11 Last Steps Before I Turn 40 #1

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11 Last Steps Before I Turn 40

One last step before I jump into a brand new decade.

Or was it eleven?

It must have been eleven.

Thank you for joining me while I break it into eleven thoughts before my passing the threshold into 40.

I might not feel like tackling these subjects once I have passed into my new year: Sweet 40:

Nothing, absolutely nothing turned out the way I had imagined it would, I had felt it would, or, in accordance with the way I was brought up: a Damascene of the 15th family, according to the census of Syria.

None of our Damascene code of manners or being has ever been valid in Europe, except perhaps for Portugal, and Taormina (Sicily), if I may.

As for relationships with the opposite sex, again none of our Damascene codes applied here in Europe.

What turned out is that … I have been pushed into entrepreneurship, into being more (by most of the people in my ex-life), and into stretching my limits to the maximum, especially by the opposite sex. Always more, do more, give (away) more.

"I’ll take care of you, babe” wasn’t part of the … being a man ‘deal'.

Where I come from, he is supposed to take care of her — i dir balo 3aleiha.

It’s an inherent part of our Damascene culture.

Where I come from, he is the provider and the man of the house: in feeling, with the being, and last, but definitely not least, in terms of finances.

And she takes care of him… a la damascene.

Given the above mentioned you can imagine, my dearest, the cognitive dissonance I experienced upon getting off the plane "No.2010 I am taking you back, from Istanbul to Bucharest".

Ever since, I have been hovering above the Bridge of the Mabeyn, in-between worlds. Ever since, I have interrogated as if I were parsley being cut for the tabouleh salad: when... where... why...? Some people love this. Asking questions and watching other people as if they were window shops.

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Back to him, the Damascene Arab gentleman, my dearest, he opens a house — byafta7 bet: he provides the roof for the two, and the family to come.

And she takes care of him… a la damascene.

But first things first, he has a vibrant heart. And she is both very lucky and very blessed for being part of and for dwelling in his heart.

Hence, he positions himself, from the ground zero of the story.

He sets the tone, from the beginning.

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So when society, annoyingly and intrusively, tries to stick their muddy feet into my heart, society has the answer here, at this point 1, plus within the following enumeration.

Extracting who I am… I don’t call it or envisage it as becoming or growing. Rather, I refer to this process of growth and becoming as extracting the essence of myself and expanding into who I am. And I have been blessed. I have been "saved by the bell”, every step of the way.

Everything: every hindrance, the once upon a marriage (which I can’t recall much), my going to the hospital alone, or with “My Brothers from Turkey”, all the miracles that I had, unconsciously, manifested, all the projects that had chosen me without my choosing them back, my drowning in the swamp of motherly narcissism, bouncing back and forth with father's health condition, my standing on my feet, alone, have had me extract the essence of who  I am. Always guided by the Light — Al Nur of Damascus.

And always, having “Society” looking at me, nuclear family relatives, as if they were watching a screen.

The only thing they were short of was popcorn, for them to enjoy "the moment".

I got chosen, every step of the way.

Now, I get to choose: I mean I get to feel that the path opening up is for me and to me, in feeling, in energy, and in vibration.

I have kept expanding, and expanding, and expanding. That’s what Indigos are about.

And I am like: “Habibi, I have expanded into this. Does my “expansion” fit your 'je ne sais qoui'?”

Do you see the colours of me, truly, madly, deeply? If not, please do us both a favor and remain hidden behind the veil.

And yet, should the colours of me resonate with your “I am”, boy, I hope you will have the veil dissolved and step forward, in no time!

Otherwise, “waking up” to and with someone whose vibration, frequency, and overall maniere doesn’t match our own… could be quite unpleasant, I am thinking to myself.

The spices of ourselves might change… and yet, I tend to firmly believe in the core of ourselves.

Who we are, what we are made of — that, my dearest, does not change.

To my belief, that is the core point around which the circle of life revolves. And that's what keeps relationships together: what we are made of.

And Love — the strongest vibration of them all.

As I was saying, in Damascus, the guy shows up to the girl’s father and tells him: I am into your daughter. They get engaged. While engaged, they get acquainted. Should everything work out well, they go on with the marriage procedures.

In Romania, allegedly, they get acquainted, if possible first physical, afterward they discuss the rest of what is basic. He gets to knock all the nails out of her body, if he is willing to show up for a second, or third meeting, they are in a liaison. Then they get to move together. The guy has to make sure that he gets along with her. And if he’s rich, he has to make sure he doesn’t invest in any wrong places. In the meanwhile, she is supposed to succumb and give all of her self and sexuality. And she is supposed to love him for who he is and want nothing in return. And yes, he can take his time in honoring her in terms of appreciation, comfort, and finances. For -- he can’t take such an important risk. And should she stem from a family of heritage, that would mean that she has given away codes of light of hundreds and hundreds of years...

But then, there was this time when a Damascene had asked her: When are you buying a house? How much do you earn per month?

My dearest, a guy has to know 100% who he is thinking of committing to. The possible European citizenship is also in the house. Sway! Good deal, my dearest. Good deal!

(Dear reader, thank you for bearing with my tone of voice. I am trying to make a point.)

I can’t say what has made (some men) turn into such … but, for me, and this post is personal, it’s about me, the past decade was about female-men, not men-men, when it came to my life.

Female-men craving to be wooed. It could have been my personal wound: my being the daughter of a narcissistic mum must have triggered the aforementioned loop, I am thinking to myself. And yet, I can't be sure of it.

I don’t know what a man-man is about, the "I’ll take care of you, my babe", kind of man. The kind we watch on screens and read about in books.

Nevertheless, I have been blessed: my life is abundant with colourful soul roses, worldwide. I truly am blessed for my Soul Family.

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The Sharia Muslim Legacy of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) states it quite clearly, expressed in my own words: 'Thou shalt honor, respect, and provide for your Lady." Peace Be Upon Him!

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So it follows that first, the guy positions himself, honors, and then the relationship proceeds.

Which has me remember a shrink's statement, from the past decade: "He is not a glass. You can't position him one day here and one day there." What the Lady Shrink failed to see was that the guy himself failed to position himself. And not me!

Now, of course, there are many nuances to it.

And Love… habibi, love springs through. Love waits on no one!

And she, verily, the “Dame of Dorobanti” would tell me: “You are expecting for the man to cherish you. We don’t have it, it doesn't happen here!”

“Calm down, habibti, we have it … in our Damascene tradition. If here it's not possible, it might be very possible there. This is one of the major benefits of multiculturality: what seems impossible here, becomes possible there."

I was blind, my dearest. I had no idea I was swimming in a river called “Cognitive Dissonance” with no possible ship to harbour in the port because they didn't recognise the reality as their own. They couldn't see me. And I failed to see that I wasn't seen.

"I was look at, but I wasn't noticed." As Albert Camus says it best.
I was desired, wanted, but I wasn't seen, hence I wasn't loved or felt.

4. Not all love stories are meant to be "the love story"!

Some stories have only a few chapters, whereas others are never-ending chapters. I was blessed: all the stories crumbled from the beginning. The story couldn't launch itself since there was no solid foundation. The story canvas was quite thin and fragile.

And there are other stories which are soul mate stories. Soul tribe, soul family stories, and not, "the love of my life story”!

When all is said and done, despite all the adjacent heartache, and inter-racial cognitive dissonance, God had placed me on the Galata Bridge, in Istanbul, because it turns out: it was the best place for me to expand into “I am” of the now.

The best Mabeyn Worldwide, on the Bridge of the In-between.

For Damascus, belongs neither to the West nor to the East. Damascus is at the core.

As for my story, I got to write one with thorough and dense chapters: traveled to many places, and got acquainted with so many beautiful peoples and cultures.

Especially, the Turkish atypical one. And may God bless my Turkish brothers, forever and always.

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6. No one had ever told me: "You are smart. You can do it", neither in my nuclear family nor amidst my blood relatives.

He, the Gentleman by the Strait recognised my brain and skills. This is what soul tribe & family is about: recognition. I recognise you for all that you are and all that you are not. I recognise you and pull the threads of your soul in. So afraid I was when the bridge of life withdrew itself and had me walk, again, on my own.

“Who else is gonna see? Who else is gonna accept me for who and all that I am?”

Surprise, surprise!

He , the Rosebud: “With the system you have in you, had you had the resources, you have become a millionaire by now!"

Yeah well, I've lacked a different start and bearing “a manhood” between my legs. I could open doors only to a given point in time and then, as the saying goes: “the world is led by men”; with love and humanity, I’ll add up.

Alhamdulillah. We are swimming, as a race, in an ocean of infinite love and humanity.
He, the Painter of Words :
“Go on writing, with courage!”

Have I missed any of the roses? I’ll leave some other quotes for other posts, as well.

Mr. Rose could bloom, any minute now, through the thin veil. Oh, baby, and when Mr. Rose shall spring through… but that is another story. Let us stick to this post before I turn 40.

And this takes us to No.7:

7. My body is doing well. What I mean is that as I walked down the Pilots Avenue, Downtown Bucharest, contemplating and admiring the dew of colourful roses, in my blue and black polka dots dress, this very thought hit me:

“The dress has gotten large around my ass." You see, I still have this giant behind of mine, towards the back, only my hips have resumed their initial shape. Alas.

Until the Ascension, I’d never had so rounded hips… Nevertheless, there was nothing I could do. I was "pregnant with Light", and my body was overbearing Light: Ascension is the name of the process, baby.

8. I wasn’t aware.

I wasn’t aware of what stepping out of the Garden of Roses meant: facing stigma for being a hybrid, negotiating one’s banana, as described at point 1.

-- Both according to the Sharia and the Damascene Code of Manners we, Ladies, are granted the dowery, not the other way round.

It's ok. Even many an Arab don't respect this. I have witnessed many stories where the Damascene Arab asked like a broken record: "How much do you earn? How much money?"

Of course, internationally speaking, love conquers it all.

As for the approach I’d encountered both in Turkey and Romania, in terms of wooing, throughout the arrivederci past decade had been: "be thankful and kiss my hand if possible, you have a man".

“She has a man” had become the emancipation of womanity … at least according to the experiences I had been subject to both in my life and as a witness to adjacent stories.

Of course, this didn’t show up at the beginning of the road: date, conversation, first-hand kiss.

Truth be told, the Dame of Dorobanti had advised: "men's manipulation technique": do as you please and tell them as they would hear.

Well, I am terrible at faking it. My dearest, I am terrible at pretending. T-e-r-r-i-b-l-e!

9. Which system is going to be?

Society demands.

Society wants.

Get married! Have babies! Be successful! Be very successful! Be beautiful! Work out! Take care of your man! Give away of yourself, a lot, and always! Do this, do that.

Rather than, be. Be yourself and manifest the life you want.

So which system is going to be for the partnership: Damascene or European?

I know I'll be choosing Love. Always.

10. Don't assume, ask.

Don't imagine you know me and about me.

Liaise, bond, and see what answers come along.

And she has to like it: the male's overall approach.

The conversation, the feeling, the ... presence of him.

We cannot have our presence intruded into, by force or command: "Want me or not, I am here."

11. Motherhood…

I have always loved children.

I have always adored children.

And, I have wanted to be a mum.

He hasn't crossed my path yet or shall I say: again?

If one could make out with someone who is just OK, like that, when it comes to giving life to a child the discussion changes, dramatically.

A beautiful heart-to-heart liaison, a foundation of respect, good genes, and a minimum of (financial) stability is mandatory, to my belief.

Moreover, I have had to heal from serious and severe trauma: the narcissistic mum. Otherwise, I would have turned out a dysfunctional mum myself. And I couldn't allow for that to happen.

Society ought to understand that. Society ought to understand that each and every one of us have circumstances of their own.

All in all, my dearest, I am not where I envisaged I’d be, at the age of 40. Definitely not! Yet I am very much glad I got to be "put on hold" by the darling universe. Like I said: I have been protected every step of my way.

God has known better every mile of the way. We call that Alahu A3lam, in Arabic.
And, I feel Happy.
I feel very much attuned to the Magic of the Universe.
Alas. I can’t wait to jump into this New Decade of mine.
Dear Sweet 40, I am diving in… Dear Sweet 40, I am diving in…

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