The Curse of A Driven Woman

I was talking to my ex manager earlier telling him about our upcoming global meeting with our advisory board in Japan and how I didn't want to take the trip being away from my kids. He noted that he was proud of me to which I responded that I wasn't sure about pride. I was grateful for the progress in the company but at some level I wished I could be home with my little princess and make apple sauce of the apples in the backyard. He said "it's tough to be a driven woman"! Oh so true! I would add that it might be a curse actually.

Now here we go. On board. Buckled up. And determined to have a great meeting especially now that I had to leave my most precious treasures behind. It better worth it!

No Picture

Oh baby boy!

Sleep soundly tonight. Tomorrow is rid of bomb and starvation. You won't see your mom crying or your dad wailing, desperately searching for a shelter for you. Ever. You just sleep tight tonight. May you dream of angels!

Mourning

I still feel like mourning. It is as if I've lost a loved one. It is as if I were lost, unbalanced with sudden loss of a limb, trying to find myself again. It is as if I were never going to be whole again and I knew it.

I realize that war has been part of human history. Even my life history started with a war. Yet it has taken a toll from me, for ever, to see people fleeing from their homes and puting themselves and their kids in utmost harms to flee the danger at home. It has taken a toll from me to see families scatter and die. It has taken a toll from me to see a sleeping boy, dead.

Peace!

In Searching for Self

No more do I get excited for too long.

No more do I get disappointed from anyone.

I am searching for the joys and pains of my youth.

Perhaps I have matured, perhaps too soon.

People have come.

People have gone.

I think I'm just getting along.

It all must sound liberating,

It all must feel good.

Yet something is bothersome.

Something missing from this adulthood.

I'm not so sure.

I feel a bit lost.

I'm searching for self.

I think that's a must.

The Taste of Surpise

I grabbed this box this morning from the cafe I had breakfast at. It was beside a white and a brown boxes on the refrigerator shelf. I assumed the white was milk, the brown was coco milk, and this one was banana milk. I didn't have it in the morning and now on my way to the airport I had a last chance to drink it before being forced to throw it away for security reasons at the airport.

Assuming it was milk it was utterly surprising to feel a sweet and sour taste on my tongue upon the first sip!  It took me a good few sips before I realized it was possible pineapple juice!! How my brain expectation blared my ability to judge the taste! How strange to put pineapple beside milk. Or were they milk at all??

Feeling An Alien

It is still foreign to me, this city of Kobe, even after five trips. The foreign language characters are the most alienating to me otherwise not knowing the language or looking different than everyone else is no new experience. It's really daunting imaging making ones way in the crowd of unfamiliar streets and train tracks with no guide but ones memory.

I got lost going from train station to the airport bus stop. In the end my guide was a French boy who spoke a little Japanese while I could converse a broken French with him!  I lost my intended bus but made it to the next one 20 minutes later.

I got the promise of a promotion and even though I'm thrilled about it I feel unsure too. It's yet another new territory for me, to learn the language of and never mind the difference between me and others. To find the best possible strategies and alternatives whenever possible. And to make new paths by walking unfamiliar terrains.

Yaa Huuuu

Don't Fall In Love with A Woman Who Reads - Martha Rivera-Garrido

"Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads, a woman who feels too much, a woman who writes...

Don’t fall in love with an educated, magical, delusional, crazy woman. Don’t fall in love with a woman who thinks, who knows what she knows and also knows how to fly; a woman sure of herself.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who laughs or cries making love, knows how to turn her spirit into flesh; let alone one that loves poetry (these are the most dangerous), or spends half an hour contemplating a painting and isn't able to live without music.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who is interested in politics and is rebellious and feel a huge horror from injustice. One who does not like to watch television at all. Or a woman who is beautiful no matter the features of her face or her body.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who is intense, entertaining, lucid and irreverent. Don’t wish to fall in love with a woman like that. Because when you fall in love with a woman like that, whether she stays with you or not, whether she loves you or not, from a woman like that, you never come back…"

Original in Spanish: 

"No te enamores de una mujer que lee, de una mujer que siente demasiado, de una mujer que escribe...

No te enamores de una mujer culta, maga, delirante, loca. No te enamores de una mujer que piensa, que sabe lo que sabe y además sabe volar; una mujer segura de sí misma. 

No te enamores de una mujer que se ríe o llora haciendo el amor, que sabe convertir en espíritu su carne; y mucho menos de una que ame la poesía (esas son las más peligrosas), o que se quede media hora contemplando una pintura y no sepa vivir sin la música. 

No te enamores de una mujer a la que le interese la política y que sea rebelde y sienta un inmenso horror por las injusticias. Una que no le guste para nada ver televisión. Ni de una mujer que es bella sin importar las características de su cara y de su cuerpo. 

No te enamores de una mujer intensa, lúdica, lúcida e irreverente. No quieras enamorarte de una mujer así. Porque cuando te enamoras de una mujer como esa, se quede ella contigo o no, te ame ella o no, de ella, de una mujer así, jamás se regresa..."

عاشق زنی مشو که می انديشد،

که می داند،

که داناست،

که توان پرواز دارد،

به زنی که خود را باور دارد!

عاشق زنی مشو که

هنگام عشق ورزیدن، میخندد یا میگرید،

که قادر است جسمش را به روح بدل کند،

و از آن بیشتر،"عاشق شعر است"!

(اینان خطرناکترینها هستند)

و یا زنی که میتواند نیم ساعت مقابل یک نقاشی بایستد،

و یا که توان زیستن بدون موسیقی را ندارد!

عاشق زنی مشو که

پُر،

مفرح،

هشیار،

نافرمان

و جوابده است!

پیش نیاید که هرگز عاشق این چنین زنی شوی؛

چرا که وقتی عاشق زنی از این دست میشوی،

چه با تو بماند یا نه،

چه عاشق تو باشد یا نه،

از اینگونه زن

بازگشت به عقب، هرگز ممکن نیست! 

"مارتا ریورا گاریدو" شاعر معاصر دومینیکن"

Again

No more to say.

A Beautiful Saturday

Got my dose of coffee and got to teach the barista how to make Cafe au Lait. He had no idea what an au Lait was, asked, then tried. The result is not bad at all! I must say I admired his daring demeanor! 

It's another MBA Saturday filled with homeworks and assignments due tomorrow.

To be a good story writer one must be genuinely interested in people says Dale Carnegy. I feel this post is mainly about me. And the barista. And I am genuinely interested in you. I promise and my promises are real!

Now let the class begin.

Paris Sans Romance

We were choosing a place to meet and he said "let's go to Paris". Oh I laughed. The choices were Black Bear's Diner, a Mexican place, and the Paris Bagguete Café. The rest is history.

Now I'm sitting here waiting for my old colleague to arrive, he is late. Apparently his clock stopped in the middle of the night. And I don't mind. I got my latte and sat down blogging. Reflecting that funnily enough we had been to Paris together before. We flew into Frankfurt and then Copengahgen, Odens, and finally Paris and I was 5 months pregnant. That was a trip!

Looking out the window there is no reminder of that Paris. Oh how I long for a European vacation. Yet here I am. At Paris Bagguette, waiting and logging.

The Souvenir

Made myself a cup of coffee and absentmindedly brought the mug back to my office, set it on a coaster beside a pencil holder made of shells, another coaster made of woods, and beneath a devil's eye.  Suddenly I noticed them all being souvenirs from far away places and long ago "friends".

The force of the time and necessities of lives had set us apart, me and those friends of the past.  I think about them occasionally still.  With some I have occasional communications, sending a congratulatory note for the birth of a new baby or for their birthday.  With some however, there seems to be nothing else to be told.  And it hurts.  Then I paused in the middle of that thought.  Do I want to be reminded of them, day in and day out, by using their souvenir around the office?  Well of course I thought.  They used to be a friend.  Kind enough to bring me a gift and dear enough for their gift to be treasured.  Yet a nag came back up: were they a friend still?  Surely not.  So whom did I want to be reminded of?  A person in the past who nonsexist now, or the person they were today who was not a friend, or anybody for that matter.  Just a person like any other millions of people out there. Except all the reminders about them pushes the dagger in my heart ever so slightly but surely.

I look at the souvenirs again.  All authentic and pure in their presence yet hurtful at some level with a reminder.

This hurt is a new experience for me.  Fresh.  Foreign.  Ferocious. Unjust.  I know this is not how I live my life.  I know I will get over this one too and will let my heart heal.  In due time.  With or without a souvenir reminder.

Magazines

I rarely buy magazines and there is only Working Mom's magazine I have a subscription for, thanks to my M.  Yet I find myself gravitated toward them. I think what I like about them is how they stay in ones hands (ease of use?) and variations. There are a variety of reading to choose from based on ones interest and need. They are mainly repetitive after a couple reads but sometimes there are novel stuff found too.  Now spending some time on the library it's good to catch up with some sneak peaks.

Good People

Suddenly there are a few good people in my life. Some long-ago friends, some briefly-met acquaintances, some professionals, some service providers, some innovators, some pure helpers no strings attached. I came home fully satisfied with my daily interactions, alhamdolellah! World is still full of good people!

15

The picture is fading; I was watching it yesterday. There are fading colors on the edges and tiny eroded spots on the wood it was printed on. It has moved several times after all, from home to home, from country to country, cities and towns, year after year.  It has weathered.

And so have we.

Fifteen years ago.  First kiss. First dance.  All new and fresh.

Fifteen years after. Several kisses after. Several dances after.  All so familiar and second nature now.  Easy to forget.  Easy to get used to.

Yet we didn't get used to it.

We lived. Life was beyond moments to be watched passing. Life was to be experienced. Refreshed. Renewed. Even in the most dull moments, even when our hearts grew distant, even when life got us too occupied.  We continued refreshing, experiencing, walking closer rather than apart. We spoke and we heard rather than becoming silent sufferers of a contract.  We mended and attended.  We paused and assessed.  We preserved.  So we renewed to "us".

I'm proud of us and the fading picture too. Hope to watch it weather for ever!

Happy 15th Anniversary my M!

Lemme

"Now if I can't be your hotdog lemme be your little weiner

Baby if I can't be your regular man lemme be your in betweener

And if I can't be your human torch lemme be your submariner

Well hey baby don't you leave me this way lemme be somethin'

Yeah If I can't be your Abercrombie bitch lemme be your five and tener

If I can't be your all-the-time lemme be your now-and-thenner

And if I can't be your now-and-thenner lemme be your you-tell-me-whenner

Mmm hey baby don't you leave me this way lemme be somethin'

And if I can't be your datenut bread lemme be your soda cracker

And if I can't be your boom-a-dee boom lemme be your clickity clacker

And if I can't be your seven-course meal lemme be your midnight snacker

Yeah baby don't you leave me this way lemme be somethin'

Yeah if I can't be your lovey-dovey lemme be your flirty-flirty

And if I can't be your orchestra lemme be your little hurdy gurdy

And if I can't be your Mr Clean lemme be your Mr Dirty

Oh hey baby don't you leave me this way lemme be somthin'

Hey if I can't be your Sunday man lemme be your Monday action

Yeah well if I can't be your big big show lemme be your coming attraction

And if I can't be your coming attraction lemme be your momentary satisfaction

Yeah well hey baby don't you leave me this way lemme be somethin'

And if I can't be your bombardier let me be your tail gunner

If I can't be your serious love lemme be your just-for-funner

And if I can't be your big collision lemme be your hit-and-runner

Yeah well hey baby don't you leave me this way lemme be somethin'"

Read more: Shel Silverstein - Lemme Be Somethin' Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Chocolat. Again.

The North Wind blew but this time she decided to stay.  The gipsy chocolatier stayed to use her knack for people's favorites. "What do you see" as she span the magical plate and I wonder what I would see, what she would guess for me, what my favorite would be.

First time I watched the movie in Toronto in a cinema I found the Chocolat in Santa Cruz. Surprisingly this time, watching it by myself at home in Los Gatos, I have a feeling that it's going to reveal itself to me in another place, this favorite adventure of mine, the Chocolat.

http://m.imdb.com/title/tt0241303/

Curious Case of A Friendship

Once upon a time there was a friendship that ended unexpectedly, abruptly, unfairly. I told the story of the last rendezvous that never happened to another friend recently. She concluded immediately that it was a one way relationship, that I was the one holding on, that I was the only party keeping the candle of our friendship light.

Now in this sunny day in Indiana driving among the flat terrains and farmlands, I'm pondering on my relationships, of my friends near and far. Of those who are always there for me; and wondering if there is one that I'm the only one who is holding on. The one committed, always there. That I have been pulling along single handedly... Wondering that if I stopped pulling then would we find the connection nonexisting?

Indeed. No single relationship is perfect. Not all friendships are real. And indeed, it would be a shame to make a mistake twice.

Pumas in Rain

Got back to my hotel room soaking wet.

It was a warm cloudy evening. My manager and I had planned to meet in the lobby at 7pm and decide about dinner. I had about four hours till then. I called home, then took a short nap, worked on a couple reports and finally left the hotel around 5:30 to buy a new pair of light compact neutral sneakers for business trips. I first selected a pair of socks and then tried a few sneakers. Was hoping to buy Reebocks. They were my favorites in high school but there was only one pair available and I not appealing to my liking. At last picked my first pair of Pumas. Light, compact, neutral color. Got back in time to leave them in my room and meet my boss in the lobby just two minutes before 7. He was always always before time. In his very polite manner he "suggested" "shall we try hotel restaurant?" I agreed with a smile relieved from duty of yelping a good dinner place close by. After dinner which was heirloom tomato saad with salmon I declared that I needed to go for a walk. He declined so we said good nights and I headed to the parking lot. Four wide rows of parking. I headed toward the main road but when I heard footsteps behind me I immediately changed my mind and decided to stay within the hotel area, walking between the parking rows for 30 minutes. At 28th minute it started raining dampening my face and arms with pleasantly warm drops. What a fresh sense for a water deprived Californian!  Got my Pumas inside before they got soaking wet.

I think I have a decision.

Why don't I Quit

?

Night

Here is the night that is better than a thousand nights. The night that the Angels decend from the heavens and hear our every whisper of longing and desires and prayers. Here is the night that we are forgiven and provided a fresh opportunity to build our selves and our being.

Here is the night and I'm traveling the skies, literary, heading to yet another conference for work. I read the prayers for the night first, all by myself, from a book a friend had gifted me 15 years ago, written in Arabic with Persian translation. The ladies beside me never asked what it was I was reading. Then I wrote in my notebook and summed my prayers even though I knew God knew them all. Then took out my new Leadership Challenge book. Read a couple chapters, highlighted several lines, and jot down a few thoughts. Finally, I took out the Greek Salad I had taken on board with me and ate it while reading my book, the Wild, on my iPhone. The worlds of each of these books enormously apart and infinitely close.

Here comes the midnight. The dawn of a new day. The hopes of a new beginning. And the deep deep desire of being united with my loved ones. Far but close.

Yaa Noor