Interlude: Tribute to the Firsts

In my early 20s, I promised myself to never succumb to jadedness and cynicism when I reach 30. I promised myself that I will marvel at the world in the same way that the younger version of me did.

Disappointments, heartbreak – over and over again - broken promises and the lack of integrity in what people say, however, still led me to the dreaded path of distrust and skepticism.

Gone is my naiveté.

Although most of the time, I don’t miss it, I wonder how it feels like to be able to just trust people again and take whatever they say at face value.

Yes, I want to be surprised again. I want to be a little girl who becomes wide-eyed at the sight of something so mundane and simple. I want to like someone just because they are likeable, nice and fun, without having to think if they will rip me off tomorrow or steal my soul.

I want to be “in the moment” with someone without having to think if I earn more than he does and that this will slit his ego or if he is filthy rich to buy me the world yet take me for granted.

I realized that I have heard so many lies and said so many distortions of truth myself that I either don’t believe anymore or take everything with a grain of salt.

Strolling down memory lane and wading through the cobwebs of my past, I remember how I joyfully embraced both ecstasy and anxiety of experiencing a lot of firsts.

Thus, a tribute to all the firsts in our lives…

The first time we hear a song and it moves us;

The first time we did something without our parents’ help;

The first time we set foot in a foreign land;

The first time we hear a lover’s heartbeat pound so hard because we are near them;

The first time our knees get weak and we tremble, ache, pine over someone;

The first time we are melted by his or her gaze;

The first kiss that we never wanted to end;

The first time we taste, touch, feel a new lover’s lips;

The first time we make love;

The first time we lose ourselves…

To all the firsts that we have that we can never go back to again…

May we always be grateful.

May we never forget.

No matter how jaded and cynical we become.

- A tribute to my young friends.

To P. May you be comfortable in your own skin, with who you are, no matter the pressure to socially conform. Although you may sometimes feel that you are proving yourself to everybody, the only thing that matters at night is the proof to yourself. And that you can face you in the mirror the next morning.

To E. Keep earnestness in the palm of your hands. You are beautiful. You know that you are. But I wish you can see through the façade – yours, mine and others’ – and appreciate the beauty of a soul. Say I love you only when you mean it. And find it at the most perfect of moments.

Prelude to the Four Corners

"The Persian poet Rumi once said that life is like being sent by a king to another country in order to carry out a particular task. The person sent may do a hundred other things in that other country, but if he or she fails to fulfil the particular task he or she was charged with, it is as if nothing had been done.

To the woman who looked at the road ahead of her, and knew hers would be a different journey.

To the woman who did not attempt to make light of those difficulties, but on the contrary, spoke out against them and made them clearly visible.

To the woman who made the lonely feel less alone, who fed those who hungered and thirsted for justice, who made the oppressor feel as bad as those he oppressed.

To the woman who always keeps her door open, her hands working, her feet moving,

To the woman who personifies the verses of that other Persian poet, Hafez, when he says:

Not even seven thousand years of joy can justify seven days of repression.

To the woman who is here tonight, may she be each and every one of us, may her example spread, may she still have many difficult days ahead, so that she can complete her work, so that, for the generations to come, the meaning of 'injustice' will be found only in dictionary definitions and never in the lives of human beings.

And may she travel slowly, because her pace is the pace of change, and change, real change, always takes a very long time."

For the Woman Who is All Women - written by Paulo Coelho as introduction to
Nobel Peace Prize Winner Shirin Ebadi

Not nearly close to her, yet I share the passion and that burning desire. The child's voice in me whispers, "Someday I am going to be you."

Silence brings forth both oppression and redemption.

As I let silence take charge to tyrannize me, vindication came as I slowly heard the inner voices again.

I lost my soul to the devil but gained it back. The Angels and the Universe definitely had a hand in it.

Thus, I welcomed silence in my life - for once - after a long period of its absence.

When it gave me that comforting moment and brilliant epiphanies... it was time to go back to the world of words and voices.

And so I am back here.