ما مشي الحال

One of the advantages of being multi-lingual multi-dialect is that one is rarely stuck for a word to express oneself and one's feelings.. I find Arabic a highly flowery/pretentious/heavy language at times so I avoid it when expressing myself in writing, I feel fake sometimes if I do. English is analytical, like me and my thinking, it is clear and direct. The first thing they taught me in my American liberal arts education is to forget what I had learned at school in writing. It is about quality not quantity. MH later at work told me another simple rule; take every complicated difficult word and replace it with a simpler one, until you no longer can. Omit repetitions. Core ideas only.. pure, filtered, stripped raw.

Mapping and differences between languages and semantics amuses me a lot. In English, we say "I miss you", it is about me and about the feeling *I* am feeling. In French, however, it is about the other: "Tu me manques". It is YOU who is missing to me. There is a lack of "you", and "I" am just an indirect object here.

There is an expression used a lot in Lebanese (and Levantine) dialects.. "ما مشي الحال".. It means it did not work out, but it says it in a passive, resigned tone that doesn't let on the reason things did not work, whether it is you, others, or just fate.

So how is your new start-up?
ما مشي الحال

Weren't you getting engaged to that guy?
ما مشي الحال

How is that diet going?
ما مشي الحال

The French also have a similar expression when you ask someone how they're doing, "ça marche" they say. "Ca marche", "it goes", not great, not bad.. Just life as we know it.

So, ça marche, until one day it does not.

the spectacle

It is interesting this spectacle, but I'm tired. I have always been a wallflower, and I never seemed to mind it at first, then I did, then I went back to not minding. I have the advantage of watching, observing, assessing. But I am cursed with a goldfish memory for bad things. They say a person will forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel. Well, I tend to forget both, and in my head, my memories are woven together like incoherent fairy tales, or surreal dreams.

For as long as I remember, I have been observing myself and others. One of my clearest earliest memories was when I was not more than 3, my older brother (19 or 20 at the time) asked me why I talk so much. We were in his dark grey Fiat Ritmo. And I remember very clearly that I said "I am the mother of all speech" (مامة الكلام كله). I find that funny, amusing, insightful now. And I think he is foolish for not seeing it at the time, or now. I do believe in words and in thoughts, maybe more than actions sometimes. I love words and how we can play with them like little play-dough, and I feel sad for those who do not express themselves as freely or as expressively..

I have been reading a lot on personal interaction, validating the other's feelings, and I realized that between intention & impact I am lost. I reached an epiphany. I say what I mean, but I do not say what I feel, or what I need you to feel through me... my words are wasted... I should follow the earlier advice then: replace every difficult word with an easy one, read it from the other's point of view, and then feel the impact, not the intention.

the lonely culture

Ours is a culture of loneliness. We are forever haunted by being alone, so much so that it has become one of our defining characteristics. I realized that when -walking alone in stranger cities- I found myself reaching for my phone; texting, calling, receiving calls. Trying to kill the "alone"-ness by creating some virtual connection. Going into a shop to have a coffee and pastries, I would read my book, but lunch/dinner is another affair. How would I sit somewhere, order a pasta dish, and eat it in complete silence and loneliness.

In earlier years, I never felt weird about people on their own in cafés: a little me-time to work, study, read or just sit and ponder over a cup of coffee is okay, yet I always wondered about those eating in restaurants alone. Does he not have a family/spouse/friend/companion to keep him company during lunch? When I started traveling for work, I understood how it is sometimes inevitable. You cannot live on café food for a week! So I was bound to go into restaurants, sit on a table for two, and order for one. Again, it was merely out of inevitability not out of choice. Recently, however, I started acknowledging being alone as a choice. It still confused me, but at least I acknowledged it. I started understanding the thin line between being alone and being lonely, and how the latter had nothing to do with having people eating with you on the same table.

The culture thing hit me when I started thinking how we would almost feel "sorry" for someone who would go watch a movie alone, eat a meal alone, live alone. We are forever longing for companionship that we even use the little time that we are on our own to catch-up on our phone-calls, making sure that we are NEVER having a silent pensive moment, God forbid! I would compare that to others around me in stranger countries in Europe, and they all seem pretty much fine with being alone without having to mask that with random phone calls.. They seemed at ease, either out to finish a task or just out to enjoy some quality time with oneself.

Some years ago, when I saw an old man or woman walking alone in the street, carrying groceries or maybe carrying the morning's newspaper, I would tell mama "we will never let you be that alone when you are old", and she said "but maybe I want to have some time on my own."

We are trying so hard not to be alone that we have forgotten what the connection is all about. Instead of appreciating these links, it became simply about mental/verbal/emotional dumps, word vomit. No need to "connect", just some random need to not eat alone. 

simplicity/complexity

life should be simpler.. grudges should not be held.. everything should be sorted out if someone in denial texted the other with a reminder of love, and asked to go see a movie or have a coffee.. A lot of time is wasted on blame and finger-pointing.. a lot of energy is wasted in blocking the other, even more so than the energy spent in the actual fight..

I do not know if it is wisdom that came with age, or simple resignation to the reality and burdens of life, but I have developed tolerance.. accommodation.. forgiveness.. understanding.. and I look for the same.. I have even gone so extreme as to fight over intolerance! (quite contradictory)..

I am having "dreams" again these days, the ones that blur wakefulness with sleep, and where I wake up knowing answers to questions I was asking. I wake up satisfied, knowing truth in my heart. But does the other know that?

A dog has a terribly loud and scary bark, and a man is terrified. "Don't worry", the owner says, "don't you know a dog's bark is worse than its bite?". And the man responds, "I know, but I wonder if the dog knows."

It is like that. I know the truth in my heart, and I believe, but I wonder if the other knows it. And I mean no moral or intellectual superiority here, it was not exactly an easy ride. 

Trust..

Two years ago, I did not know how to float. I had always been terrible at learning how to swim. My father was a great swimmer, really one of the best I've seen. Like he taught my older brother and my cousins, he really did try to teach me with no success (and maybe he lacked the time & effort to follow through). What's more, I couldn't do something as basic as floating. I would float as long as his hand was under my back, even if not touching me, it was my placebo. But as soon as I felt it gone I would lose control and stop floating, arms splashing and flailing all over. Afterwards, there were several attempts through self and through friends to learn the same, but again with no use. "Trust that water will carry you" was only theoretical when it came to me. Water did not carry me, all laws of buoyancy & physics were rendered obsolete. I could not float.

It was not until two years back that S attempted to teach me to lay back and float, and succeeded. I suddenly could ease back into floating and I LOVED it! When he saw how my friends reacted to that, he realized what a big accomplishment that was. I even started to draw observations and improvise on my floating patterns (childish but it was still my baby steps).. I realized that while laying back (a very conscious & aware process in my case), there is a certain split second where an internal statement is made: I will let go, and all will be well. If this split second passes successfully, I could float forever uninterrupted. If it does not, here comes the flailing arms, the panic and the doggy swimming.  

To me, letting go of this feeling of control (emotionally/physically/mentally), is exactly like this split second. Over and over and over again. It is a lesson in trust, and so far the "metaphorical" water keeps failing me, so there is no reason to believe I can float if I let go.

brain dump

At times of profound confusion like these, I am looking for signs. Even signs that my own brain plays on me to make me believe. I go to a friend's blog, not to see the recent posts but to dig deeper into the holes of history, even before I knew her. Not for any reason except to find fragments of ourselves in others. For reverse solidarity. To look for clues elsewhere that can crack a puzzle I have the answer to. I also listen to music that would induce the right moods and thoughts. Adaweya is surprisingly too painful, or maybe not painful but rather very subjective, and why wouldn't he be! Mozart and Abdelwahab are the answer. Listening to Lacrimosa I hold back the tears. I wonder if somewhere in my head the definitions of strength and weakness or courage and fear got confused, because right now telling the difference is becoming increasingly difficult. In my head, I go through the exercise of splitting up the memories, what’s mine and what I should leave to the wind.

I think Sh is more talented than he believes. I think he is both better and worse than he thinks. But no matter how many times I have to say this, he still won't believe it until he's ready. He tries too hard and sometimes I want to tell him, like the puzzle, that the answer is simpler than he believes.

I am sleepy because I have been having dreams that exhaust me. Last week I dreamt it was my wedding in few days and I can't reach him! My dreams think it is funny to mock me like so!

I don't know if it is age or what, but I started in the last year specifically to focus on joy factor: I would rather stay hungry than eat something I do not like. And so on.

Also I was right to not trust people who tell me ya sett el kull without knowing me. I hate bullshit and bullshitters.