archives main |
PICKING SIDES
I live with guilt twenty-four/seven.
No matter what time of the day or week you catch me, I can list five things I feel guilty about. There are the typical things like the chocolate I ate a few minutes ago, or the exercise I didn't do, or the emails sitting in my inbox. Things that are common to everyone's life. Things that make up New Year's resolutions that never get met. They are such shared experiences that books are written about them, careers are made trying to monetize them, and they even have Hallmark cards about them. ` These pangs of guilt live in the surface of life. The place where you know it doesn't much matter if I ate chocolate half an hour ago or end up a size smaller or bigger next week. I know that the inbox will fill again. I know that the friends will forgive me, and often will be too busy to write back themselves. All it takes to fix these things is admitting that while I would love for these issues to disappear, I don't really want to do the work or sacrifice they will need. And then there is the big stuff. Spending time with family vs working all hours of the night. Snapping at my husband when I'm pissed at a coworker. Ignoring my kid because I am too tired and don't want to deal with whatever small thing he's frustrated about right then. There are the things that make you pick sides. Living in America vs being near my family. Working vs staying home with David. Things that don't come with right answers. Things that a lot of work might not make go away. Things that are not obvious. Those are the cases where I wish someone would pull me aside and tell me the secret answers. I know that guilt is a wasted emotion. Yet, I can't help it. I don't want to have to sacrifice one for the others. I want to know that I can love my son and be there for him without taking the frustration out on my husband. I want to spend time with the things I love and my son and get my work done. I want to do a good job of it all. I think that's why I take so many pictures of David: to prove I was there. I saw those moments, I experienced them. The funny thing is, the camera is the reason I don't end up experiencing them. Capturing the moment and being in the moment are mutually exclusive. At least for me. As much as I love the photos, I end up missing out in a bigger way. Each time I am in one place, doing one thing, I am feeling guilty about not being in the other place doing the other thing. Guilty that I am not at home feeding him. Guilty that I didn't go to work early and finish my overflowing task list. Guilty that I am reading when it's one of the few hours in the week I get to see my family. My new plan is to put a stop to all the guilt. Life's too short and maybe I could see more of David if I didn't work so much. And maybe I could be more successful at work if I didn't have a family to go home to. And maybe I could spend more time reading if I didn't have either. But I do. And I love all of them. And I can enjoy all of them. If only I can enjoy the moment I am in instead of the one I'm not getting to experience. We pick sides all the time. And I am picking mine. I will have it all. Maybe not simultaneously, maybe not even in equal doses at all times. But, even the small doses can be magical if I stop worrying about where I am not and instead enjoy where I am. GONE
In 1999, I bought a small fighting fish to accompany me at work. The little blue fish would sit in his cage and I would sit in mine and we'd go about doing out business of the day. Every now and then I would tap his tank, which is too big of a word for the tiny cup he lived in, and he would attack my pen like his life depended on it. He never quite reached my pen; he couldn't figure out that there was a plastic layer between him and the pen. I would be gone for the weekend, sometimes for three days, but he'd always be there to greet me when I got back to work. I wasn't very happy with work those days and it cheered me up to have something wating for me when I got there.The day before I left for Tokyo, I brought the fishie home, so Jake could take care of him while I was gone. I woke up the next morning to find him floating on the surface. I figured my friend didn't want to be a burden to anyone or didn't like the idea of not seeing me for six months, the scheduled duration of my trip. That was the only way I could stop myself from being sad about having lost my friend. My first week at work here, in San Diego, I dragged Jake to a pet store and bought another fighter. I had had my old one for almost a year and remembered his generous companionship and easy care. I took my fish to work and fed him daily and tried to talk to entertain him. "Here you go birdie," I'd say each time. I have had a bird for the last eight years and am so used to feeding him that I would say the words before I thought them. After a few weeks of making the same mistake, I decided to name my fish "Birdie." This way, he wouldn't get offended at my mistake. Birdie kept me company during long nights at work and came home with me at the end of November, when I started working from home. I put him in front of the balcony so he could watch the palm trees and enjoy sunny San Diego. In the last two weeks, Birdie kept staying at the bottom of his tank. I tried to entice him with food or with clean water, but he would appear momentarily before he sunk back into the bottom of the tank. I knew something was wrong but I had no idea what to do. I just hoped, like me, he was a bit gloomy and would go back to being happy soon. This afternoon, my little fighting fish, Birdie, died. I'll miss you my little friend. ONE OF THOSE DAYS
There are days when something tiny throws off the whole balance of the day. And you can't even tell why, when, or how it began. Days when an unreturned email means much more than the fact that the person was too busy. Days when a small rejection becomes personal. Days when all color seems to drain from the world and everything is seen through blurry eyes. Days when the ones on your side don't know what they're talking about and those on the opposite side have it right. When a miniscule hiccup on the road becomes a full blown hurdle. Enough reason to stop trying. Days when you feel it's easier to give up or give in. When you want to go to sleep just so you can wake up to a new day and hope it will be better. When all possibility out of this one is already drained out. Today is one of those days for me. Here's to wishing tomorrow looks better. DON'T BE SCARED
The first call came Friday night around 2a.m, I think. All I remember is the phone ringing and my not being able to tell if it was real or my dream. When I answered it, I was so tired that it took me several minutes to recognize my mom. "Don't be scared," she said, which is the way we always start a conversation if bad news is about to follow. She continued to explain that two major synagogues in Istanbul were bombed, but that I shouldn't worry because they were all accounted for and alive. Jake's brother, who moved to Istanbul a week ago, was also safe and sound. I got up and read about the events in all the papers I could find. I read the Times and CNN and several Turkish papers and then I went back to sleep. The next morning I talked to my mom again. She said both synagogues had Bar mitzvahs scheduled and my parents were invited and had decided not to attend. Otherwise, they would have been in the synagogue at the time of the bombings. I asked if they knew anyone who was affected. A friend of mine's fiancee's brother, she said, was a guard at the synagogue and only 19. He is no longer alive. Another friend's mother was taking her granddaughter to school, Both dead. Last night, my cell phone rang around 3a.m. I had told my friend Tara, who lives in Ireland and was working on a college application which was due today, that she could call me if she needed a last look before she sent her paper in. So when the call came and I saw a long number on my caller-id, I assumed it was she. But it was my mom again and she started with, "Don't be scared," again. She said "Bad things are happening here and I don't want you to be worried. We're all fine and at home, I am still looking for Jake's brother, call his parents." I told her that I didn't want to call them unless we knew he was okay so could she please call me back. I went back to bed with my cell phone. She called back in fifteen minutes and said she had found him and he was okay. I called my father in law, read some of the web sites and went back to bed. I was to wake up in two hours and report to a twelve-hour workday. I had an 8A.M. meeting that I still hadn't fully prepared for. Sleep must have eventually come because I remember looking at my clock around 4:50 and then again at 6:15. Right after I arrived at work, my mom called again and said that they were all at my sister's and very shaken but alive. I remember the Tuesday morning of September 11th clearly and how thankful I felt that my dad was able to reach us before the phone lines went dead. In the twelve years I have lived in the United States, I have never had to wake up to the phone calls I have received in the last week. I am not sure how many more of them I can take. I am even more scared of the possibility that after another such horrible incident, they might not come. Moving back home has crossed my mind more often this week than ever before. I know that I can't protect them if I am there but at least I can live each day with them and be there. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense but I genuinely don't know how to deal with this situation. It also made me think a lot more about the insignificant worries that get in the way of my living my life with joy and how perspective only comes with tragedy. I am not naive enough to think such events never occurred before but I do know that they have suddenly become a lot more prominent in my life than ever before and I haven't fully figured out how to cope. Not that I want to learn to cope with this. RED SKIES
This is a shot taken outside the building where I work at 3:30pm today. The fires have been burning for three days now. When they started, up north, on Saturday night, we had no idea. We were entertaining twelve people down by the pool, having bbq and enjoying the hot tub. Sunday morning, Jake woke up to find some ashes on my bikini, on the balcony, and we could smell quite a bit of smoke. We figured it must be a small fire down the street. Jake went to get some bagels and the New York Times and told me to turn on the TV. By this point, hell had broken loose. I don't know many people in San Diego, yet. I called and emailed the one person I knew in Scripps Ranch. She had taken her cats, a few belongings and evacuated her house just in case. I told her she could come here anytime and asked her to keep in touch. Everyone else I knew seemed safe and sound in their home. We had out of town guests who ended up spending most of the day holed up with us. The restaurants shut down, the air smelled too bad to take a walk. People called with rumors that they were evacuating our neighborhood. I kept wondering if I should pack up. I couldn't even figure out what I would take with me if the situation arose. The experience of being glued and horrified by TV brought back unpleasent memories of September 2001. The more I watched, the more depressed and scared I became. The fires are still raging on. The quality of air declines every day. Cars are covered with ash and it's pointless to try to clean them. Today, I watched the sun set behind a wall of dark smoke. The sky was black and the sun firey red. The word eerie comes to mind. I know that I am incredibly lucky to still have my house and my job and my loved ones. I know that the fires are moving the other way and the chances of anything hitting my home are reduced. Yet, I still feel uneasy. The sky isn't supposed to be red or black in the middle of the day. THE DRIVING TEST
"I know you were very nervous, but you really need to watch the right turns," she says, looking at me. At least, I think she is looking at me; I can't see her eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses.
I never learned to drive until two weeks ago. In my native country, you need to be eighteen to take the driving test and since I was already in the US for college, I never took the test at eighteen. The summer of my twentieth birthday, my mom asked the driver to give me some lessons and made me work for the written test. The written exam is very complicated in Turkey; you have to answer questions about traffic, engine and first aid. The driving exam, on the other had, is a joke. You get in their car, go straight, make a U-turn, pull over and you've passed. It's not a huge surprise that Istanbul is full of bad drivers. Before the exam, the driver and I practiced a bit and I drove on my own around the block one time. So, at twenty, I had a license. I went back to college in Pittsburgh and did not drive. I graduated and moved to New York City and continued not to drive. When we decided to move out of the state, seven years later, we bought a car and I promised Jake I'd drive as part of our all-summer cross-country trip. And I did. I drove for twelve hours on my first day. The car was swerving a lot, but mostly under control. At the end of the day, my muscles were tight from stressing and my hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel. I drove several more times during the trip, in the farm roads of Texas and highways of Montana. All in all, I drove maybe for ten days. California State allows a foreign licensed person to get a temporary license until she passes the driving test. I took the written exam with Jake and scheduled my test for two and a half weeks later. I told him that I would do the driving since I needed the exercise and I almost killed us on the ramp to the highway. read more ONE YEAR - EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS
I met my husband in October of 1994. We quickly became close friends, mostly due to one fact: we had tons of fun together. We spent more time laughing than anything else. We talked for hours.Almost nine years later, he still makes me laugh more than anyone else. I still prefer his company over any alternative. Many fights, many sad times and many tough times later, he is still my best friend. A few months ago, I was looking for a book called "Important Questions" which contained a list of questions couples should ask each other before they decided to wed. I felt the idea was good but it would never work. People tend to lie in an effort to appear what they wish they were over what they really are. Thus, either party would answer untruthfully and the exercise would be pointless. Who would honestly say, a month before they marry their partner, that they might leave him or her if he or she gets fired. I think the answers can only come with first-hand experience. This is where dating for eight years comes in handy: chances are you've already lived through most of the questions. I know we have. My love and I just celebrated our one-year anniversary which feels funny since we've been together about nine years. Do we start from scratch just because we now have a wedding date instead of a "dating date"? We spent every minute of May together, most of those minutes in a car or in a tent. Amazingly, we still have much to talk about and he's still my favorite person. I love you, baby. Happy Annivesary. ANTICIPATION
I cherish the value of spontaneity. THEORY OF RELATIVITY
The city morgue is a mere three blocks from my house. HEELS
I wore heels this morning. THIRTEEN
It's been thirteen days. BACK
"New York City is getting back to normal," they say. "We really need to get back to the normal," I hear repeatedly. SAFE
"Yes, thank you. We're alive and okay." I write in another one of the many emails I sent this week. MOTION
I was writing a short story when disaster struck. AFTERMATH
September 13 2001Still at home and still in too much shock to write anything pithy. September 12 2001 Today is my birthday and I am glad to be alive. September 11 2001 It is not possible to put the magnitude of what is happening into words. If you have any loved ones you are trying to reach in New York City, or you have friends who are stuck in the city and need a place to go to please email me and I will do my best to help out. MEANIE
I'm not mean. RIGHT MOMENT
Here's what's been on my mind for a few days: TAKEOVER
It all starts with a single seed. HATRED
If you've been following my log for a while you might have noticed the theme of self exploration. On of the reasons I've always enjoyed writing diaries is that they sort of make me face who I am. Especially lately I've been trying to look within and face some of the major flaws, hangups, issues that I have. Turkey happens to be one of them. Ever since I can remember I've wanted to leave Istanbul. I grew up in a crowd where I was continually excluded and ridiculed for being different. While I enjoyed reading, my so-called friends spent their time gossiping and shopping. I was the nerd and the dork. It seemed the only way I could escape these labels was to go to the other end of the universe. One where people would stop treating me as the freak. The thing is I never stopped hating those people. Each time I come back and run into one of them my knees go weak and I become the same girl with coke bottle bottom glasses and extreme lack of self confidence. Which, of course, results in my having violent reactions to their presence and I hate them. Just the thought is enough to make me cringe. Tonight I was sitting at a concert and thinking of all those teenager friends whom I hate and I decided that hatred is a sign of a flaw in myself, not others. If other people can cause such a strong emotion to come to the surface there must be some residual issues within. Many psychologists believe that the things we hate in others are really the reflections of flaws we have within, but I'm not sure I agree with that. I do, however, agree that for me to feel something as strong as hatred there must be something going on. So I spent some time thinking why I hate them and howcome they still have such a strong effect on me. And I came to the same conclusion as I have been reaching for many other things lately: cause I let them. It's truly amazing how much more is within the range of one's capacity than one is willing to admit. It's so much easier to say "Oh I've always been like that and it's who I am." Just like it's easier for me to hate those people rather than accept the fact that a part of me still feels insecure/inadequate. So here's the deal: as of today I don't hate these people anymore. I might not agree with their choices in life and I still don't appreciate the way they treated me as a child but the past is past and I am ready to move on and let go. Hatred is a wasted emotion. Previously? Regret. WASTED EMOTIONS
I realized today that I waste so many of my emotions. Of course, on some level, I always knew this. But somehow it just hit me today in a way that suddenly made me realize it well enough to rid myself of this destructive behavior. I guess even though I know something about myself, it takes a certain level of acceptance/understanding for me to do something about it. Anyhow, I was talking to a friend and he said that he worried about his friend often, and I replied, "You shouldn't worry, that's a wasted emotion." He looked at me like I was a freak and then started laughing at me. How dare I, the queen of worrying, give such advice, he said. He was right, of course. Certain emotions are totally valid and people experience them regularly. We all get angry, feel sad or happie. There are legitimate situations that cause one or more of these emotions to emerge and I think that's perfectly acceptable, assuming your emotion is proportional and correlated to the event. And then there's an entire set of wasted emotions, the top three in my list are worrying, feeling frustrated and being jealous. I can't think of any scenarios where such emotions are constructive or worthwhile. Let's analyze each: While worrying makes your insides rot, it doesn't actually help you or the other person resolve the issue that's making you worry. For example, after I took an exam in college, I'd spend hours worrying about whether I passed or failed. Does it matter? Not really, at that point. Regardless of the outcome, it's impossible for me to change it. Would it have helped if I worried before the exam? Again, not really. It would have helped if I studied but worrying itself doesn't help me one bit. On the contrary, it might have stopped me from concentrating. You might be inclined to say, "Who worries about grades? That's so stupid. I worry about important things like getting a job or being sick." But, trust me, worrying doesn't help in any one of those situations either. Frustration. Another totally useless emotion. What does frustration even mean? It can be out of boredom, anger, helplessness or many other actual emotions. But frustration itself is not good for anything. It's most likely an emotion that symbolizes the need to "do something" about a situation that is in some way out of hand. Feeling frustrated doesn't resolve the issue, realizing what's causing the frustration and addressing that, however, does. Oh and one of my favorites, jealousy. I used to be so incredibly jealous that it was embarrassing. I've always believed jealousy is closely tied with someone's self worth. Most people who're jealous of their significant others feel that way cause they don't think they're worthy of their significant other and that she or he might leave at any minute when she or he realizes how unworthy the person is. Sad, but true. And jealousy can be overwhelming for the person who feels it and totally unbearable for the party for whom it's felt. Talk about a wasted emotion. You end up driving the person away just cause you're stifling the crap out of them. These three are my top wasted emotions. I'm happy to say that I've made huge strides in jealousy and it's almost non-existent for me now. I've also worked hard to improve the frustration one. Which leaves me with my worst: worry. This will be extremely difficult for me to let go. For some reason worry is associated with being nice and caring. We worry about the people we care about and that's a good thing. Actually, I no longer think that's true. Worrying doesn't help the other person. Sometimes it stifles him or her and limits his or her freedom in the same way jealousy does. Almost always, it eats you up from the inside and sometimes even makes you feel anger towards the other party for not being considerate of your feelings. I think caring is totally fine and wonderful, and it involves being there for the other person, feeling happy and angry and sad with them. Sharing laughter and making memories, being a shoulder on which to lean. Helping out, lending an ear. All these are acceptable and all show that you care. But worrying, well that's a waste. Which is why I will stop. What emotions do you waste? Previously? Home. BUBBLING UP
On the surface life is good. I wake up every morning with a smile on my face and sleep in my eyes. I brush my teeth and comb my hair. I pick my clothes for the day and prepare my bag. On the surface all is well. I walk from class to class, sucking in the new information, feeling my brain swell. I try to mold my mouth to fit the mouthpiece and make the reed vibrate just the right amount. I sign. I force my brain to think in Japanese. I work. I go from meeting to meeting, talk about the system and our vision and the multitude of requirements. I sit at my computer and reply to email. I code perl. I write queries. I read through the specifications of the messaging-based programs the department recommends. On the surface successes outweigh the failures. I come home and watch the TiVo. I call a friend or two. I read a book or two. I stare at my computer and read about other people's lives, thoughts and interests. I hug Jake. I talk to my bird. I write. On the surface I smile. I go to bed. So does Jake. On the surface life goes on. I hear the consistent exhale and inhale of his breathing. I cry. Previously?Socially Unacceptable. PARANOIA
I can't exactly be sure when it all started. Maybe it's cause, as a little kid, I had friends who didn't think I fit in and didn't like me to be around most of the time. Maybe it's cause I've met too many two-faced people. Maybe it's just me and my overactive imagination. But I seem to suffer from paranoia. Not the kind movies are made of where you think someone is out to kill you, but the kind where you think no one likes you. That's not even exactly accurate. I know that Jake loves me and I have a few really close friends whom I trust to tell me the truth. With most other people, I am more guarded than usual and I look for any excuse to conclude that they harbor negative thoughts towards me. It's like the walking into a room when people suddenly grow quiet effect, but it's tripled or even worse. Someone mentions something that annoys him or her and I make a quick mental search to see if I've ever done that to that person. Are they talking about me? Are they trying to give hints that I piss them off? I remember watching Pretty Woman years ago and there is a scene where he tells her how beautiful she is and she says that the bad stuff is easier to remember. Even back then, I agreed with that wholeheartedly. Jake must have told me millions of amazing and loving words over the years, most of which I can't recall, but I can tell you almost every single mean word he used. When he mentions something negative, I am much more willing to accept it as truth than when he compliments me. Since I know I am screwed up in this manner, I tend to ask my friends to be fully honest with me. I'm less likely to be paranoid about what they might be saying behind my back if I know they can tell the brutal truth to my face. As distinctly as I remember the negative, it's nothing compared to what my imagination can do, so often times, the brutal truth is much milder than what I cooked up. Amazing how a few bad friends can ruin you for life. Previously? Loss of Memories THE UNTHINKABLE
We sit on my green couch facing each other. We're talking about nothing important. I tell him about my days and how my pain hasn’t been decreasing. I tell him my feelings and my thoughts. The dark thoughts. "I just thought about that the other day," he says. "Did you think about how you would do it?" Ask them if they've thought of how. That's when you'll know how serious they are about it, I recall the words from my college training. He nods. I look at him. I want to say something pithy, but words refuse to cooperate. Who am I to give advice when I’ve thought of it a million times myself? He’s sensible and he knows all the right words to say in this situation. So it’s pointless for me to use them on him. But I try anyway. "You need to book a vacation," I say. "Just get away for a little while. It will relax you and help you put things in perspective." He nods. He tells me he says the same thing to his employees. I know he knows. He knows he knows. I ask him if he wants to see a professional. "Maybe it'll help", I say. "What do you have to lose?" I tell him I know someone. I tell him she's really nice. He says he might. We both know he won't. Not yet. Not now. On the surface, there's nothing wrong. Work is great. Love is great. Life is great. But something must be askew. Why else is he staring at the ceiling at nights? Why else won't the feeling go away? "We’re just sad people," I say. "We've always been that way, we'll always be that way. That's why we choose to partner with happy people. Cause we know we're sad inside. It's no big deal. It'll go away." Yeah, right. I'm not fooling either one of us. He smiles. "I'll go home and book a vacation tonight." "Good. Make sure to do that. Mail me and tell me what you booked." I hug him. There are a million things I want to say, but I don’t. Previously? Touch Me. WHAT'S WRONG?
What’s wrong with me?You mean more than the usual? Ha ha. Seriously, I think I’m losing my mind. I’m sure you’re exaggerating. You seem to be of sound mind to me. Yeah? I came to work on Wednesday and within ten minutes I couldn’t remember whether I took my medication or not. I sat there, staring at the bottle, hoping it would tell me if I’d already swallowed one. That’s perfectly normal. People forget things all the time. The same thing happened on Thursday morning. Hmm. Also, I seem to be crying a lot. You always cry a lot. You cry at Goldie Hawn movies, for goodness sake! Yes, but I don’t usually cry at work. Yesterday, I broke down and wept three times at work. It’s just the medication, I’m sure it’s making you edgy. I spend most of the night staring at the darkness and watching the clock. During the few hours that I pass out, I have vivid nightmares that haunt me even after I wake up. You just need to calm down and have some fun. You’re joking right? I can’t sit for longer than fifteen minutes before my leg feels like millions of needles are pricking it. As soon as my back touches anything, it’s like someone is rubbing sandpaper against my skin. You can still lie in bed and read. You claim you love reading so much, here’s your chance to do tons of it. I can’t concentrate at all. My mind is all but mush. I can’t do my work, I can’t read more than a page of anything. Watch TV then. Play video games. I’m considering going back home. Good idea, maybe you can lie down a bit and put some heat on your back. No, I mean home home. You mean Turkey home? Yep. Okay, I didn’t realize things were this severe. I think it’s time to go see someone. Preferably a professional. That’s what I’ve been telling you all along. Previously? Weird FIRE IN NJ A huge fire is going on in New Jersey right now. Thank God, there are no people living in the area, but this is the largest fire I've seen in the New York area since I moved here. I tried to link in an article about it, but there's nothing, yet. I guess Broadcast news is speedier than the net. |
©2008 karenika.com |