Ground Zero, Every Day.

For a decade, I was able to avoid seeing ground zero.

I did not want to see it.

It would amplify and remind me of the void I felt when they smashed through the buildings, and into all of our lives.

But I've been thinking about 9/11 every morning for the past 3 months.

I walked from William Street down Maiden Lane and onto Cortland. One straight shot. I saw my subway station and then looked up at ugly construction machines and skeletons of buildings.

"What is all this? Is it? No. Yes. Hell. I think it's Ground Zero."

So this thing I tried to avoid would haunt me every day, and there was no detour.

I couldn't help but imagine people running down the street. Clouds of ashes engulfing everything in its way. Screams. Panic. Jumping.

And now, it's just quiet.

In FiDi, It feels as if you are walking around a movie set. A very deliberately manicured downtown, mostly free of cars. People literally walk down the middle of the streets.

But I'm in love with this neighborhood. A place I never wanted to be. And now feels like home.

(picture above is the new tower under construction peeking out as you walk towards Cortland Subway Station. At least 5 people have asked me where Ground Zero was, while standing virtually right next to it!)

Nothing Glam in Death

Last post was about the tug of war that many feel living in the City. Love-hate-like-Head over Heels Love-shocked.

Well today fit right into the roller coaster. It was a low point for me. I have never felt anything but safe in ol' Manhattan Island. Ok, i've gotten the creeps in other boroughs at times but never here for years upon years.

I was meeting some friends for dinner at Stanton Social* in the lower east side. I'm listening to an upbeat happy shania song on my ipod as I reached the block and then I just saw a bunch of vehicles and a police officer starting to put blue police tape around the area. I realized I couldn't get into Stanton b/c it was all blocked off. Apparently, woman (and mother) was killed by her boyfriend for wanting to break up. And wrapped in plastic & left in his apartment.

What bothered me most was people staring as the body was rolled out and into the coroner's van. I coudn't watch that...I mean...I feel like if I was her, I'd want that privacy. I did see her relatives crying and that broke my heart. And broke my teared up eyes into flowy tears.

It's always painful to see families go through acts of violence like this. I don't know sometimes why it stays on my mind so long and bothers me. I feel like the norm is that most just go about their days and it's just something that happened. But I'm sure a lot of you can relate...for me, I think about (a) how unpredictable life is (b) how short life is (c) how lucky we are to have any good people around us and (d) reminds me to tell those I really love that I value them.

So a bit of the Manhattan charm wore off today but I still love this place. For all that it is, and all that it isn't.

And God Bless that child whose mom passed.

*was a superb restaurant btw.

Le Cirque

sight+hearing+smell+touch+taste X NYC = internal storm

A funny thing happens with internal dialogue as the day progresses in Manhattan:

"Oh...wow."

"What the hell!? Move!"

"God I love this place."

"I hate this stupid dump!"

"I wanna live here foreverrrr!"

I want the suburbs and green grass. Or just grass!"

All in one day. It happens here.

You're spinning inside a blender. You have the most beautiful people, the strangest people. The smartest, the wealthiest, the most downtrodden. The best eats and the grossest grub too. It's a world of extremes. A schizo, beautiful splatterpaint work from oil paint...just keep sculpting and sculpting the color and shape.

I love it.

Baptism by FiDi*

*FiDi = Financial District. Pronounce Fye-Dye or Fiddy? You can just choose I guess.

Much of the summer will be spent here working at Creative Realities (CRI), a digital, experiential advertising agency with one office in Midtown Manhattan. I will reside in FiDi, a block from Wall Street and 3 blocks from the WTC. More on the actual work coming up.

When you come here for work though, a large part of orientation is getting your senses to adjust to the City in a big way.

sight,

hearing,

smell,

touch,

taste.

I'll organize upcoming posts by those after this one.

To normalize is a journey, and you learn a lot about yourself. There are some foreign countries that are probably a lesser culture shock than NYC would be to the sheltered suburbanite.

I think I have a crush on New York. It's not love yet. But we'll see.

For those of you who aren't familiar with NYC neighborhood nicknames, there's a bunch. Like, SoHo stands for "South of Houston Street". Pronounced Howston :) I think the names are all cute.

Baby Birdies, Baby Birdies!

I've been trying to get my 5-year old nephew Hassan (or more properly, Hassan-bo-bassan) familiar with soccer in the mornings. A few days back, he noticed something near his swing set during practice time.

FALLEN BABY BIRDIES!

Apparently, the not so wise mom built a nest on the swingset/playhouse that was doomed to fall. One poor birdie died :( Two others were alive and not moving, stuck on their backs! Well, if this ever happens to you too, hopefully this can help you.

The nest was intact so I put it in an empty butter container and put the survivors inside. Songbirds have a bad sense of smell, so there are no worries that the mom will smell humans and not return.

I called bird rehab (just google animal rehab to find a place near you). They said to leave them close to the area the nest was and the mom should return. And she has,

for the past 2 days.

One of the birdies keeps jumping out of the nest and jumping around and flipping out of the nest, but we keep placing it back, and now... put them in a larger box within a larger tub (!) so they don't jump out yet...so they won't be lunch for other animals :(

The hope is that they will fly very soon.

By the way, the mother does nearly attack when anyone gets close to her babies. Hey, not our fault she kinda messed up!

These little creatures seem so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, right?

But it's a reminder to me of the tremendous value of life. We were so concerned with these things - but why? Neighbors on the left and right came to visit them, bringing food (like worms mmm) and boxes for the birdie folk to reside in. It might sound ridiculous but there's a significant example of our innate drive to help, to nurture, to revive. Well, especially if the objects of our affection are super cute.

xoxo

UPDATE: The less active baby died today :( I feel really sad about it, and I'm puzzled by how disappointed I am. The other baby has been able to fly about 1 foot high so far...

Barbeque Your Worries Away

Like totally, melt them on the grill.

Somehow, my day started off heavy, before even rolling out of bed

Mother's Day 2012

What was I going to do for my mom? So unprepared this year.

Portfolio presentation coming up. How worried should I be?

I want to run today, but my feet are sore from a Zumba OD yesterday. Am I being too weak?

I feel so unproductive. I'm tired of jerks. I'm just ah...

Whatever. Really, cooking can scorch the globs of nonsense away from your brain.

Especially when it involves fire.

So we had a nice Mom's Day BBQ today, my family and my bro's family. I threw them steaks on the grill, along with beautiful shrimp in terriyaki marinade and veggies on skewers. The smoke filling up the air and the kids laughing and getting excited in the background made everything perfect. The wonderful neighbors, Rick next door asking if I wanted any grilling tips and guys on the other side blasting their country and southern rock.

These are moments I love being Virginian. And scorching away worries with the fire of a BBQ grill. scorrrrchhhhh.

xoxo

Additions, Amendments, Deletions.

100 twists and turns later...I am almost done with year one at the Brandcenter. I never imagined I'd be in this spot at this time in my life. It's kind of weird and unexpected but it's also pretty damn spectacular.

Waitttt a minute, "time in my life?" What does that really mean to us? I guess it has to do with how we planned life out when we were in the high school cafeteria staring up at a banner for the Thanksgiving canned food drive. You remember those thoughts...

I will get out of here and embrace my independence.

Which will lead me to a college where I will major in the most awesome major.

And obviously awesome dude or dream chick will come along.

And my job will be so sweet ass because I will have been so logical about everything.

And I will have luck too, obviously. Cause like, I've been a good human.

Ok yeah life's a little more complicated than that. It's likely not exactly what we envisioned while running around the high school track and dreaming about the future.

Sometimes a lot of us get bogged down by that dissonance.

So screw dissonance and be thankful for at least holding parts of your ultimate dream in your hands. I'm sorry if there are shards included and it hurts sometimes. The rest may come a few years from now. Or maybe a few weeks. Maybe never, but I bet you, you will not care as much at that point.

Some may last a while and then crumble. Lay out blueprints for new ones. Your blueprints may get stolen. Scream. And then recreate.

Recreate.

Recreate.

Recreate.

That's all we can do.

G'nite.

xoxo

Have you experienced the perfect moment phenomenon? I sure as hell can't be the minority in this.

Life is hard. As hard as a perfect swirling hellhole at times.
But when you press rewind and put some filters on, you can pick out several moments of sublimity and it's almost overwhelming. In a really, really good way.

The moment your child first opened her eyes to the world. The few minutes of pride you felt after an unexpected accomplishment. Laughing with a soul mate friend until time faded in the distance somewhere. Feeling in love, even if for 15 minutes, as space itself seemed to crumble into some infinite circle. Hearing Chris Cornell sing Black Hole Sun just one foot away from you (ok, that's obviously my personal moment).

Gifts fall into our laps in a scattered fashion but when you tie all these instances together you realize the incredible life you've lived. You stop cursing feeling emotions and give thanks that you can feel so intensely.

A mistake I think many of us make is expecting the moments to last forever, or at least longer than their actual life span. A moment may just have to be a moment. An hour of crystal joy has to sometimes be that and nothing more.

But the memory of beauty is eternal.

As one supremely perfect thing ends, another is rising.

xoxo

p.s. im sure to sound disappointed at some point soon, don't worry ;)

Redux

Hi. Haven't posted for a while. Retreated to bat cave for some time.
Now it's time to fight some crime.
I am deciding whether to switch to tumblr...we will see.

Let the writing begin. xoxo, yes, still.

As the Lights Dim - Michael Jackson

The stage lights are fading. The memorial has closed and the media is slowing. This is why Michael will always mean something to me, even as the curtain closes on his life.


This Adulation is Ridiculous?
He was neither a prophet nor a saint. I understand the complaint that the media coverage has been excessive for Michael’s death. Nobody’s death coverage should supersede news of current violence and the economy’s crises to this level.

What I understand less is those who blast the massive outpouring of emotion that has taken place after the death of Michael. Perhaps they don’t identify with the concept of connecting with a person one has never met…let alone a celebrity-musician. But music, and the human voice, has the potential to touch souls in a way that few other forms of communication can. And Michael did just that.

Always Engraved
The memories are copious. My brother and sister were fans before I was born, so his music was playing before I could speak. I remember being enchanted with the premiere of Bad with my family when I was about to start Kindergarten. I remember dancing my heart out to songs on the album multiple times with a dear friend that has now passed. I remember that amazing feeling he communicated: anything is possible, everything is magical. Suspended Reality. Four years later, my family and I sat around the television again for the premiere of Black or White. My cousins and I wrote an entire screenplay for Who Is It, to try to win a contest to go to Neverland. We didn’t make it but the smiles endure forever.

And those are just some of the memories. As I got older, I was able to appreciate his words. I still remember that his call for world peace in his liner notes and lyrics inspired me to create artwork that won past states to regional level. His perfectionism was infectious. I’m one of thousands of people that have this type of MJ story.

But He Was a Freak
Yes, he was very strange as depicted by the media. But for the most part, fans accepted him as he was, similar to how you would truly love a family member even if they went mad.

I never believed the child molestation accusations. Details behind the case clearly illustrate the scheme behind it, and the credibility of the prosecution was dismal. It was smart, easy, and pleasurable to those who felt hurt by him in some way to see him suffer and pay big. Perhaps they are happiest now as he is being buried.

The excessive plastic surgery was very upsetting. I felt betrayed by him, as silly as that sounds. It seemed to go against his soulful attitude and beliefs in respecting nature and in loving everybody and everything. But it became apparent it was due to an addiction to constantly change, to "improve", to never be satisfied with the face in the mirror. Even through all the facial reconstruction, the wounded and vulnerable look inside Michael's eyes never changed.

The Magician
One of the biggest things Michael did for me and for millions of fans as we grew up was build a space for escape. Through certain tribulations of my own, where I did not have an emotional pillow, Michael’s art was able to cushion the thorns of hurt. Turning on his videos or audio was like jumping through a secret door where you were taken away to a fun, fascinating and magical world. He helped the world cope.

As I grew spiritually, I became disgusted by the growing intensity of the idolatry of Michael’s image. I feel that in some ways, what sustained him also killed him. As he grew older, like Benjamin Button, he grew younger. And his very own need to escape seemed to ultimately destroy him.

Too bad we can’t really run away from sharks around us. And too bad we can’t escape the erosion of abilities and beauty as we age. Although Michael tried to escape certain aspects of life repeatedly, he also fought back to recover over and over, however futile the attempt. We cried as we watched.

Like so many have already said, I too feel as if a piece of my childhood has died. I know in time that will change and memories of Michael will be vibrant and happy. I think that many of us who have been longtime, perceptive fans knew he would likely pass at a young age. Still, anticipation doesn't dampen feelings of loss.

True, he was a man of mystery. But much more importantly, he was filled with love. I do not believe there is a single MJ song I have heard which he didn't feel deep within his heart and soul. The lights never dim for the soul.

Thank you Michael for your inspiration, for your humanitarian work, and your unabashed love to heal the world of those around you. May God have you in His healing hands now, finally.

"We want THAT ONE, we want THAT ONE!"

(title is from one of the many things chanted by the crowds)

Outta bed at 5:15 a.m. I'm only selectively a morning person, and yesterday was one of those special times. I was gonna go wait in line in downtown Richmond in the freezing cold to get a chance to see the Barock concert. An Obama rally. I've been to plenty of arena concerts but this was crazier than any arena event I've been to.

6:00 I picked a friend of a friend up to accompany me. (Yeah there's no way I would get through a delirious downtown Richmond CROWD alone.) I never met her before but we bonded quite fast. She was a native Moroccan, but now also a very spirited American who knows her political stuff as if she's been here all her life. I loved that.

6:30ish we got amazing parking right across from the Richmond Colesium and followed the bright media lights. The harsh flourescent lights against the dark morning sky made things seem hardly real. We hoped that the lines were not already extending out all the way to Broad Street. It was early and it was dark but we could feel the excitement building moment by moment. We were lucky to run into a mutual friend who is a dedicated activist and journalist; and one who is familiar with political rallies. He helped us navigate through the crowd throughout the morning and afternoon.

Then the long, long wait began. For over 2 hours we waited in "lines" (the lines seemed as wide as they were long) when all of a sudden, one of the crowd controllers (not sure who exactly he worked with) screamed "move over people! The lines are shifting to your left!" Ok, you don't do that to an anxious and freezing Richmond crowd, duh. All of a sudden, there was a mad rush for the other side of the arena; something that could have become a stampede. Even my friends and I ran, hand in hand, as fast as our literally numb toes could carry us. When we reached the other side, angry complaints flew: "We were waiting there since 3 a.m.!" and "We were in line since last night, how could you be so disorganized!?"

For another hour and a half we waited behind metal barricades several yards ahead of the doors in pseudo-lines (ok, really it was just a giant crowd, security totally screwed the lines up.) My hands were white and blue. Toes...gone. While packed in the crowd as a hopeless sardine, I heard a woman say we had to now fill out an admission ticket to have a chance-but no guarantee-to get inside. I filled the form out with my useless, nearly dead fingers just so it looked like there was some sort of print on the lines. We waited for directions from Obama volunteers, colesium security, or secret service...anyone at all to give us direction to file into the hall. Secret service kept joking around and laughing, that made me kinda hate them at that point.

I wasn't sure why I wanted to get into the colesium more; to see Obama or to escape the cold. Probably to escape the cold and I knew that it'd be impossible to turn around and leave since thousands of people were packed behind me. Finally, a lanky young fellow in a shirt and tie said "Ok, we're going to let you in. Please go in lines as I open the barricade." HA. As he started to open it, people behind me pushed forward nearly flipping the barricades and overtaking my spot. I joined them. The skinny guy screamed "Stop! Stop!" Yeah. My friend and I raced to the doors with everyone. Our journalist friend magically appeared again and helped us regain our spot in the front. There were also many random nice people that protected us as we tried to move through the crowd. For about a minute I could hardly breathe as people pushed and pushed to get closer to security clearance. Another nice person helped ease that and we got to security.

Then it was finally over. Oh wait. The speech didn't even begin yet. So...Obama finally got in stage about 4 hours later. Before that the crowd was incredible. The feeling of camaraderie with over 12,000 strangers was energizing. Everyone sang, some danced (an Obama volunteer was even breaking in happiness on the floor) and chanted and cheered together. After a long time, I felt so proud to be American again. This is the feeling I was searching for for years; one that I knew was lost somewhere, but I knew still existed. That was a feeling I would get as a fourth-grader, thinking "I'm so lucky to be American." I got that feeling again.

Obama rocked it; sticking to substance and not insults. He did mention though that Sen.McCain "likes to talk about 'Joe the Plumber' but he's in cahoots with 'Joe the CEO.'" He asked, by a show of hands, how many made less than a quarter of a million dollars. Almost everyone raised their hands. He promised to lower their taxes, and "give relief to the nurse, teacher, bus driver and the janitor,” all while increasing his own. When it was all over, I completely agree with what one crowd member mentioned to me and other strangers around her: "God, I just want this election to be over. I'm just tired of it. I'm tired. Be over now." Whatever the outcome, I know this for sure: Obama accomplished something that I wasn't sure could be done in my lifetime: inspired millions to recapture the definition of what it should feel like to be American. I just hope we use that feeling now to generate fruitful, real, good deeds.




xoxo


1 - b&w photo credit to Farrukh Hussain (stole from his facebook page)
2 - Photo #2: of part of the crowd behind me.
3 - Photo #3 "Where''s Hanan Abed?" Can you spot her!?
4 - a few seconds of footage

Walkin in Memphis

This is something I wrote a while ago, but thought I would post because I really miss Memphis sometimes. I don't know if I'll ever go there again, but I'll never forget it. Here's to the gritty southern jewel!
On what may have been the final spring break of my life, I chose to fly down south to Memphis, TN. My sister-in-law attends dental school there, just minutes away from Beale Street and Sun Studio. My brother made his way up north from the even deeper south, Birmingham, AL, to rendezvous with us.

I have a crush on Memphis. It is the most charming partially run-down U.S. town I have been to yet. I like the city-it’s laid back and gritty but it’s real. During the day, we traversed the streets and ended up at Huey’s, regarded by locals as the best hamburger joint in town. The burger was pretty good. The restaurant itself was more interesting than the food. Tradition encourages guests to shoot toothpicks into the ceiling through straws and to carve or write on the walls, literally. We took advantage of both practices. We then passed through the location where Martin Luther King, Jr. was gunned down. The area was eerily desolate at the time. A wreath hangs on the railing of the second floor of the hotel where he was shot. I was madly looking forward to visiting the Gibson Guitar Factory…but due to a fire incident, it was closed precisely on the days I was fated to be in Memphis. Lucky me. That was pretty depressing, but their store was open at least, so we went in and “tried on” several guitars. It was like being in a candy store, even though I am a Fender girl. The guitars were gorgeous and shiny and ready to be ripped into.

Downtown is dense and dripping with culture and history. Without music, Memphis wouldn’t be Memphis. Beale street nights are unforgettable. The blues scream through walls of bars and clubs, you find bands that play in alleys, and people dance in the street. The energy absolutely infects you. Bouncers say “Hi there, how are you?” as you pass by. Lights sparkle against the dark of night. You might not necessarily feel like dancing like no one’s watching, but you feel like dancing like you don’t give a damn people are watching.


The night began to get chilly as we hopped into a horse carriage to ride around the town. It actually looked like the kind Cinderella rode in, except it was Disney-fied with starry blue lights, a colored disco ball and blankets. The driver was quite erudite in his knowledge of the city; he shared the history of buildings and streets as we rode. We drove beside the Mississippi River and past the Wolf River Harbor, where singer-songwriter Jeff Buckley was swept away. So, I couldn’t help but have “Lover, You Should Have Come Over” echo through my mind for the remainder of the ride.



The next day was for Mr. Presley. Graceland is much smaller in size than I anticipated, but that did not diminish its intrigue. Upon entering, you get a taste of the enigmatic shadow the singer left behind because a heavy curtain covers the top of the staircase, barring entry to the second floor. From what I know, no fan has ever been up there (Bill Clinton was even denied entry) other than Nick Cage (and that is because he was married to Lisa Marie.) This is supposedly due to Elvis’s wish to keep the second floor private, and has purportedly remained almost entirely unaltered since he was last there. The house felt like a home. I had expected it to feel more superficial, like a museum, but I was wrong. The most touching part of Graceland is of course the meditation garden where the singer and his immediate family are buried. I was pleasantly surprised to find a row of Spanish stained glass scenes of mosques and women in hijab installed in the wall facing the graves. It highlights Elvis’s interest and appreciation of eastern culture.

Visiting his home also brought some questions to mind. A man who had what appeared to be “everything” – undeniable charisma, handsome looks, money, artistic brilliance, and the love of millions of fans – was depressed near the end of his life and arguably died in large part due to this. It suggests that the fulfillment of dreams may initially bring happiness, but does not necessarily sustain it. So what does? And does having material things in excess give rise to a futile search for a form of happiness that does not exist in reality? It seems that perhaps dependency on ever-increasing and virtually endless luxury transforms one’s position from being the dream chaser to being chased down by a nightmare of dissatisfaction.

Driving across the state of Tennessee and Virginia was…entertaining. Against the gorgeous backdrop of mountains were Cracker Barrels every few miles – like 7/11’s at every corner. Yeah. In fact, we ate there for breakfast…and well…again for lunch. Seemed like we had no other choice. But hey, it was great southern cooking. And then there was the interesting bathroom break in the Smokies: we somehow ended up at the “World’s Largest Knife Showplace” and I wouldn’t be surprised if it truly is. It had multiple floors with everything from swords, Lord of the Rings’ weapons, spears, steak knives, and all kinds of quirky country home and garden decs. I made sure to get myself a souvenir, and felt an awkward sense of southern pride. It ended up taking us about 15 hours to get back to Richmond. But it was fun since my brother and I were interchangeably DJ as the other drove. We flipped through music from the 60’s and into every other decade, from Motown to Country to Pop, belting out made-up lyrics like idiots and truly getting into the hick spirit. I must admit, my brother is an amazing friend: a 31-year old doctor who acts 15. Life should be like that.



Then, my final spring break ended. And with it comes a view to post-graduation future. It is both exciting and scary; filled with hopes but almost equally filled with fears. I thought I would be more of a realist than an idealist by the end of law school, but I remain a semi-reluctant idealist. I am, however, more grounded in the reality that dreams don’t always come true the way that you plan them—and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The Elvis song “If I Can Dream” captures how I would like to sing my way into the “real world”, and beyond.
xoxo

Photos top to bottom: 1. At Huey's with Hira 2. Beale Street at night 3. Carriage ride through the city 4. Presleys' kitchen in Graceland 5. Room where Elvis played the piano on the left, hours before passing away 6. Smokey Mountain Knife Showplace !! im'a git me some knives, mama.

The Line b/w Culture and Madnesss

I am, in part, the product of a long list of regulations my parents have expected me to abide by. Family has been numero uno, and all major decisions my brother and I have made have pretty much been after the concurrence of mom and pops. Or at least the absence of their disdain. Old timey? I guess, but I think that's what family is for. But what happens when what is right for one person is wrong for another...or vice versa?

I have respect for eastern-desi-influenced "muslim" values, or whatever it is you want to label them. Indeed, I want to raise my own children one day in a similar fashion. But there are certain lines that cultural expectations cross that can stifle a soul to the point of absurdity.

Some things have no deeper significance than being there for a "show off" factor. This would make a good question on Family Feud:

"What things do moderate to extremely show-offy eastern families desire?"

"A wise son who longs to save the world."

Survey sayssssss........[errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!]

What are you, stupid?

Here is what the survey actually says:
[Son who is a doctor]
[A big house next to a lake, that's bigger than your friends' homes]
[Kids with Fair complexion]
[Kids went straight from high school to college to professional school, NO GAPS!!!]
[Daughter is quiet, but does part time modeling for desi clothing, but also attending med/dental/law school]
[Religious on the outside, who cares about the inside]

Everything else...waste of time, people. You do public interest stuff? WHAT is wrong with you?! You married a good man [and a real man] who...makes...films!? You sad failure of a child! You quit dental school to "soul search" for a while? Your poor parents! Your family must be cursed by a jealous relative.

Not my thoughts, ok, but unfortunately, those of many families that surround us.

How does our soul survive if we don't want to cram ourselves into said box built by some sadist, spiritually anemic, bland dude just for the sake of fitting into it? It is a tough question, whether we like to admit it or not, especially when we love our parents dearly, and when their opinion matters a lot to us. So what do we do?

I don't know exactly. But what I do know is that at the end of the day, do what spiritually uplifts you. I never really wanted to go to medical school; I actually wanted to go to art school. So, my parents gave up on me early on - so I am lucky!! (muhahah!) But seriously, I think that if you, like me, love your parents dearly but also have some ideas which differ from theirs, it can be really confusing and heartwrenching, right?

Parents cannot help but be happy for you --in time-- if you reach a state of contentment eventually. If they are not (there are indeed some parents that hold a grudge for years and years) you have to swallow that jagged pill unfortunately. I said it's jagged, which means it will be tremendously hard to deal with, but if you are fulfilling your true God-given function through this decision, you will find peace at the end no matter what.

At the end of the day, we cannot blame our parents, even if they emotionally hold a gun to our heads because we have been gifted with the ability to make decisions, unlike other forms of creation like rocks, trees, fish? :P He never promised this would be easy. I have heard far too many people say that they are jaded as hell because they did what their parents expected them to do without considering whether or not it was also what would fulfill them, long-term. We all know people like that who end up pretty negative and angry, and then end up unknowingly treating people around them like crap. Don't do that to yourself.

The path that leads to the best stuff is usually pretty treacherous. But it makes us better, more thankful humans in the end.

There are 2 choices for our generation:
Grow a backbone
or
Live on your knees.

So we make that choice, and the rest eventually flows from it.


xoxo