Big Bang

It was a typical weekday morning: I was running late to work as usual, and trying to beat the clock during rush hour traffic in time for my meeting. Then suddenly, everything came to a standstill and for a moment, none of it mattered. I saw a utility truck violently collide into a sedan just as I was driving by in the opposite lane. The cold wet air outside started filling with trepidation as I saw glass shattering and heard sirens blaring. I almost don’t know what was worse – the deafening clash of the hood into the rear of the car – or actually witnessing the crash with my very own eyes.

We’ve all been bystanders in roadside crashes – and some of us unfortunate ones – have even been in one – but never have I actually seen it happen “live.” Later that morning when I finally proceeded to making my way to work, I thought about what I had seen just a couple of hours earlier. I wondered if the victim had a chance to say “I love you” before she left the house that morning. I wondered if she even had anyone to say that to. I wondered what regrets the offender had – “I wish I hadn’t picked up that call” – or “I wish I wasn’t so reckless.” I also wondered what others, like me who were stuck in the jam, were thinking; “Damn, I should’ve left my house 5 minutes sooner.” What about the EMTs and the cops? “I’ve seen worse” – or “This is going to be a messy one.”

This isn’t my feeble attempt at recreating the Oscar winning movie “Crash,” but it does make me wonder – one horrific event, everything leading up to it, thereafter, and the multiple people it touches. All of our lives are so interwoven in today’s modern world that it’s hard not to affect someone by your actions – no matter how innocent or deadly they may be.

Love is Like a Bottle of Gin

By: The Magnetic Fields
Lyrics -

It makes you blind, it does you in
It makes you think you're pretty tough
It makes you prone to crime and sin
It makes you say thing off the cuff
It's very small and made of glass
and grossly over-advertised
It turns a genius into an ass
and makes a fool think he is wise
It could make you regret your birth
or turn cartwheels in your best suit
It costs a lot more than it's worth
and yet there is no substitute
They keep it on a higher shelf
the older and more pure it grows
It has no color in itself
but it can make you see rainbows
You can find it at the Bowery
or you can find it at Elaine's
It makes your words more flowery
It makes the sun shine, makes it rain
You just get what they put in
and they never put in enough
Love is like a bottle of gin
but a bottle of gin is not like love

Lost & Found

It’s common knowledge that I’m somewhat directionally challenged while driving (and often times, walking as well). Now it’s official that I’m pretty lost when it comes to navigating through my so-called love life too. I’m not sure when or how a seemingly simple straight road turned into a maze with no beginning and no end, but the longer I keep treading, the more lost – and frustrated – I seem to get.

Apparently the adage, “take the road less traveled” was not meant for me. Every time I try to venture out onto uncharted territory, I end up driving an extra 30 minutes… in the opposite direction. It finally occurred to me – as I was getting lost for the umpteenth time this past weekend – that my heart tends to follow the same course. Even with a clear destination in mind, for some reason or another, I veer off course and end up wasting time and going the wrong way.

Finding things in life isn't necessarily the hard part -- you'll find a great guy for every jerk you meet; you'll find a guy that wants to spoil you... a guy that wants ravish you... a guy that wants you want him.... a guy you want all to yourself. You can find it all -- but until you find it all in a single person, you'll be left -- well -- single.

Whether it’s intentional or accidental, one thing that I’ve learned from my years of getting lost and found is that getting off track isn’t such a bad thing, after all. Sure it wears my tires out, adds unnecessary mileage, increases my blood pressure… but at the end of the day, it exposes me to new roads – and it shows that sometimes it doesn’t matter how you reach your destination, as long as you find your way.

Fight vs. Flight

Something fascinating happened two years ago: I left an insecure, conniving, unfaithful guy, that I made the mistake of calling my boyfriend for five arduous years. I finally learned how to cut my loses and walk away. I kept thinking it was a war between me and the “other woman” – until I realized what it was that I was truly fighting for. I was struggling to be with a guy that would have essentially promised a lifelong of suspicion, dishonor, and resentment. And it wasn’t until I finally walked away far enough that I realized what a fool I had been to try to win a losing battle. And it wasn’t until today that I realized what a fool I had been to think that I actually lost.

What it all boils down to is a simple concept I learned in psychology class. In a threatening situation, your mind and body must decide between combating the obstacle and averting it altogether. For instance, let’s say you’re minding your own business and taking a stroll in the park, and a man suddenly creeps up from behind to assault you. Presuming your lack of preparedness or level of expertise in martial arts, your initial instinct would be to run. You can fight the perpetrator or you can fleet from the danger.

In my case, I did both. My ex made an assault on my trust, family, and feelings. But I chose to fight it. How naïve I was. It wasn’t until I fled that mock of a relationship that I finally felt safe – safe from being made a fool and being hurt… over and over again. Fast forward to the present: He’s marrying the girl he habitually lied to, repeatedly cheated on, and continues to disrespect by attempting to correspond with me. He’s venturing into a lifelong commitment when the only thing he’s ever been able to commit to is covering his ass. So when I still see his number on my caller ID, or see his name in my inbox, or see his picture with his fiancé, I’m not reminded of the war injuries – instead, I thank God that I had enough sense to realize that the victory wasn’t worth the fight.

Eyes Wide Shut

Have you ever had a dream that felt so real, yet you wished was anything but that? A dream that blurred the lines between fact and fiction so much that it made you cringe at the mere thought of it? A dream that suspended your reality and trapped you in state between insomnia and frighteningly alert? I had such a dream – and it scared the bejesus out of me.

Ironic how our minds work, isn’t it? Normally, when our dreams take us to fantasy land and show us grandiose visions, our mind is so quick to shove them to the abyss of our subconscious. Yet when we’re shown the grave and stark images of evil, there’s nothing we can do to erase them.

For once, I’m actually going to refrain from sharing the details of this vivid dream – mainly because I’d rather just forget about it completely, than have this blog serve as a constant reminder. A million thoughts cross our minds daily, but the other handful that we push aside, resurface from our subconscious into our dreams, and open up our eyes to the possibilities that lay beneath – even with our eyes wide shut.

Happy Single Awareness Day

As a marketing professional, I envy the genius who came up with the idea of commemorating St. Valentine’s Day. I imagine the inception to have occurred at a cocktail party where the who’s who of Hallmark, Ghirardelli, Kay Jewelers, and 1-800-flowers were discussing a joint venture of some sort that would enable them to serve one common goal: suck those lovers dry. Well done, you greedy creative bastards.

As a single gal, I simply dread this day. It’s the one day where you’re reminded of how truly empty your life can feel without having someone to whisper “I love you” to, without someone to hold your hand, or without someone to buy a special gift for. Not to say that receiving a bouquet of roses would really fill that empty void either – it would be nice though (all interested parties, please inquire within for shipping address).

It’s ok though... because I don’t need an annual marketing scheme to tell me I have to put my feelings on display by eating at an outrageously priced restaurant with a prix fix menu consisting of limited vegetarian options. So cupid can just take his arrow and strike it up his bare ass.

Burn It Up

Ok, disregard my last blog – I don’t know what I was smoking. I feel as if I just eclipsed around this thing called love; I’ve seen it, felt it, and witnessed it from all angles now, and I can say that I’m finally beginning to understand it. Finally…I think.

As I was listening to two of my friends gush about their new blossoming relationships, it occurred to me that I too, want that. I do want to get married. I do want to believe in the sanctity of vows and promises. I mean, who was I kidding? I already have my wedding songs picked out, along with my colors and party favors. The only thing left to pick out is a groom now. But more than a wedding, I want a marriage.

Hearing them talk also made me reform my stance on the debate over: “is it better to have loved and lost, or to never have loved at all?” I used to think the former caused too much pain and agony, thus, it would be better to never get caught up in the love shenanigans. But a scary thought then crept into my mind later that night: what if I never fall in love again? After all, there’s a sense of mortality and virtue in longing for someone. Without having someone to love, is sort of like being an envelope without an address.

As interesting as the past couple of years have been being a 20 odd year old, single gal in the city, I’m ready to hang up my gloves and step out of the rink. It’s a crazy world in there, believe you me. Meeting someone isn’t the hard part. The trouble is finding that someone that makes you want to stop time yet rush to the altar, all at once in this weird sweet cacophony. Those who have recently professed their desire to pursue a relationship have had a lot to offer – but there’s something missing – it’s that damn spark. I’m talking about that can’t get enough of you—inconvenient—unexplainable—sweaty palms—just want to grab and kiss you—kind of a spark. (Hopeless romantic here, remember?)

A single heartbreak, two boyfriends, and countless dates after, I have finally discovered what matters most in a relationship; ultimately, it doesn’t matter how smart, how hot, how rich, or how sweet a guy is, because all it takes is a spark to ignite the fire that will light up both of your worlds.

Silencing the Wedding Bells

I seem to have taken this “turning over a new leaf” thing to the extreme. My recent actions and change in attitude have managed to shock the one person I thought impossible…. myself. Jumping out a plane – risky yet adventurous. Chopping off my hair – drastic yet understandable. Not wanting to get married – now that’s just crazy talk.

I can pinpoint the precise moment this thought entered my mind, and never quite made it through the exit door. A friend told me the story behind someone’s divorce – nothing original though: husband cheats on wife with a coworker; and to add insult to injury, he takes the mistress out to the very place his wife wanted to go for her birthday (on her birthday, might I add). Not to say all men are alike, but has marriage completely lost all sanctity? Why do people chase like dogs, struggle to make it work, and celebrate their union – only to hire the best lawyer possible 7.5 years later to legally relinquish themselves from all bonds created from that holy state of matrimony?

In all fairness though, for every heartbreaking story I hear, I’m reminded of an equally heartwarming story of a couple that has stood the test of time. I once met a cab driver who told me about a backpacking trip to Europe where fate introduced him to the love of his life, and has since been happily married for over 30 years. They defied cultural barriers, and reinstated my belief in fate. Or more recently, my hairdresser told me about the love letters (yes actual letters – like the stuff that requires postage and ink) he and his (then) pen pal used to write to each other. They defied the vast distance, and reminded me that patience and respect go a long way.

But just because I choose to remain a miss, why does it have to feel as if something is amiss in my life? I don’t want to conform to society’s notions of what’s considered “right and proper.” I don’t want to commit to someone who might just be a page, rather than a chapter, in my life. The simple fact of the matter is that people – men and women alike – can’t be trusted and marriage only obligates you to remain together. I’m not saying I’ve sworn off being in a committed relationship either – but I don’t find it necessary to get a marriage license as a stamp of approval to validate my relationship.

But I also know that the hopeless romantic in me (she’s still in there) will make me change my tune if I meet someone incredible yet completely unassuming… that someone who will shake me from the core and make me believe in love again. As for now, the search for Mr. Right has been called off, because Ms. Modi is in no rush to turn Mrs. Right.

C'est La Vie

I’ve been debating whether I should write this blog or not. Writing it seems to give it more credence than it deserves, but if I didn’t… it still wouldn’t make it any less inconsequential. So I’m putting my pride aside and stripping my thoughts naked.

A day that I’ve been long expecting – half-dreading, half-wishing – finally arrived. I received the news of my ex’s engagement, which wasn’t really news to me at all. He had been doing such a wonderful job lurking around in my life like a shadow, that I foreshadowed this probably long before he even did. I used to wonder how things would be when this day would come. Will I be single? Will I care? Will he still be a liar? Will he be happy? And now that the moment of truth is here, the answers almost don’t seem to matter, because the only question that makes a difference is… would I rather be in her shoes? The beauty of seeing his life unravel before mine is I get to see how that could’ve been my life – and how glad I am that it isn’t.

I wrote this blog not because there’s baggage that needs to be unloaded, but because I like to give credit where it’s deserved. He played a big role in my life, there’s no denying that. But he’s about to play an even bigger role in someone else’s life, and there’s no denying that either. I’m not bitter, nor am I jealous or hurt – ok fine, maybe a little. Life does seem a bit unfair at times like these; how can a person who caused so many people so much grief deserve to be so happy? You see, getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars; you have to let go at some point in order to move forward. All great (and not-so-great) things must come to end. And in this not-so-great end, is my great new beginning.

Ciao Bella

It’s gone baby gone. I did it. It’s chopped off and ready to be shipped off for a child in need.

All you skeptics out there didn’t think I’d be able to muster up the courage to do it. Well honestly speaking – neither did I. Cutting my beloved hair off was much like ending a marriage. I made a promise that I would take care of it in sickness and in health, ‘till scissors do us part. Those of you who know me – or even those of you who have Rapunzel’s hair length – can understand the long (no pun intended) love affair I’ve had with my hair. I was attached to it like a baby to its pacifier. “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back,” people would tell me. Yes, thank you for your brilliant insight. “Don’t do it, you’ll look like a boy,” other detractors would say. Thanks jerk.

But most of you are probably wondering what possessed me to take such a drastic step in the first place. No, I’m not trying to emulate Rihanna (although I wouldn’t mind swapping genes with her). Perhaps if you scroll down to my “Wonder Year” blog, that will better explain my desire to reinvent myself – be it by stepping outside my comfort zone, or by stepping inside a salon.

Whether people love it or hate it is yet to be seen, but regardless of the verdict, it’s gone. But rather than crying over the loss, I almost feel a bit liberated because I feel empowered. I know it sounds a bit silly – creating all this fuss over a haircut – but it made me think about how hard I try to hold on to things in my life, when in fact, I have the power to let go… if I simply choose to. All I ever knew and had was long hair, and I feared change. Feared that I won’t look the same. Feared that I won’t know what to do with my new do. Feared that I might actually look like a boy. But now that it’s gone, I fear no more. With those 10 inches, I also shed a layer of inhibition.

Like an umbilical cord that releases a child from its mother, I’ve released my baby – and we’re both doing just fine.