Who am I anyway?

Maybe I’ve changed. No, I know I did. It happened a while ago, and without trying to be specific, I’d say, after a couple of years living in the US of A. Riding that adrenaline pumping roller-coaster process of integration, swooshing through enjoyment and nausea, over and over again, in spiraling twists, and heart-stopping drops, completely confused as of why I had stood in line and gotten on board this health wrecking journey in the first place, half-wishing I could get off, unaware that I was morphing from within, so that by the time, I stepped out of the Milwaukee court house, a brand-spanking-new naturalized citizen of this great country of dream-pursuers, I had become less flexible, less willing to participate in the inefficiency of others. Today, I expect things to meet my highest expectations, especially if I am to pay for them. Not only that, but I expect respect, courtesy, and why not, a dash of brownnosing, then let’s not forget a great deal of warranties extended from the vendor’s part. Yes, I want impeccable service and that legally withheld, and mostly comforting, agreement which implies the possibility of a full refund.

How did this happen so quickly? Didn’t I spend my most influential years in Africa? Am I not a product of it's impressively inefficient bureaucratic ways? Didn’t I roam its shoreline without a worry in mind, enjoying the madness? Didn’t I bribe a thousand officials? And didn’t I feel at home in utter unruliness? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yet, here I am raising an eyebrow whenever someone tries to jump the waiting line, whenever a cashier shows me the slightest hint of attitude. Who would have thought? Truly, I’ve come so far, and without even trying. Today, like every self-respected citizen of my beloved US of A, I demand the best, and lo and behold, if I don’t get it –take note, salesmen, you’ve been warned. The previous sentence doesn't apply to airlines -yet.

Do I have any regrets? Not really. I am at one with the critic I’ve become, even when this new me is a breathing, walking, nagging and complaining social migraine, especially when traveling outside of my safe consumerist haven, and into the world of Barbaria, meaning anywhere outside this glorious territory of ours, and Dubai –which I can’t afford, but still have to mention, in the name of diversity.

To be continued...

Stumbling,

I fall, and haven hit the ground, my initial reaction is to self-consciously wince, and take a quick glance at my surrounding, so as to see if anyone has taken notice of my less than perfect maneuver.

Why is that? I wonder. Why do I care what other might think of me? And most of all, what does this say about my confidence?

Suppose, I catch someone staring at me, in this somewhat demeaning position, or even worst, it is actually a group of people, finely dressed, displaying elegance, a tinge of affluence, what is it that happens in my subconscious mind, at that moment? What thoughts course through me, so fast I fail to discern their superficiality?

Are we what others make of us? Are we what others decide we are? Surely, if this is the case, ours is a terrible burden to carry along, as we go through life, worried and fearful, perpetually engaged in being careful not to make a mistake, not to offend, not to make too much noise, not to step out of line, not to take risks, and on, and on...

So, I say, let us be ourselves, with as much honesty, zeal and fearlessness, as we can muster, and let whomever wants to point that judging finger enjoy the show. Life is now. It is as beautiful, and as glorious as what we do of it.

Be well, and do from the heart.