Pride or love (e altri desideri)

Here I lay, once again, with the imperative need to go out running, which usually happens after spending some time tossing and turning in my bed with all sort of thoughts, and things unsaid.  At 2am, it probably is not a good idea, however, some running is being done by my mind.  At different speeds, different flashes of arguments had, and retorts said (or unsaid), I lay in bed without the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. Why can’t romantic love be that fictional idea that novels and Disney make so appealing to us (from a very young age), and to which we so desperately cling to.  The hopeful wish that the love of your life,  after an argument/disagreement/or awkward phone call, will eventually contact you with out the usual “battle of power and righteousness”.  How is it that sweet (sometimes recent) memories become distant and obscured after a few days back to reality?  Earlier this week my lover and I spent two days together with some time to enjoy each other.  I don’t know how a male brain works, but mainly for me, when I spend time with him, everything seems magical, and for that moment, the world stands still, reality becomes better than any fairy tale, and the world finally makes sense.
After our non-extensive vacation (though it was more of a decreased sense of responsibilities), we returned to our homes and responsibilities with promises to continue the magic that  had started between fluffy pillows and considerably white linings. Twenty four hours after a short lived fairy tale, I lay, a bit frustrated, hours after not talking due to an awkward conversation (the only sort of communication through out the day) and I have to wonder, why is it that it’s easier for the guy to keep quiet and ignore?  Though with years of trial and error, and teary practices, I have managed to polish this attribute (which I so very much envied), and now I am proud to say that I too can pass countless hours without dialing his number, or trying to contact him(regardless of how bad my fingers urge to defy me)… Of course I have not yet been able to tame my mind, which is the main culprit for all the madness that, like tonight, keeps me awake. When I look back at how intense my 21 year old self use to be, I must say my 26th year old self has come a long way.  I am quite intense, and somewhat still needy, however, I have learned to channel that toward more productive activities; as a great example, my room is now impeccable, and tomorrow (actually, later on today) a good forecast can be made about the re-organization of my entire closet.  But, if I stop for one minute, all the suppressed feelings, questions, and worries come rushing back.  How do we get to this point, where silence is better than a loud disagreement, where neither side will get a point across (in our particular case, I believe, is because we are both hard headed stubborn people). I also wonder, will this newly developed pattern (newly developed for me, and perfection-ed for him) of not speaking and engaging in other activities, soon ripen into the abyss that separates so many married couples (and to think we haven’t even said our vows!).  So, boiling back to the origin of the raveling thought, should pride win? Or should one side give in, even though (sadly) it is usually the same side that gives in. Is it stupidity, or love?  Can one make a point by giving in, or is it better to not give in and let pride fuel the argument (which most of the time gets”lost in translation”, thought, and/or the recollection of events) and the reasons why we resorted to ignoring each other.  After quenching certain needs that boggled my being, I had the sudden and urgent craving to hear his voice, or to know that he too, was thinking about me, or missing me. But when I realized that he was probably sleeping, and was not bothered at all by the fact that we did not say good night, and stopped talking all together after he expressed some “mixed feelings” about my writing/thoughts, I decided against it… Instead my fingers found a way to get rid of some of that frustrating itch to press something, which use to be his phone number, but now, thanks to my alternative escape, I am able to resist the temptation… Finally, having drained some of the last sparks of energy, my mind, eyes, and body prepare to drift into the sweet darkness of sleep…



What is the limit to honesty? Is saying things the way they are, or how you truly feel, the best way to be? Or is it best to keep things to yourself most of the time, and say what people want to hear half of the time, all for the sake of being at peace and not risking hurting any body’s feelings? I have been told, at times, that I can be harsh, and that is only because I don’t really sugar coat my opinions or thoughts, though I do try to explain them in the nicest way possible, contrary to certain believes, I am not a heartless, evil, selfish bitch… I am extremely honest and opinionated; recently however(by recently I mean in the last hour or so),  I started thinking that perhaps “opinionated and honest” is not a very good combination.  Why share your thoughts with the people that mean the most to you, if later it will come back to bite you in the rear? But then again, if you are pretending otherwise, or keeping your thoughts to yourself, what is the point of thinking?
I feel as if a metaphorical rug has been pulled from underneath me. To a degree, having a hypothetical rug disappear from underneath you, is worse than having the actual rug unbalance your stance… The sense of falling, when the rug is hypothetical, is ever lasting, you keep preparing for some sort of impact that never comes. Through the eternal falling, one is able to analyze every angle of a situation, and according to each person, I suppose, we reach to different conclusions.  I suppose as well that, culture and background, must have an imperative effect on how we all reach a conclusion.  Not too long ago, a different angle on what I previously wrote was brought to my attention; and though I never meant it in a harmful way, I never thought that, to other people, it could be.  Before I develop any further on this particular post, I must clarify some things. I truly do consider myself  a lucky girl, in many aspects of life.
1) I have been blessed with amazing parents and siblings (amazing, not perfect). They support my every whim, they love me unconditionally, and though we do have scary fights, at the end of the day, we know that we have each other. 2) I am an intellectual and analytical person, bubbly, honest, happy,  and compassionate as far as personality goes, and quite decent as far as physical appearances go. 3) As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, in the love aspect, I am also lucky. What I perhaps did not mention (mainly because it slipped my mind in the spur of the moment, and partly because I was quite cold and I wanted to relocate) is that though my future family to be is quite different, (and may not know me fully) I have been blessed with loving, sweet, and somewhat easy to get along with people (as easy as it ever is to get along with people that don´t share the same language, traditions, and believes).   As far as mothers in law goes, I am quite fortunate.  Yes, we differ a lot in our views of life, religion, and marriage, but we do get along. I should also mention that we love and care for each other, and though our relationship has not developed fully, it has had a great start.  I do not consider her a monster in law, as so many other unfortunate souls have confessed to me about their own personal experiences.  And quite honestly, I would like to break the chain of tradition regarding mother-daughter in law relationships.
Now, once again, the notion of differences comes to mind, as well as the way in which we interpret our surroundings.  Communication is a deceiving word, it seems rather simple having very few letters (some of them repeated), and quit harmless in its meaning. In verity, it is a double edge sword, quite useful if both parties reach the same understanding, but extremely harmful if something between exchanges is missing or misinterpreted.  Why is it then that people venture and seek to bring two different worlds together at such high risks?  One says blue, and the other may see black, one sees orange, and the other says tulips.  On an every day basis,  and when it comes to interacting with one another, we are hardly on the same page. Perhaps this is why, at a cellular level, communication between cells (and the effects unleashed by an interpretation of messages), are highly and meticulously regulated.  It is not merely an action reaction event, rather, it is a cascade of actions and reactions that lead to one final event.  Perhaps if we all communicated this way, there would be less misunderstandings, less arguments, and less hurt feelings.  This holds true with any types of relationship, not just the romantic type.  Though in my personal case, it mainly pertains to the romantic relationship.  How can we move forward if one side perceives the other as malicious, or does not have a full understanding of the unraveling mind of the other.  If either side is not able to see things from a different perspective other than his/her own, if one side feels deprived, or limited and can’t be honest about it, can a relationship (and a marriage) emerge victorious through out time and history? I doubt that without honesty, trust, and scrupulously intensive attempts at good communication (which so far have proven to be the key to any sort of relationship), a marriage can survive.  Though only life and time  will tell…

High life-xpectations?

Just a random thought, how exactly does one know if the current path is the right one?
On my way to class, as thoughts about my exam score (which I did not fail, but must admit I thought I had done a lot better), reality, responsibilities, and so on, developed and connected in my mind, I realized that it is passed mid-September. With only four days left in the 9th month, which for some reason I always picture with a yellowish tone, I have literally three months left of the single life. A rush of emotions ran through me faster than a cbr 1100.  As each emotion (excitement, nervousness, joy, and somewhat tapping on woefulness) left  my body in a “peak to valley” motion, one seemed to prevail: worry.  Is it normal to worry about getting married, and knowing that you might not be cut out for a married life? To most people, the worrying aspect of marriage is mainly the fact that they would be legally and emotionally bound to one person for the fairy tale version of “a monstrously long time”: for ever. However, this particular reason is not something that deprives me of sleep. I know to the last molecule in my body that I am deeply and unequivocally in love with my hubby to be. Truth is, when it comes to significant others, I am quite lucky. Despite our ups and downs as a couple, and though he may not be the romantic type, he does seek to spoil me, and tries with all his might to make me happy; considering the fact that I am an indecisive, intricate, devilishly emotional and sensitive gal.  My epicenter of worry is mainly due to financial problems, and to some extent, family/culture differences. As a 26 year old undergrad student, I never thought I would be this old, and with no direction of life goal achievements. And while I am being honest, I never thought I would be getting married before being a professional, independent woman. Life wraps surprises in every intangible way possible.  Through different scenarios, I find myself in the present time, not yet graduated (but in the eve of my last semester), without a job, and engaged.  Definitely not what I had in mind when I was forced to migrate with my parents to the famous land of opportunities nine years ago.  Though it has turned out to be quite an experience, and I have learned and changed so much, it is still not ideal.  I have not yet made an imperative discovery, nor have I yet changed the world into a more compassionate place.  Instead I have managed to add up over $20,000 in student loans, and about $900 in my savings (through mediocre little part time jobs).  Six years after I started my student carrier (and after foolishly taking a year off), my graduate title will read Neuroscience and Biological Science, and minor in Italian. To some it sounds quite impressive, to me, it is merely a mockery of time and money wasted. I do not feel any smarter, and as a science graduate, I am not yet able to have a decent paying job; truth is, I didn’t think the studious plan through.  As an eager young nerd, one does not take into consideration (or at least, I didn’t) that science require half your life span and years of dedication to make a career that will support you and/or, at the very least, pay the bills.  As a soon to be graduate, I am faced with the reality of a huge college loan, and no career possibilities unless I keep going (which I very much intend to do) into a Masters and even a PhD degrees.  How exactly will I afford those dreams, I still do not know.  In the mean time, I have two more months to figure out how to start paying the rather large amount of money, and most importantly, how can I start a life with, the previously mentioned, hubby to be.  It seems unfair to have to drag him through my emotional and financial, thymus-reducing, crisis.  Knowing that we cannot start from zero, since I already have a huge debt, leads me to rethink the “moving in with the family” issue.  Definitely not something I ever wanted to do, and now even less so, since my baby sister claims that she will move out by the time she turns 21.
The latter, does not help my dependent situation; rather it nudges my (already brittle) self esteem that much closer to complete self loathing and disappointment.  Drowning in a sea of different thoughts and possibilities, the question remains, should we just stay in the comfort parent zone?  Though it is hardly a “comfort zone”.  I must add as well, that I am a newly Muslim convert, though I enjoy the religion at my own pace, my future parents in law (particularly my future mother in law), have different views as to what constitutes a good Muslim, and most definitively, what constitutes a good wife.  As a Hispanic girl, I am load, outspoken, hot headed, and extremely sexual, not submissive at all. I do, every so often, enjoy my solitude, and I like to hypothesis about everything I can.  Having grown up in a sexist society, I learned very early on to speak my mind, repel certain ideas, and not take, for lack of a better word, crap from anyone. I have always detested the idea that both my grandmothers, and some of my aunts, wanted to embed in my, and my cousins’ heads “The woman has to learn to cook and clean for her husband”.  Of course, now would be a good time to mention that my hubby to be does not think in this way at all. However, after a recent conversation with his mother, the words burn in my limbic system. “You are going to be married now, you can’t put your duties aside for studies or anything else, in our culture, the man comes first”.  I politely nodded, partly because I didn’t know what else to do, and mainly because I do not speak Bangla.  If either she spoke Spanish, or I spoke Bangla, I would have told her that I do not share her views, and that I come from a completely different background, where I speak my mind, I am not submissive, and the husband is just as capable as the wife is, of cooking, cleaning and looking after him/herself.  But not wanting to start a war early on, and thinking that we would start together else where, I decided to stay  quite.  Nowthat the vulture like question is upon us, I have to reconsider everything.  His parent’s house, or mine? So many factors to consider, all revolving around the fact that I have not yet lived to any of my expectations.  How, when, what, why, all have always formed part of my daily thought process, recently, however, they have acquired a much serious meaning, with a dark sort of grayish tone.
What about tiny humans, that little genetic combination of two lovers?? Alas, that indeed is an entirely new blog…