Righteous Mourning .... in Black

When my Grandpa died I was 8. I remember going with my family to my grandpa's apt and at one point we, kids, were left in the living room and wanted to watch cartoons. We turned on the TV and immediately got rebuked by my Aunt who was wearing black, like the rest of the women who were visiting to give their condolences. When we went back home, I asked mom if I could turn the TV on and she said that it was okay as long as it was not too loud.

Years later, my Aunt died, and mom had to wear black all over again. Wearing black in Syria is a tradition for respecting the dead. But wearing black for a whole year has been frowned upon by the older generation because it was too short of a period and disrespectful to the person who passed away. My friend George told me how he never saw his grandma in colored clothes because her husband died young and she wore black for the rest of her life. So now you can understand why wearing black for a whole year is an inappropriate behavior.



I turned 18 and my uncle passed away, he was only 52. I remember sleeping over at their place because his wife couldn't bear the idea of sleeping alone with her daughter without a man in the house. Boy I was the man of the house for three days till her son returned back. There was something in my pocket that was burning my skin for the whole three days and the minute I went back home, I had to take it out of my pants and play it. And if you think it's anything other than "Air supply"'s newly released tape, then shame on you. Anyway, I politely asked dad if it was okay to play music and he smiled and said "don't be selfish, play it here in the living room so we can listen too". Again, I was only 18, but I knew then and there that Dad was not like the rest of the grown ups. He was more open minded and he realized long time ago that if we stopped breathing every time someone died, we'd follow shortly. Dad told us that when his father died and everyone left the apt the very first day except for him and his siblings (who were all married and lived with their families close by) his mother, my grandma, asked them to play cards because it was something their father would have enjoyed. How disrespectful according to the customs in Aleppo!!!

Now Dad himself had passed away this year and it's been a struggle for us keeping up with the expectations of the society. So let me highlight a few pointers first so that you can tell how little we loved our father. According to the rules of mourning, men have to earn a living, so they don't need to do anything except visiting the first three days to pay their dues. Women on the other hand have a lot of rules to follow. If they were married, and one of their family members passes away, then they're supposed to wear black for 6 months only, now that we're in 2010. If they're not married, then they're supposed to wear black for a whole year. Once the period is over, then they should switch to black and a little white, like a scarf for example, a period of 2 weeks is served in black and white before another month or two are served in transition. That transition includes wearing dark colors, like gray, navy blue, and dark brown. In the old days women were not supposed to cut their hair while they're mourning. Now they can, as long as it's not too fashionable and as long as they don't wear make up or accessories. A full year has to go by before they can celebrate Easter or Christmas because celebration means happiness and they just buried a human being, not a dog.

If you think that's all there's to it, you're wrong. Women are not supposed to leave their place for a full month (it used to be a year but because we're open minded, we shortened that sentence). The first three days all the relatives and I mean all the relatives (with their kids) come to visit every single day and dine with the family. Something I call "Suffocating with love". After the first mass there's the 9th day mass, then the 40iest day mass which you would naturally think it would be left to the closest ones, but no, everyone who lives across the street has to come and socialize too. People then go to a hall where they drink black coffee. A certain kind of pastries is served with the coffee because candies and anything that includes sugar is a sign of happiness, now no need to remind you about happiness while grieving. Music is not supposed to play for 40 days and TV is supposed to remain turned off. Yes, you don't need any kind of distraction because distractions mean you don't love or respect that person who passed. The custom after that is returning those visits by visiting back, not for the purpose of socializing "God forbid", but as a token of appreciation. It's a gesture of "Thank you" for not leaving us alone in during those hard times and for not giving us any space whatsoever.

Mom went through a lot before and after dad passed. I wanted her to come live with me after a month from dad's death but she said it was too soon to travel and that she would prefer to wait a year so that no one badmouth her. Anyway with the help of my sisters she finally gave in and crossed the ocean four months later to spend 6 months away from the "He said, she said"-Society. Being away from all the sickness and ignorance of the tradition was not enough, she felt some kind of guilt and next thing I know, a woman wearing black was living with me. We talked, we talked again we cried, we argued and at one point she stopped wearing black. When I posted a picture of her wearing black and white during our trip to NYC, one of my family members made the call to give us the guilt trip. Mom COULD wear colors, but not advertise it.

So, I wrote this blog to say that I admire the western tradition when someone passes away. I call it "common sense". They actually celebrate the kind of life their late family member had. They mourn and they grief, and they cry over the loss too, but they know that life goes on. Be reasonable before you judge, and do not pretend that you're open minded when you actually live as a slave to your society. We do what we can to help move on, so if you imprison yourself in black, you are free to do what you want, and so are we because wearing black is not going to bring the dead back to life, and not wearing black does NOT mean we loved our late family member any less than you loved yours. As much as I love Aleppo, I have to say, there are certain things there that literally make me feel SICK to my stomach. Mourning is definitely one of them.

Let go, seriously, it's pathetic .....

Attitude

When I suggested to him to have his checks written to his business instead of to "Cash" and explained that it's safer in case he lost one of them (something we were taught at the teller school and were advised to tell customers), He did not get mad. He carefully selected the nastiest condescending expressions without any profanity or apparent anger. If you wonder what kind of language he used, it went something like "Oh really, how long have you been working here as a Teller, and what makes you think that a business man like me who probably makes in one day what you make in a year, would take an advice from someone like you?" I immediately apologized to the customer and gave him his receipt. He noticed that I was not responding to his rhetorical questions but finishing the transaction and asking if there was anything else I could do for him. I kept a smile on my face and didn't show him any of what was going on inside me. He asked me for my manager. It was the first time I was asked for my manager since I started working there, or come to think of it, ever in my life. My customers were pretty much happy with me. Some of them didn't mind the wait till my window was available to come see me. I immediately pointed out at her; a strong  experienced and very fair lady. He went to see her and I called the next customer. Thirty minutes later my manager came to my window and asked me this: "Did you have a nasty customer a little bit earlier?" I looked down at the stack of transactions I had that day and said that I hope I didn't cause any trouble or inconvenience. She said those words to me that I don't think I will ever forget  "Well, he sent me to apologize to you because apparently he is not man enough to come back to your window and apologize in person".

Couple of months later I had another customer at my window and I guess while I was giving him my undivided attention, everyone else at the bank was trying to get my attention to warn me. I greeted the customer and said to him "How are you today?" he stopped looking at his check and looked up into my eyes and said "None of your God damn business" my smile disappeared and a huge question mark appeared on my forehead, he saw that and continued "How I am doing today is a very personal question and I don't see a reason for you to ask me that kind of question. Whether I'm doing well or not, what would that change for you? you couldn't care less about my mood or health so why do you ask? You don't even know my name so what business do you have in my health" and the lecture went on. I wasn't mad or offended, I thought it was quiet original to see someone who would be so mad if someone else asked him casually "How are you". I admit that I asked the question casually, but I see over a 100 customer a day, and my intention is to make it light and easy by being friendly. My manager, the same woman I was talking about earlier, approached my window and stood next to the customer and asked me if I were okay or if I needed any help. I assured her that it's all good. I apologized to the customer and wished him a good day for the lack of better words. Oh boy, he went off on me as he was walking out because after all, what business did I have in the kind of day he was going to have…….. etc

As I was parking the car by the Palisades Park with mom and my friend John and his son, a man in his late 70s early 80s who was driving behind me, pulled next to me and told me "You're the worst driver I have ever seen in my life" I smiled at him and said "Thank you for that observation sir, you have a good day okay!" and continued parking the car which was not even mine. Mom was sitting next to me, Marco who was 7 months old was in the kids car seat, John was sitting next to his son and holding a big table that hardly fit in that SUV. I had no choice but to drive a bit careful and slow in a 25 miles speed limit street. I was at that speed but no one drives that slow unless they have a reason. I did want to tell him "I don't think I'm the worst driver sir since you're still loose in the streets" or something like "I don't recall asking for your opinion so why don't you keep it to yourself?" but I didn't want his comment to ruin the day at the park I was about to have, even though it did affect my mood a little at the beginning. Some older people feel entitled to say what's on their mind just because they're older and they think they earned that right. Sometimes I wish people would ask before they just declare their unwanted opinion. But aren't we all guilty of that?

Those are just three of many stories we all go through. I guess learning not to take things personally is a winning attitude. I'm still training myself to do that and It's hard. I keep reminding myself that those aggressive people who express themselves, are actually accusing me of things that are a reflection of who they are, because they don't know me. And if I respond back to them with defense, I'm creating a poison that's going to come back to me and I would be sending out negative signals that are going to create more friction. So I try to keep cool and sometimes ………. I don't succeed.

Even after a decade of doing it, and even though I pretend that it doesn't bother me, it does. Yes you learn how to handle tough people in your life and to stop taking their insults personally, and you do handle it in a way that a lot of times those people realize with your attitude that they're making a mistake in attacking you and pouring their anger out on you just to feel better, and they end up apologizing to you for being rude to you, and some of them even wonder how you put up with them. But will it ever be natural the pretense that it's not bothering you? is it a technique that will stay in process? I am doing it day in and day out, but inside of me, the words that I really want to express are so different from the words I utter.

So, how are you doing today sir? thank you so much for being such a valued human being, have a wonderful life :)

Gifts .........

Gifts ........ (exchange)

priceless when they're least expected

The year was 1996, the occasion was my youngest sister's acceptance into the faculty of art and humanities at Aleppo university, the English Literature division. We were so happy celebrating. Peggy approached me with a wrapped box in her hand. She immediately read my thoughts and without waiting for me to say "I'm supposed to get you a gift, not you" She said "You helped me get accepted by believing in me more than I believed in myself and I just wanted to say thank you". She handed me what I consider the most meaningful gift I have ever received, it's priceless.



Wait for something in return?

The year was 2001, the occasion was Christmas. Everyone around me was running around with their heads cut off while I was re-evaluating and reflecting upon the year itself and the lessons and blessings it introduced. I was so relaxed and people were stressed out. December is my favorite month of the year. Was it everyone's deadline to reach their goals from consuming less alcohol to losing some extra unwanted pounds? There were only two weeks left of the year, what could they have possibly achieved in such a short time? I found out that I was wrong when my neighbor revealed to me the custom during Christmas; putting so much thought into buying everyone they knew a gift, that thought was "What did they get me last Christmas?" That Neighbor was the same woman who usually announced her birthday, Her husband's, kids' and her sons in law's birthday, a month in advance, then again two weeks in advance, one week in advance, then of course just in case we forgot, a day in advance. And every time we celebrated her birthday, she acted surprised and wondered how on earth did we find out? "I'm so flattered that you guys remembered my birthday …… on your own, now let's open the gifts". Opening the gifts was usually by the end of the party. A time for family and friends to sit down and show off or get embarrassed. A fake smile was drawn on everyone's face and I had the privilege to see the drama that took place after certain guests had left. There was a tiny little scale in that woman's kitchen. She took all the gifts she received and weighed them on that scale to see if the gifts were lighter than the ones she had gifted. She managed to make a fuss about most of them with the exception of the very heavy gifts, those she would have gatherings over to show them off. That scale she used was a tiny little scale that fits into anyone's pocket, even into a small wallet. It was almost as small as a credit card. And it was the standards of evaluating her gifts..

An unwanted present

The year was 2003, the occasion was again, Christmas, the announcement was "I don't want to be part of that circus". After a number of anniversaries through out the year that were supposed to be celebrations and ended up being drama, due to re-gifted gifts, light gifts, inappropriate gifts and gifts with no gift receipts, I decided to inform everyone in advance that I will not be "Exchanging" gifts with anyone during Christmas . But some people did not feel comfortable changing their routine and habits, which is very hard to do when all you know about Christmas is that it's time to give and receive ……… gifts, so when I politely declined accepting their "Gifts", they were seriously injured and threatened to ...  and they did.

So ask yourself, before you buy "some" gift or re-gift those you were not happy with "what does the person you're taking a gift for mean to me?" and remember, your gift is a reflection of who you are, the gift, not the amount of money it cost you because….

A gift is priceless when it's least expected
A gift is an act of kindness, an act of thoughtfulness.
A gift is an unconditional expression; so when you wait for something in return, your gift has already lost its value.

Aleppo and the Eighties

Intro

"Living life is for the sole purpose of getting the society's approval, that's a life filled with rewards"; a quote from a very important yet unknown writer from Aleppo, whose books never really existed to .... sell out. But his legendary teachings survived time, and are passed on from one generation to the other in a city called ALEPPO.

A Life with a style

My Mother said that we couldn't go play out every summer day, cause people would say those kids are homeless. So we played at the Baghdad train station yard with the other kids every other afternoon. We biked, raced, hid and sought something we were never able to find. But we felt very happy. There was joy in the air and in the simplicity of our entertainment as kids. Upon our return to our apartment, we were not allowed to the living room or our bedrooms. Instead, straight to the bathroom to wash our feet up to the knees. Bathing daily was not customary yet. But even when we got cleaned up, there was still that room in our apartment and in every apartment that kids were not allowed to. Rings a bell? Oh yeah, some apartments still have that room with its mentality till today. It's called "Salon". Salons were where people had their most expensive furniture and chandeliers. The centerpiece is not a TV. It's an antique cabinet that showcases the valuable ornaments that are made of crystal, jewels, and gold. That "Special" room was for "special" guests and was opened once a week for deep cleaning, regardless if it was visited or not. If you lived in Soulaymaniyeh, cleaning day was every Friday. Then the doors were shut again in case God forbid an unwanted dust found its way there (and that was always the case).

Safety

We walked everywhere, it felt that the far end of the world was within the limits of the four walls of Aleppo. There were a few exceptions once or twice a year, or once every other year. It all depended on the financial situation, which we were not to discuss with anyone according to the book of endless laws of Aleppo. Those exceptions were limited to Latakia, where we had summer vacations with our relatives. Or to one of the mountains, where we camped with either the scout, or one of the other numerous organizations we belonged to for a year, or two, or three. Other than that, everything was in our city; the big park, the swimming pools, the Aziziyeh and the Jala'a sports club. Nothing else was ever needed, ever.

The furthest we walked to was to our grandpa's apartment, and that was 15 minutes away. We all lived in apartments with the exception of uncle Joseph, who lived in an Arabic house with a yard right in the middle. It was kind of fun, but we never understood why his house was different. I guess that question mark on every kid's forehead pushed him eventually to tear down the house and build an apartment building instead, to finally live like normal people do, in an apartment with neighbors up and down socializing and borrowing sugar and rice.

Crossing the two-way streets was a matter of looking left and right then running from one sidewalk to the other. Waiting at the traffic light was unheard of (Huh? Why? What for?). But also cars were less, and they were luxury. Like I said, everything was within a walking distance, why have a car!

During summer vacations we went to swimming pools with other relatives and kids. We spent the whole day playing, swimming, eating the home made "Zaatar" sandwiches under the sun with no sunblock, we didn't know what those were.

We bought cold refreshing "Soos" from the random seller walking in the streets of Baghdad station, playing his sophisticated environmental friendly music, using mostly two copper bowls and his beautiful voice yelling "Soos ya Soos". And we bought hot "Sahlab" from the cart pushed by a hunched back old man in those extremely cold winter days. (no worries, no germs, or is it "no germs, no worries"!) "Kazzeh" had his signature Ice cream that no one was able to duplicate, especially the "Sahlab" flavor. Elderly people referred to ice cream as "Don Dermah" I guess the old Turkish influence had its own way of surviving. That extended conveniently to my grandparents. When my grandpa drank a little more than my grandma cared for during dinners, she mumbled a few Turkish words and he immediately stopped drinking. But how many calories did we get from all that food and really late dinners back in the day? Oh please, who knew what calories were anyway. Everything was burned right away with the nonstop walking. Going to the gym was not necessary, the gym was a foreign name to us (they later referred to it as an iron club .... go figure!). Safety was not an issue too, I had to go the the bakery at 4 AM once a week to buy us fresh bread. I was 8 years old when I started that routine. (I hated it too).

Food

Let me just say that we used to get together for "Mooneh" in summer days, to happily work and help our mothers get their food storage done faster (but more to socialize and meet as if we didn't meet just the day before). We used to work on artichoke, peas, lemon, and all kind of fruits to make jams and really sweet sweet drinks with. Our favorite get together was when all the family kids worked at Auntie Georgette's apartment on pistachio. We would be rewarded some promotional junk from her husband's store. We ate the most delicious food you can think of, Syrian cuisine with a hint of Lebanese and Turkish flavors. No other city competed with Aleppo when it came to food. And we ate really fattening food due to the surplus in butter production. It had nothing to do with the lack of knowledge or with the fact that food was our favorite hobby. And with the extra attention you put to food, a feast was never a feast when it had all kinds of delicious hot dishes from Kebbeh, Kabab, Mahashi, fried food, salads, vegetables, cold cuts, fresh bread, and yet the table is missing its king, aka Homus.

Fashion

Hair-cuts were disastrous I admit. Girls competed in having the biggest hair. They had to use so much hairspray to look taller, and boys had one hair-cut style, yup, just one, combed from left to right. Towards the end of the decade a new style was introduced to us, it was initially inclusive to "Al Wisam"; a barbershop in "Souleymaneih" that made a fortune before other barbers learned the secret of that trade and started imitating him. I'm talking about having the sides of our heads trimmed so short and going gradually longer towards the center of the head. Yes, an invention. Still, the first time I had that haircut, my family was waiting for me on the balcony of our fifth floor apartment to see what that extreme make over made me look like.

The one style that had no gender discrimination was the extra high-waste jeans; a style that successfully made all our butts in the eighties look gigantic.

Entertainment "TV and Music"

Watching TV was limited to the only one channel we had. (just like school after baccalauréat was limited to the one university we had back then) Cartoon was from 3:30 to 5 PM. It included "Open sesame, Sinbad, Grendizer, Remi, Bell & Sebastian, Tom Sawyer, international tales and treasure island" Then mid way through the decade we had Channel Two, what a treat. It was mostly in English and its hours were even less than channel one. TV stations worked from 2 pm to Midnight, ending the day with "Tomorrow we meet". If you tried to turn the TV on before or after those hours, it was like "What's wrong with you?" unless you were trying to tune in a signal from Turkey. I had a friend who used to take me to his relative's place where the Turkish TV signal was stronger. It was located right on top of an ice cream store, how convenient! We both loved ice cream and since his relative, an older woman, used to go to visit his mom, we always shared 1/2 kilo of chocolate ice cream (an amount frowned upon by the society when consumed by only two teenagers). We bought that same ice cream over and over and ate it till one day we decided that it was not enough, so each one of us bought his own 1/2 kilo. We ate that ice cream till we bloated and never ever did it again.

Music was an important topic in every social circle. It used to be shortly discussed right after taking a break from some gossiping and immediately before starting a new round of fresh gossips. Fairuz was playing in every apartment in the AM hours. Sabah Fakhri and Mayada el Hennawi were the pride of Syrians, but kudos for them since they were specifically from Aleppo. When it came to western music, our thanks went to Mouna Kurdy, the host of "Stars and Lights" that used to be broadcasted every Sunday at 8 PM. Mouna played the Bonny M, Baccara, Dalida, mireille mathieu, and demis roussos every weekend with no failure, year after year, even after Sandra, Modern Talking, Samantha Fox, Madonna, C.C.Catch and George Michael were introduced to the world. She kept on playing Disco for us because the Syrian TV president told her that the tapes of the pop singers were not compatible with the hi-tech equipment they had at the station. Auntie Khatoon and her sister Maryrose Attooneh were the last two viewers who religiously kept on watching "Stars and lights", then their own lights were dimmed and they themselves became stars, shining in the skies of Aleppo. That was the end of our little window to the disco era.

My generation had a tape that was played (And could be still playing till this day) more than Michael Jackson's "Thriller" record. I'm talking about the first record of the one and only Majeda el Roumi "Khedni Habibi". That tape sums up so many memories and puts a smile on more than 80% of the people who were teenagers and young men and women back then. And when it came to pop music, we Aleppo people, had our own top ten that included "Hello Maria Magdalena! here's a Careless whisper: nothing's gonna change my love for you" staying at the top of the charts for at least 5 years. We did listen to other songs, but none measured up to the mentioned songs. Don't ask me why.

Technology

In winters, chimneys were the second source of heat, right after the "heat of faith". An average of one to two chimneys in each apartment. The one used mostly was the one in the living room. The other one used to be either in the dining room or in that very special room (Salon) kept for the show twice a year aka religious holidays.  But make no mistake, Chimneys had multiple functions. They were used as dryers (way before dryers were invented), as indoor "Grill and stove" to make grilled cheese or Castanea "aka chestnuts" and to boil water for beets and corn.

VCRs were introduced, Betamax then VHS. Shortly after, we had computers. No one knew what they were for, but you bought one because either a relative or a neighbor bought one, and according to the society, they're no better than you. Those devices were mostly used for playing games, and those games were so boring. Dad locked up our computer in a cabinet for over ten years, "the promise was till our grades improved, in other words, so it would remain brand new". Then he sold it at not even tenth of its price. He had no idea that there would be updates.

Ending

But the world was inside Aleppo. The future was there too. It was warm, friendly, quiet, religious, innocent, promising, and most importantly, happy. And as my aunt Janet put it "God's throne is in the middle of Aleppo city". And as my friend Sandrella put it "Aleppo, the mother of the world". Aleppo, and the 80s put together worked on graduating us. I mean if you grew up in the 80s, you're lucky to have lived during a simple and beautiful decade, so add on top of that being born and raised in Aleppo? you have to be genius, no!

Keeping all jokes aside (what jokes!) Aleppo, was and still is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It got culture, history, authenticity, and it got a dialect that I have to skip writing any kind of comments on that dialect other than saying it is so unique and so sophisticated and musical. It definitely sounds like, ummm, sounds like, well..... sounds like no other. Eshshi? Esh beddak?

An Opportunity

A purchase was made
A new project started
A vote ended a debate
Someone's success was charted
While you were reflecting on a riskless opportunity

Mistakes did happen
lessons were learned
Where there's no action
You miss your turn
While you were working on a flawless opportunity

A dream came true
a cycle was completed
Their theatrical breakthrough
Had your audience seated
While you were longing for a lifetime opportunity

Poems were recited
Under a candle flame
Her beauty got him excited
She changed her last name
While you were waiting for a romantic opportunity

And while you were planning and waiting
Playing it safe and hesitating
Thinking and calculating
Arguing and debating
Loving and hating
Dreaming and meditating

Guess what happened while you were still contemplating!

Life ....................

Not a Morning peson?

When someone tells you "I'm not a morning person" and you have something that can't wait to tell them, what do you do? How long do you have to wait before that morning tunes into their swinging mood to give you the green light to talk? Do they mean they need an hour or two for themselves after they wake up, or do they mean you should avoid them till noon? Is a "morning person" someone who wakes up early and "Not a morning person" someone who wakes up late? How do we know the exact meaning of those terms and labels?

My mornings are pretty much the same. I wake up around 7 or 7:30 to make my Cafe-latte; one shot of espresso, 1% organic milk heated with foam and no sugar. I prepare my oat meal with nonfat yogurt and sit by the large window in my living room to check my emails, while the morning breeze is flirting with the leaves of the four large Eucalyptus trees in the middle of California Ave by the 3rd street promenade in Santa Monica. Normally I play soft music, mostly Fairuz, the Arabic morning symbol of music. And as the Lebanese put it, our ambassador to the stars. I love Fairuz, she makes me a "morning person" or in other words, she gets me in a good mood. I'm someone who believes that having a good peaceful quiet morning sets up the tone pretty much for the rest of the day. But my morning rituals are not set in stone, when and if I have company in the morning, I would enjoy a little casual chat that goes along with our coffee.

My latte never gets old. I still drink it after years of that routine as if it's the first time I'm discovering its flavor. I check my emails with the same enthusiasm since a lot of my friends live overseas. I still listen to Fairuz and still get in a trance every single time because of her angelic voice. I have lived by myself for a decade with the exception of the year 2004 when I had a roommate; A friend of mine God bless his morning energy. We would wake up to have breakfast and instead of enjoying the flavor of my coffee, I make so much effort to make out the meaning of his morning loud conversation which took away from the peace and quiet I prefer to enjoy in the AM. Lot's of times I found myself using that term with him "I'm not a morning person dude, could you please tune it down a notch?" I look back and wonder if that was pathetic of me since now I have my mother with me for a few months as my morning buddy, and I wake up with a big smile on my face and a lot of times in the AM we sit down and chat..... quietly though.


So am I a "morning person or NOT a morning person"? Is it really the morning that we blame or is it the routine that we become enslaved by? Is it our mood, or is it the person we see first thing in the morning? Do we hide our agendas with the "Morning Person" expression and are we consistent in treating all people around us? hummmm, something to think about

When someone tells you "I"m not a morning person" (guilty) and you have something that actually CAN wait to tell them, what do you do? Here's what I would do nowadays, I would say "I'm sorry you're not, but if I got something to say, I'm gonna say it now because your mood is not going to dictate my mornings. So why don't you go bury yourself back in your blanket and wait till the night owls wake up to hang out with them and then hang yourself upside down like bats do, so when the sun sets, you would think it's rising all over again declaring your worst enemy, morning that is, then continue your sleep till you get bored and wake up to ask me what it was that I was about to tell you, which I would then respond to by "Nah" not in the mood to talk to you right now, try me some other time because I'm not an evening person, let's find a time that works for both of us. AKA NEVA".

Have a good night

Feeling Blue

When I was working in a liquor store 10 years ago, I had a customer who was consistently negative. I had to call her Debbie Downer. Naturally I would ask customers "How are you?" after greeting them, but at one point I made a promise to myself to stop asking her about how she was. I was never able to fulfill that promise. I only caught myself after doing it, when it was too late and the usual response "Oh, don't ask, I'm miserable. I work way too hard and get paid too little (Mind you, she's telling a stock boy who was working 7 days a week and making $ 5 an hour) I have to take care of this and that, I don't have enough time to blah blah blah……." And the complaints kept on coming as if it was the end of the world. I always smiled and said "Hang in there, tomorrow is another day" and went on with the transaction. One day I talked about the weather, a typical thing to reference when you have nothing in common with someone "Oh winter is starting, we're gonna lose an hour of day time soon" and immediately, as if she knew I was going to talk about winter, she responded " An hour! wait till it's dark by 4:30 and cold and miserable then the rain that only God knows when it would stop. And with the rain comes the mudslides and the threats it has on houses and………." Dear lord, did I say Tsunami was coming to LA? I just wanted to be polite and say something about the weather instead of saying "How are you?". I remember that customer because I was always able to see some kind of kindness in her eyes and I knew that happiness was somewhere within, she was not able to find.

One day, I wasn't feeling well, I really don't remember what it was, but she came to the store and saw me not feeling hot. She asked what was wrong, I might have mentioned jokingly that I was getting older. I wasn't 30 yet. And Debbie Downer immediately said "Wait till you get my age Tony, the joints will hurt, the memory will be long gone, the back will ache, the head will spin, the eyes will weaken, the stomach will get poisoned, the …. " Now you can only imagine the look on my face with my eyes wide open and my lower jaw hitting the floor, and in my head I kept telling myself "It can't be that bad, it can't be that bad, don't listen to her Tony, it's not true" and before I knew it, she was comparing me to a car that gets old and needs spare parts and annual maintenance then semi annual then quarterly maintenance and if I were lucky, it will go down to once a month. I wanted to disassociate myself from that conversation and from that woman who was only 50 so bad that day.

And today, I'm feeling blue. I guess her words sound vivid and loud in my ears. I don't think I understood her words back then, but I do now. I kept on telling myself,  be grateful, it could be worse. And yes I'm fully aware of that. But I'm sharing in my blog for the first time that I'm complaining. It's been a few years since the pain in my groin started and no doctor was able to give me a straight answer about why and how and what happened to get to a point where pain starts after I take a simple 10 minute walk. Then an inflammation took place somewhere in my body where also no Doctor was able to tell me how it happened and how to avoid it in the future, thank God they were able to treat it (I think, I'm not 100% back to normal yet) then my inner ear got infected and at one point I couldn't hear from my right ear anymore, however I tend to think I hear well now (I have to, otherwise it would show in my songs). Then a struggle with a wart started and kept on going for over two years and now it's gone I would like to think. And this week, after two months of going back and forth to different doctors, I found out that I have a meniscus tear in my right knee: the kind of tear that needs surgery. The surgery involves taking away 30% of it without replacing it with anything else, which according to the doctor, would increase the possibility of arthritis in my older days. But are my older days far away anymore?

Sometimes we sympathize with people, we feel sorry for them, for their conditions, we even associate their pain with other people who went through the same. We dare say at times "I understand, it's really tough, I can only imagine how painful that must be" But that's not true, we don't understand or even have the ability to imagine unless we personally go through it. True, the only way we can get a real taste of people's health issues or sadness and feelings, or financial difficulties is if or when it happens to us. Sure we say to the loved ones "I feel your pain and I'm here to support you" and that's great, I'm not taking away from it whatsoever. But no one can understand it like the ones going through it.

I sometimes ask myself "I'm only 36, why is this happening already? I want to be able to walk and jog and hear and smell and touch and enjoy life" and then again I remind myself to acknowledge what I still have. But I'm only human, and having a cut in my skin hurts, so what do I say when it's more than that? This is my secret complaint, I still see myself as a lucky and privileged man. And I'm grateful for all the blessings. But sometimes, rarely I'd like to say, I can be Debbie Downer, however, I will not deal with it by going to the liquor store. That, I don't have the curiosity or the need to understand.