Thread: Hazy Areas

Thread: Hazy Areas of Life

Yesterday, a new friend and I were commenting on a few things that we are currently encountering, and she mentioned something that brought up other issues for me. These things have nothing to do with what she said, but they have me thinking this morning.
Conversation is supposed to do that, and I think that for the most part, we take that for granted.

We, either have to be told things, or reminded of them, but no one ever seems to comment on other people's comments or attains a sense of enlightenment from the process of engagement. If anything, plagiarism reigns, and that is approved of by the human species, but really no conversation beyond the texting or other -extings (officially coined here: 8:42 am 6/17/10)exists. It almost feels as if I have finally found a soulmate of sorts, and the ironic thing is that we have never met or exchanged any words before.

This morning, as I deliberate the morning's schedule over coffee, I am thinking about how I donned a t shirt on just as if it is the customary thing to do. It is so easy to find a t shirt and even put one on. I felt how uncomfortable it was to put one on, and I wondered why that was. It seems like a convenience, but I recall there was a time when I could not go out with a t shirt on. I would have to wear something more elaborate or expensive - looking. It would have to be dressy, like a frock, or a
maxi - style outfit. The pants, bloomers with tunics, and even the t shirts and denim came much later for me than other girls. I think I cringed everytime I had to put on pants for school. They felt so different. They made me feel like I was a boy.

Now, these feelings are back for some strange reason. Lately, I had been perusing books from the regency era, but I do not think this is the reason. Yesterday, a violinist was on tv with an orchestra behind him. They were all in extraordinary ball gowns, and I noticed later that it appeared normal to me. I wasn't surprised by how different it was. Even the scenes in "Corazon Salvaje" with the long, swishing gowns seemed more normal than t shirts, jeans, and even shorts. (Shorts are still such a major taboo for me..I still can't put them on in public.)

I wish I could explain these feelings that are now dawning over me in this way. I have been here for years, and I have seen these fashions time and time again, but why am I experiencing an inner revolt toward these fashions? Victoria's Secret actually made me smile by sending me an email of these adorable t shirts with the Cubs logo on them, and so I forwarded them to a sports writer. He thought they were adorable, too. That was a particular fashion, and I miss logo and designated brands, so that did resonate with me.

Even the drinking of the coffee brought out memories of being told not to drink coffee when I was younger. It was common among many people, except my set. We had even been asked not to drink it for so long, and they considered the reading of newspapers too worldly. It was almost as if this sense of isolationism from the rest of the world around us was to stay forever. I still smile when I have a typical male approach me and state that I am Arabic and even African. I wonder if I should have told him that some of us couldn't even drink coffee, even if the Arabic settled near to us. We couldn't look at liquor, even. It is easy for people to explain things away, but when you have had traditions that have existed for long periods of time, things are not that easily explained.

I broke the taboo with coffee in my thirties. I remember being able to taste it once around 18, and it seemed like sweet paradise. My mom didn't always want me to partake of chemicals within drinks. We even have abstained from alcohol for the most part, even after all these years. When I go to a place where alcohol or even other substances are served, my family responds in an awkward manner. I think they know we are in a different land, and everywhere there are things that we would have once considered taboo (& still do), but the fact that I may be exposed to something that may enter my system is still disturbing to them.

I wonder if they think it is the actual substance or the temptation of the substance.
I still have to resolve myself to it. I remember a party that I was invited to as a guest in a couple's house. The women made my acquaintaince and were all dressed in the finest fabrics and silk. They were what you would call Upper Social Class in that land, and they looked aghast at me, knowing I was from the States. They were demure and yet looked strangely as the liquor remained on the table in front of me.
It appeared to me that they had been requested to ask to serve it to me. They looked very uncomfortable and were looking for words to say.

Finally, the senior of the group spoke:

"Our husbands drink, but we do not, but if you do, we don't mind."

I smiled and the awkwardness almost departed, and a conversation ensued after I declared: "I don't drink also."

Then they all relaxed. I said that my family usually does not expect me to drink. It is also, because I am female. They answered the same, and said they cannot drink as females. I almost felt that they had notions that girls in the states drank and were much more advanced in that sort of way.

I did feel comfortable with them, almost as if they were going to accept me into their fold. The people who brought me to the party rushed me, however, because they were afraid I would be uncomfortable at the event, since liquor abounded. I told them not to worry, because in America, there are always parties or restaurants where there is always liquor. I choose not to drink.

Anyway, I felt as if I didn't scandalize anyone, especially, the women. I think they were waiting for me to be an "American" so they could talk about it days later.

Sigh..

So, today, I think about the long ordeal with the coffee, and I never really felt the taboo-ness of it altogether, but now I wonder what it might have been like if they had not allowed me to taste it. Would I still unconsciously abstain every time I passed a cafe or was offered a cup?

Today, as I drink coffee, I think of changes in life, some more monumental than others. I realize that I have a choice of a maxi or a pair of jeans in the event summer visitors from other lands see me. It is not such a choice of rebellion as it is one of comfort. Then I have to stop and ask myself:

Is it more theirs or mine?

I have to wonder.