Escaping The Loop

I & II

In a matter of minutes I was unloading a big bag from my car parked in front of my parents' building. I was greeted and hugged by my parents, hugged my two sisters, and decided to invite my family to dinner. After a long dinner, with latest news updates about the family, news about the pharmacy, about my siblings, we returned home. While everyone was sound asleep, I was sleepless. I kept staring at my ceiling for hours, so I decided to pace the room. The room I once called my own, never really changed. The possessions and the bed sheet maybe, but not the very essence, it still felt the same.

At the end corner of the room, I saw it. The very same box I kept when I was 17, filled with articles about places from around the world. I scurried and collected it, and couldn't believe my eyes. The wooden box that was actually a present, was decorated with floral vines and my favorite flower, the tulip. I couldn't believe it was there, after all those years. I thought my mother would have thrown it away, or lost it, but there it was in my grasp. I was in awe that I forgot that what was inside that mattered. I hurried and opened the delicate wooden box, only to see the magazine clippings I had cut out of magazines and collected throughout my teenage years. In addition to a very silly bucket list I had wrote as a teen, toasting at a strangers wedding, like I would attend without a save-the-date invitation. Then among the other wishes where those that seemed to catch my attention, like taking my father to a soccer match in England, or becoming fluent in four languages, or taking my mother to Italy specifically Venice, and the last one that truly made me sigh in frustration was "fall in love". I had forgotten the things I promised myself I would accomplish, towards me and my loved ones, I let go of the things that made me so determent to reach the place and career I am in. that wasn't a silly teen's bucket list, those weren't silly clippings from magazines, that wasn't a silly wooden box, all the contents of that box were dreams. At seventeen, I couldn't actually support my dreams, so I wrote them down to accomplish them later. Yet it is odd, how we dream and commit to reaching our dreams, then suddenly throughout life we condemn ourselves to settling, being content with what is available at hand. Through the process of mediocre content, we forget the dreams that we pinned over, that we decided-then and there- we would reach someday. Then routine slips in like a grey cloud, and we are forever expecting rain. We are our dreams, whatever they are, and by losing track of our dreams we lose a part of us. I wondered and wondered as I shuffled through the clippings and skimmed the bucket list. Then, after a very long time, I started to cry. I used to be an emotional person, the first eight minutes of UP! Used to make me blubber, a simple birthday surprise made me cry out of happiness for an hour, the death of a person I met once at a certain occasion made me cry. But as years advanced, I stopped. Now, I just let out the years of frustration and the tears I held onto and thought weren't needed. It's amazing what sobbing and tears do to a person's heart. It is like an emotional reset button, you feel an enormous vague mist escape your soul slipping through the salty liquid pouring from your eyes.

As I continuously sobbed, my mother opened the door and peered in, "darling, is there something wrong?" All I could manage was "I'm lost", she stepped into the room and slowly closed the door behind her. "What? Why dear?"

"This is not the life I planned"

"You have everything you ever dreamed of and you have Zen..." before she could utter another word I interjected, "mother I can't remember the last time I cried, nor the last time I laughed from all my heart, I am unhappy three quarter of the time, I'M LOST. I lost the person I used to be, I lost the girl that clipped these articles and dreamed of traveling, eating exotic cuisine and meeting new people, I don't even want to see the people I already know! I wasn't like this, this person that lives day by day through a regulated routine with no expectations, I know I should be grateful, but how could I when I'm losing myself bit by bit to a provincial life? And Zen, I don't even know why I fell in love with him, or if I ever did, he just seemed appropriate to bring home, appropriate and according to your expectations of who I should end up with. Never in my wildest nightmares had I imagined living an unhappy life, yet here I am, sobbing like a child wishing I had done things differently. I'm disappointed, from myself having allowed this to happen. I lost the things that fueled my determination, my dreams. They had been my fuel for all these years, I realized one thing, my dream profession wasn't pharmacy, and it never was. I only did it in means to open the pharmacy to provide for us when dad retires. I also realized I hate Beirut, how it appealed to me I will never know, it's so loud and you guys are so far away, Zen is oblivious and I fear the idea of building a life with a person who never notices I am upset, and mistakes my affections for sadness or an indication of something wrong. This is not where I wanted to go, nor the person I wanted to be. While thriving for success, I lost track of what made me happy, of the things that made me...Me." I showed my mother the clippings, and the bucket list, she smiled the whole time and nodded occasionally.
Then she turned to me and said "I never realized you were this unhappy darling, what I saw was my baby getting what she wanted, and who she wanted. Never did I realize you did all this for our approval. You forgot one thing darling, we only wanted your happiness and we thought what you have is it." She held my hand and let me place my head on her shoulder, "Children never realize that we only want what's best for them. Yes we may argue with you, raise our voice and order you around, but we know we want what's best. We hinder you from things we know are wrong, and I guess through the process we deprive you of some good ones", she faced me, "I love you my pride and joy, you and your sisters mean the world to me, if by my blind need to protect and guide you I managed to misdirect you, I apologize. Happiness is embodied in dreams, and dreams are hope. I don't want my 28 year old daughter to have the attitude of a 48 year old. You have a life ahead of you, if you think this is not the one you should be living, it's never too late" she held the clippings in her hand and reached for the bucket list, "it's never too late to visit these places or do these tasks" she placed them in my hands, "if these help you recover the things you've lost, do them. Always remember, never place dreams aside, our dreams are who we are, our hearts are our compasses, and they guide us to our ultimate destiny. They are treasures and never burdens." With those words, she kissed me good night and exited my room. My dry cheek was moistened again by fresh tears. I looked at the list again and read it repeatedly, also flipped through the clippings and tried to encourage my imagination to picture myself there, yet no result. I put the clippings and the list back in the box, and lied in my bed. I spent the whole night with a wooden box in my arms, clinging to it as if it was my life line.