and with each answer he gives grows another question. During this I can also feel the gaze of my host watching me all along, staring. I feel so wrapped up in helping this man feel comfortable; my interest shines with light on my face and the man reflects it, even giggling once or twice. Such a lovely smile he has, it shows innocence. Suddenly my host who has been watching the interaction stands up and walks over to me, I turn to him and he holds my cheeks, kisses my forehead and then looks me in the eyes and says, "There are some moments I'm sure I love you and it's because of your... your..." he struggles to find the word as English is not his first language. He pulls out his phone and runs a quick search then holds the phone up to me as a light in the darkness, "...sincerity."

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

The Dichotomy of Travel as a Metaphor for Life

I’m cuddled up near the tinted backseat window in one of the shared taxis in Palestine. It’s a comforting enclosure even with the awareness of the close proximity to strangers; I feel like a tired dog who crawls willingly into their den-like cage for comfort when no one is around. I’m protected from the catcalls and stares, the insightful stories that I insist on remembering, and the social interactions which drain me. At first you must awkwardly wait inside of the taxi with its stagnant air for enough passengers to fill the seats, sometimes this requires a special seating rearrangement to conform to the country’s silly unwritten traditional rules on where men and women can sit. I once had to uproot myself to sit between a married couple so the man wasn’t between us. After the waiting and silly musical chairs-like dance of seat shuffling, you can finally shut yourself off in the silence of your own mind, cradled by the vibrations and subtle sway of a moving car always floating between destinations.  
 I had been looking down mostly at my phone or fingers, only subtly aware of the details of who was sitting around me. I was attempting to memorize the directions that my couchsurfing host sent me to prevent myself from getting lost and having to stop in confusion on the street with bags that scream “foreigner” and the attention which comes with that broadcasted fact. 
 Heading from Bethlehem to the ultra-conservative and religious town of Hebron, I put my phone away and re-wrapped my drab grey shoulder scarf which hides the curves of my body. My skin, newly browned in privacy by the strength of the Middle East sun, is already covered by long pants and long sleeves in the 90 degree heat. To not offend it’s better to blend in. We enter the traffic of rush hour in Palestine’s most populated city complete with the usual beeping of horns, and if there’s one thing Israelis and Palestinians can agree on it’s the belief that honking your horn will make the vehicle in front of you move quicker. My head is turned to the left looking out of the window the same way a little kid would as they reach their destination after a dozen, “are we there yet’s”. It’s time to look around and soak up this action.

I have a slight aerial view into the other cars and I watch the passengers in their own separate enclosures; I see babies in back seats, men furrowing their brows from the intensity of the sun as they grasp onto hot stirring wheels and there’s not a woman to be found showing uncovered hair or even a wrist. The taxi and us passengers are still in traffic, moving at the pace we wish time would go when we are enjoying something we’d like to relish in: slowly… slowly… 

In this observance my eyes slice horizontally directly to a man on the opposite side of the road pulling a cart with a donkey. He’s traveling from right to left through the picture frame that is this taxi window. In his right hand is a metal rod, silver and reflective, garnering it a heaviness in my mind while his fingers grasp it as a vine grips a tree. He is beating this animal repetitively as they head downhill; and these are not light taps, they are striking blows of which my heart can feel the weight and my ears can almost hear the impact of through the cracked window despite the endless honking. It’s as if his arm is a timed pendulum, and he cranks his whole arm upward to strike this donkey with all of the force he can seem to gather while his other hand is on the reigns. The power is coming from his round belly, suffocated in it’s too-tight white shirt, and shooting up into his arm without ever passing through his heart. The strikes are visceral. He keeps hitting the same spot on this animal’s behind and I find myself wondering if animals bruise as easily as we do and if physical evidence can be found on them as there can be on us. My mirror neurons feel the sensation of being hit somewhere already sore from a previous impact. I’m disgusted by this man and I feel so strongly for this animal. 

In the time he passes through the window my mind goes to all of the other abuse towards animals I’ve witnessed in Arab countries: rocks being thrown at dogs, people kicking kittens, animals on short chained leashes with no shade and no love, a boy hitting a roaming dog with a stick, donkeys and camels whacked in anger being tied up and being made to do things they clearly don’t want to with increased frustration on both ends. The donkey is strutting his fastest as he pulls the cart; his tail end winces at each blow. And just at the moment when my head cranks the furthest it can, about to lose sight of the man with his might whacking this animal in predictable strokes, I feel a light and loving tap on my right shoulder. I turn my head from the left to the right as I’m thrown into another world when meeting this stranger’s eyes with mine. I find an elderly woman with sandpaper skin cracked by age and hardship warmly smiling at me as she holds out her hand to offer me a foil-wrapped chocolate she has pulled from her purse.  
 “Welcome”.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Othering, Jews and "The" Blacks

One evening in Safed I went to a Rabbi's home where he was hosting a bunch of important Jewish American intellectual expats who are now living Orthodox lives in Israel. It was the Jewish equivalent of a Bible study but at this meeting they were discussing the Haggadah and the traditional ritual feast known as a Sader for Pesach (Passover). Near the end of the two hour long discussion a woman posed a question she prefaced as "touchy". Oh me, oh my. This is what I greedily live for. I thought at first I may be disappointed by a likely overly politically correct crowd but I sat up straighter anyways, my right ear leaned in a touch closer to the questioner. Now, the whole session was interesting enough to hold my attention, from the interactions to the household's visual subtleties to the discussed rituals, I was learning a lot with my darting eyes and absorbing all that one absorbs with the sponge of curiosity. The Rabbi had even shed two tears earlier as he seemed to come to a deeper understanding on the words he was reading. But now I was especially piqued with interest and my antsiness to leave and find food was quelled for a moment. The woman asked, "The Jewish people were freed from the bondage of slavery and flourished ever since after returning to their homeland. I'm wondering if the success we've had can be contrasted to the lack of success African Americans have had after they were freed from their slavery but didn't return to Africa." Oh yeahhhhh baby. I could start a fire from the friction of rubbing my hands together. Someone pass me the mother-fucking popcorn. Well, this question sparked everyone's opinion and all of these old white folks, with their flawless scholarly English and good posture, needed to chime in although the meeting was already way over time. Everyone in the room minus two of us, me and this Joaquin Phoenix look alike sitting by my side, were well over 50 years old. The married women paused their munching on strange foreign snacks with their conservatively covered grey hair as their well-spoken husbands sat by their sides. Most were awake through the meeting but even the two who I caught dozing off during my outsider's observation (I swear I was the only non-Jew in this entire town) woke up to battle the breaks in airtime to answer this question. Now, without a lengthy recall of the details of the debate which ensued I can tell you one universal cringey fact I noted as I kept my silence. Every single person kept using the phrase "the blacks" in the discussion. The. Blacks. And each time it was used my poker face blew its cover with a contracting twitch. It was repetitive, uncomfortably so. But as a guest I remained silent in the room of talkative elders, a bit relieved when the man who brought me there called them out on the phrase. "You know what would be a good start? Not calling them 'the blacks", he said as he smirked and glanced at me in unspoken understood mutual agreement. But his words were lost, muffled in background noise as the people talked over one another dueling for the spotlight. Donald Trump said "the Hispanics", Bernie Sanders said "the millionaires and billionaires", men are heard saying "gotta get home to the wife", and this particular group of Jews said "the blacks". So, anyways. If you are a conspirator who thinks Jewish folks sit around plotting to take over the world all day (I'm looking at you Alex Jones), you're mistaken. From the insider conversations I've been a part of in study or after Shabbat table talks, religious Jews are only discussing God and the Torah and drinking wine while posing deep unanswerable religious questions to one another. Every single topic is religious and they joyfully discuss each one, expanding on a single verse or question at length and refuting one another with a smile. Even obvious tiffs in and out of this setting are met with a glaze of happiness, forcefully feigned or not. If it sounds as if there's a Stepford Wives eeriness to what that statement entails, you'd be correct. It was a touch creepy to witness at times.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Tarnished Childhoods

And just like the black plastic bags which tumble across the hot black tar streets, they too are littered everywhere-- and I always see them no matter how accustom one can become. Like the beautiful stones of a busy city square, their faces have become layered with dirt from the gallop of human feet and they've lost their youthful luster from the wear of the wind and rain and tumultuous elements of life. And just as you would brush the dust aquired from years of aging off of a book or plate, their youth and fresh faces are certainly hidden underneath if you care to look. In the heat of this summer sun, their vocal cords sound drained from screaming "apricots, 1 jd a kilo". With bored posture they yell like a song on repeat and with voices that have you fooled. The first time I encountered one was the time I sat down for some tabbouleh and hummus, feet aching underneath the paper-lined table from a day of walking Akko's stone streets-- from the shy smile and constant staring I knew he was at the age of blossoming; he was my waiter. And like a lone wolf who hungrily searches for their next meal and has lost his pack they prowl, zigzagging across streets with packs of gum or tissues eyeing their next target. Day in and day out, I can recall the faces which repeat the same phrases. "I'm hungry", they point to their bellies or mouths. "Please?" They have the insistence, veracity and the salesman mindset of grown men. They hear no but they still follow in persistence until they feel the game has been lost. Jordanians sometimes intervene to shoo them away as if they're a nagging fly which repetitively lands on your face. Young children working and hustling the streets. I mean young. Eyes which were closed in their mother's womb just five years ago, boys that have yet begun to approach puberty at 11 years old. Baby faces and fresh skin darkened by the sun and dirtied by the earth. The question aches me, I say it though I know they don't understand or care to respond. Where is your mother? Why aren't you in school? Oh sweetie, you're so young. And I wonder how this life of hustling so young will affect them and harden their inner child as they age. Their futures all seem so bleak. Such a conflicting response I have. You don't want to be bothered. The heat of it rises in your chest and you have such a strong self-awareness of your words and body language. There's guilt and a shame as you walk onward wanting to get away. As an empath I feel so responsible somehow for every wrong in the world. It feels so wrong. Who am I to refuse this boy some change? I give my change. But why support something his parents are forcing him to do when he should be in school? I say no and continue walking. No child would choose this begging or working long hours over playing. Are his parents forcing him from necessity or from greed? How could they have explored all options before letting their children roam unaccompanied for ten hours a day begging for change? They approach you and look up at you into your eyes knowingly wishing to pull on your heartstrings, utilizing their youth and innocence, "I'm hungry, I'm hungry". But a friend I knew gave him an apple and he walked away and tossed it out. He already knows how the world runs; he's been instructed. He's after the cash. He's smart enough to approach when the cashiers give you your change. He knows exactly what he's doing and I'd bet he may have more street smarts than some PHDs who have been shielded by the fluorescent lights and cold painted cinderblock walls of academia for the entirety of their lives. A young boy enters a scarf store with me on his radar, his face marked by scars which I fear come from beatings. Another approaches me after I've refused several times, he insists on showing me his foot which is bleeding from playing soccer with his other beggar friends during a break from their ritual life. I barter with an eleven year old Palestinian kid on a Friday at a jewelry stand in Jerusalem who is clearly eager to get off work and close his father's shop where he's working alone. I buy cherries from a mere child. A young girl asks me to buy the bottled water she carries as I sit in the square in front of the amphitheater at night. "La, shukran". "Please?" she says, asking me with her dark brown eyes. And now I sit here writing this, on this bench which is awkwardly missing a panel as I look up at a flock of grey birds gliding in manipulation against Amman's blue sky at sunset hoping the kids will be as free as them one day.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Beauty Mark

Yesterday I mistook a beauty mark on my face for a speck of dirt and tried to wipe it off for like ten seconds and at the realization I was trying to erase a part of myself I had a mini crisis in the midst of extreme happiness like who am I, how can I not know my own face and is this feeling a diluted version of what it feels like to look at your face in old age but still feel young inside, that slight sense of unrecognition from the contrast of external versus internal followed by a bittersweet dread at the markers of your time being spent, and if I don't even know the details of my own face and can't keep up with the changes of a vaporous life evidenced by this aging, how can I ever expect other people to know my inner world as I want it to be known and how can I ever be able to recall small important details that I want to hold onto always without synthetic forms of recall like my parent's laughter after they're gone and that's when I felt rather alone, but it certainly wasn't loneliness because we all have these moments we share with ourselves, where our internal voice clashes with our physical body, and they're difficult to explain and I wanted to try to put words to the train of thought that warped around my mind in a fleeting moment. No, I'm not high. Yes, I'm an over-thinker. And yes, that was a very long run-on sentence.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Wadi Rum

There was a moment in Wadi Rum where I was looking up at the stars and said if “I died right now, it’d be okay”. I really meant it. I never say those words; death is a huge fear of mine. But I felt so connected to that place. It’s a place where death meets life and life confronts death. And never have I ever seen so many stars in one sky. If only all night skies were like the night sky in Wadi Rum. When I’m full of awe it floods over into a tear or two after it builds up in my body and that is just what happened when I looked up in the darkness. I can’t contain emotions which feel incomprehensible and seeing the stretches of the Milky Way relieved me of my own existence somehow. I avoid thinking of death and the concept of forever at all costs in my life. I’m fighting to live now. Why drive yourself to sadness or insanity with such unpleasant thoughts when you’ve escaped the part of your life where you actually wanted to die? Your own death is inevitable and the thought is frightening to let fill your mind but somehow under a night sky like that you just become so content with life that you suddenly feel it’s okay to die. That it all really is just part of some grand connected circle of life. You feel so insignificant but also feel such meaning all at once. It’s overwhelming with contrast in the best of ways.