Saturday, June 18, 2011

It Always Comes Down to Those. Always.

I never come here knowing what it is I want to write about. I sometimes come here thinking that if I open the page, find the empty box, that inexplicable feeling will turn into something because chances are it's an untold story.
But it never really is. Today, while working on my first sample for a break-through journalism internship, I realized something that scared me. I don't go around saying things scare me, so I run a thousand checks before I can really validate a thought or a fact as a scary one. I realized that the more I write, the more I get the feeling that I wasn't really cut out for writing. I go through the document I don't think there are any modifications, and I hate the version I'm staring at. That didn't look good after I decided to actually become a journalist, or at least take a shot at it.
The reason why it scares me is that I don't see myself anywhere else. Now that could seem like a familiar pre-graduation thought, and it could very well be. But the thing is, I don't know if I actually want to see myself somewhere else. Ever since childhood I've had random people going all psychic on me turning into one hell of a journalist one day. And that's not even part of why I feel the way I do about this. It's not part of why I seem to hold on to it so...inexplicably.

Since I already opened the subject, I came across this post just now. Now that one didn't even need validation. And it's not that I'm specifically scared of being alone, it's that I'm scared of driving myself there on purpose knowing it's not right but it's all I can do. I'm scared of not knowing any better than to be alone. It's down to the simplest situation. Yesterday I was at the Tahrir Monologues theatrical performance and I made eye contact with Khaled Abu-Elnaga and didn't manage to smile at him. Correction, couldn't manage to smile at him. It's not about smiling at an actor, it's the fact that I couldn't carry out the simple act of not having a useless straight face on. It was a friendly atmosphere with everyone basically shaking hands with everyone, and there I was, sitting on the counter leaning against the wall, with my eyes locked on my Blackberry and my hands holding on so tight against it because I know it's the only thing that wouldn't make me beat myself up for not smiling at.
I don't smile at friendly strangers. I don''t initiate conversations. I always forget when the last time I talked to my best friends was. I choose to sit home and just sleep all day more days than I should, and not out of being depressed but out of not feeling like people for the day.

And the tricky part is that I never, ever got to the bottom of this. I have no idea why I act the way I do around people. I seem to be very much at peace with the fact that the vast majority of people I meet think I'm one snotty, condescending bitch on the first impression basis. It doesn't change except when/if they actually decide to talk to me and find that I'm actually capable of smiling. I don't know why I, most of the time, avoid having people to ride with in my car. I don't know why I automatically turn down any invitations from a friend to hang out if there's going to be people I don't know where we'll be going. I don't know why I can't remember the last time I had a deep conversation with anyone. The only answer I have so far is that I just don't know any better than to do what I always do around people, and I actually mean people because it does sometimes involve actual friends.

Last week I was parked at the airport waiting to pick up my father who was coming back from Italy. The flight was delayed for over an hour, which I waited in the airport parking lot with a strange pattern of beating in my heart. Last time I was at the airport I was coming back from a short trip to New York that made me realize I was right when I've always felt that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, I want to spend my life doing more than traveling. So I can safely say that the only place, the only thing I feel the strongest connection to, is an airport. The consequences of this statement could extend far beyond what I am willing or able to accept.

I'm just going to click Publish Post before I press Ctrl + A and delete.