It’s Beginning to Get to Me.

It’s funny how we have these preconceived notions of what life is supposed to be like. When we’re in elementary school, it’s assumed we’ll go to middle school. Some of us will be in magnet programs, some of us won’t. When we reach eighth grade, it’s assumed we will move on to high school. Some of us will be in magnet programs, some of us won’t. Some of us will be with the same group of people from kindergarten through twelfth grade. Others will move from school to school, interacting with a different set of people at each one. It never bothered me in middle school or high school that I didn’t really have a group of friends in school that I truly trusted.

When I got to high school, I already knew the most important lesson – I didn’t have expectations that high school would be the stuff of a Jon Hughes movie, with Matthew Broderick waltzing in and out of the classroom to take me on adventures. So it was to my surprise that I would meet my best friend and ten years later, she’d still be here. I was okay that the girls I was friendly with were not what one might call true friends – because I still believed I had more than just school. What, I don’t really know, but I did. Books? Online groups where we pretended we were newsgirls in the vein of “Newsies?”

By the time I graduated high school, I had found activities to keep me preoccupied and threw myself into them completely. I had a boyfriend, I volunteered on the first aid squad, and I worked multiple jobs before I was even 18. I figured eventually, I would have to meet more people who shared my interests intellectually and emotionally, and all the signs were pointing to college. College was that sort of shining north star that meant I’d be able to get away from my small town high school and back onto a level playing field. In some ways, having that promise of college on the horizon meant it was that much easier to deal with all the high school drama – just bide my time until I got the heck out of town.

So when college came and went and grad school began, I felt like I was on my way. I felt like I had been taking all the right steps to get to where I wanted to be – what that was, I had an idea of but no concrete ties. And then I threw it all out the window and fled New York. I fled the memories of an ex, a new boyfriend, love had and lost. I fled the onset of depression, hoping I could outrun it by going to another state. I fled the constant nights of insomnia and restlessness, filled in with days of work, class, the gym and pretending to be happy. So I made a decision in June to move and by mid-August, I was living in California.

I spent three miserable weeks with a woman who volunteered her place for months, then upon meeting me suggested I look to a jewish organization because surely, one of them could take me in. Eventually, I found my way – I found my apartment and then when I realized I hated my job, I found a new one. I made new friends and figured out how I really liked to live my life. I realized that I liked only going out once or twice a week, going to the gym after work, cooking myself meals, taking long luxurious bubble baths in my clawfoot bathtub. I realized that as much as I loved my guy, he wasn’t going to change – distance being a major factor. I had taken a huge step out of the planned course of action – and it seemed to be working.

But then I got fired out of the blue, right after getting a great review from my supervisors. Suddenly, the life I had finally managed to get in order went right out the window. I boarded one plane, then another, as I crossed hemispheres and cultures. And one day, I woke up in my parents new house in Bumblefuck, New Jersey. I was back in grad school with a different motivation, but I was also working at Retail Job part time. The thesis ended, the diploma was shoved onto my bookshelf, and suddenly, the only thing in my life? Was Retail Job.

Nine months later? It’s still Retail Job. It doesn’t matter how many interviews I go on or how many job applications I send out. And when I used to be able to stay out of high school drama objectively, I no longer can. It consumes my time and energy, because there’s nothing else to direct my energy to. I’ve looked into meetup.com, I’ve tried online dating, I’ve tried escaping into the city more often. I’m too isolated from civilization to find groups that share my interests, other than book groups with working mothers and housewives, and the guys out here just plain suck. When I go into the city, I get depressed that I’m not back there and I can’t just go back to my apartment at the end of the day. I wonder what it would be like if I just moved back to Berkeley, but I don’t think that would solve anything either – especially not without a job.

So I find myself increasingly trapped by a job that under stimulates me and two people who frustrate me to no end – and both of whom I happen to work with. One who for a long time I considered a genuine friend until his actions led me to question his honesty and sincerity. And the other who lies to me and herself repeatedly. I liked them both so much because I felt like here was a person who understands! Who has lived somewhere other than New Jersey, who has worked in places other than a mall, and they just get it! But just when one of them does something to make me feel like they are indeed redeemable, they do something else that makes me question them all over again. Then I end up even more frustrated with myself because I’m so angry with myself and my situation, that I’m so beyond isolated, I can’t remind myself how trivial and tawdry it all is. That shining promise of college or a future isn’t so steady – after all, my past few years has shown me that nothing goes according to plan.

It was so much easier in high school to separate myself from all the pettiness, simply because I knew there was so much out there. But now? I feel like I bide my time, bide my time, give the world all the patience I have and then some more, and sink further into isolation and frustration because I can’t honestly believe anymore that there are good things looming on my path. To paraphrase from one of my favorite songs, “It’s Beginning to Get to Me” by Snow Patrol, we do need to feel breathless with love – and not collapse under its weight. Because right now? I’m gasping for a hell of a lot of air to fill my lungs with everything I’ve lost.

A four hour interview.

The school was three blocks down and three avenues over from my old apartment – easily within walking distance. On my way to the school, I drove up my old block and wondered, had it always been so big? Yet it also feels so small. I looked up to the tenth floor and wondered who looked out of my bedroom window now, if they ever ate pizza from the place across the street, got vanilla protein shakes from the organic grocery store right next door.

I thought, “If I still lived here, I could have walked to this interview. I could have walked to this school every day and have been happy.”

When I walked into the school finally, the first thing I saw were would-be teachers. Men from the finance industry, students fresh out of college, women carrying briefcases, boys with hipster glasses, and lots of presentation tri-folds. I felt like I was back in fifth grade again, auditioning for the dance program at an arts-oriented middle school and worrying whether I had enough talent to get accepted.

I had an idea of what to expect, but I didn’t really know what to expect. It was one of those living paradoxes where you know everything you need to know, and yet you feel completely clueless. I waited, fiddled with my phone, surreptitiously read the phone of the girl next to me as she texted, “Soooooo nervous!” to several of her friends. I wanted to reach out and say, “Hey, I like your shoes,” as a sign of comfort, of companionship, yet in that minute, all I could see her as was my competition.

It was only a minute (or maybe five? Ten?) later that someone announced, “If you’re here for the Fellows Interview, please follow me.” We climbed up five flights of stairs, my thighs burning by the third landing, to a desk where we were to check in. A few moments later, we were shepherded into rooms where mathematical equations covered the wall above the chalkboard and everywhere else. The algebraic formulas were no match for the fractions and ratios of our 23 question test. Even though it was an assessment of how I might validate a student’s answers, I still worried that my own answers were incorrect. I wondered if this was a trick question here, then realized I filled out the wrong bubble there, and suddenly, I was back in high school taking the SATs and overwhelmingly confused.

The test was over, we left the room and split up into smaller groups. I saw my name on the board as the first of five, and as such, was the first to do my teaching sample. The butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I mentally reminded myself, “You can do this. You’ve been teaching for years, with tutoring and SAT prep and workshops at Retail Job. It’s just a different setting, that’s all.” So I got up there and did my thing, the way I always do it – with energy and enthusiasm and lots of classroom participation.

And suddenly, I was back.

I wasn’t only a Retail drone anymore, I was someone who could really do this. Who could stand up in front of a classroom and teach. Who could inspire students to learn grammar by using silly examples. Everything I’ve done to this point could actually mean something to someone.

The rest of the interview flew by. My essay was me wholeheartedly. My personal interview had my interviewer nodding and smiling as I recalled lessons I learned from watching my parents work as teachers and administrators for the Board of Ed, moments from my own classroom when students acted out and I redirected their attention back to the matter at hand, and experiences that got me interested in teaching in the first place.

I left the interview feeling like I saw a glimpse of the me that saw things she wanted to do and did them. I was fun, spunky, alive again, and it showed when I met a friend for dinner. I didn’t feel like the girl who has been trapped in New Jersey for almost two years now – I felt like the girl who used to live in New York, who will move back to New York, and who will figure out how to own her field.

So maybe teaching is the right field for me. Or maybe something else will come along. Either way, I liked the person I was tonight. I’d like to keep her around for a while. Or at least see her more often.

Details.

I like Gretchen on the Real Housewives of Orange County. I think she is legitimate and I don’t think she intentionally tries to stir up drama. But at the same time, I like Tamra too.

Sometimes I contemplate re-hooking up with coworker. Then I realize that would be a stupid stupid stupid move on my part. And would destroy any impression of self-confidence that I have.

I don’t really care about any of the award shows, though I’ll probably watch the Oscars. I just like looking at the dresses. Speaking of dresses, Victoria Beckham’s design label is knocking it out of the park!

I can’t picture any sort of future for myself. I never really have been able to though. This might be part of why I’m struggling so much with what I want to do.

My managers at Retail Job frustrate me. I have to call them no less than three times to remind them that I will be calling out due to sickness before they actually realize I will be calling out of work. Last night, I left two voicemails to remind the opening manager that I would not be coming in today.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone who is in a position of authority can’t spell properly. It’s hard for me to take them seriously.

I have a feeling the real reason my lip keeps blowing up is my cats. But I don’t want to acknowledge that, because then my parents will feel guilty for having cats and I’ll feel guilty about not being able to find a job that supports me enough financially to move out. And I still want to have a cat or dog or both of my own when I do eventually move out.

I hate when people combine my first name and my last name and call me Jill. My name is not Jill.

Even though I have several close friends named Lauren, I still automatically pre-judge anyone named Lauren because of a girl I went to high school with.

I hate having to pop pills out of little aluminum foil things. I always end up breaking the capsule in half, and then have to taste the actual medicine on my tongue for the next ten minutes or so.

Tomorrow, I have a four hour interview for a teaching gig. Part of me thinks I’d be a great teacher. Another part of me is horrified at the idea of working so hard for so little gratitude, without any free time. I can’t decide if I’m giving up on the things I wanted to do initially (agenting/literary nonprofits) or just taking my passion in a new direction.

My dreams are back into the incredibly vivid and imaginative stage. I dream in color, which I’ve been told is rare. Last night, I dreamt I was outside the school my interview was at, and speaking to some students. They made me feel relaxed about the interview and about teaching. But that was only in my dream.

I bought a carton of soy milk. But someone told me it makes you gain weight and makes your boobs bigger. So I’m hesitant to try it.

I wish I could go to Europe and find decent airfare for the end of this month. But it doesn’t seem likely and I worry it’s fiscally irresponsible with all the medical bills I have coming in and my student loans, despite my super awesome tax refund.

I regularly apologize to my car for not giving it any versatility in scenery. And I always feel bad about making it drive before it fully warms up.

Sometimes, I feel like I did things backwards. I went straight from school to Manhattan, had the jobs I wanted, and I didn’t take them as seriously as I should have.

Netflix is the best thing since sliced bread. Currently, I’m watching Hotel Babylon, which takes place in London, but always makes me think of Bangkok since that’s where I first watched it.

I try not to think back, but I’m not very good at looking forward.

Things I…

…wish I had less of:
StudentLoan.com
Unhappiness/frustration/anger/general malaise
Retail Job
Incompetent management
Getting sick again and again
Bills, bills, and bills

...miss:
New York
Berkeley
Independence
Inspiration
An unrestricted diet
Patience
Friends

…wish I had more of:
My best friends
A stimulating work environment
Airplane tickets
Money
Freedom
Time
Laughter

…don’t miss:
Prozac
Panic attacks
Allergic reactions
Fights
Insecurity

(Yes, I’m aware this is all negatives. It’s just how I was feeling at the time.)

Allergy.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so devastated as I am today.

Up until now, there was this vague sense of “Okay, I’m allergic to a bunch of things I was never allergic to before.” But today, my doctor sat me down with the results of my official bloodwork and said, “These are the things you are definitely allergic to. Cow’s milk. Egg whites. Pistachio nuts. And pork.”

“But not egg yolk? Or goat’s milk?”

“Right now, they came back negative.”

My initial thought: Who the fuck eats egg yolk? If you’re going to limit the egg, it’s all about the egg white. For that matter, who is allergic to egg white? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? My contrariness strikes again.

Then I realized what this really meant. I’ve been good about not drinking milk for the last month and a half since the original test came back. But now we’re talking no milk products at all. That means no more fettuccine alfredo, no more bagel with cream cheese, no more stir fry cooked in butter, no more creamy parmesan dressing,

We’re talking about no more hamburgers cooked with eggs, no more meatloaf, no more lasagna, chicken cutlet, ice cream, frozen yogurt, yogurt.

No more eggs. Eggs sunny side up, cheese omelette, french toast, pancakes…What do I eat for breakfast now? I can’t even have cereal with milk.

There’s no more wonton soup, or the occasional fried dumpling or pork fried rice.

I can’t eat pistachio nuts. I only eat pistachio nuts. When my dad’s family gets together, there are fruits, cakes, and nuts. I eat pistachio nuts. But not anymore.

There’s no more pizza. My history with pizza is a long one – when I was a kid, I was the pickiest kid alive. It made playing with friends difficult, since their parents never knew what to feed me. Eventually, they realized that pizza was a safe food – so they would always order in a pizza when I came over. Then there’s the Brooklyn thing. If you grow up in Brooklyn and have the luxury of eating Brooklyn pizza regularly…you would understand.

I almost feel like I need to immerse myself in a diet of sushi, Indian food, and Israeli food just so I can still enjoy food.

But really. Almost everything I eat regularly is now off limits. And I’m completely and utterly devastated.

Jaunty.

I often wonder if there’s any truth to the adage that when you stop looking is when things start happening.

For starters, the job situation? Hasn’t changed. At all. But for some reason, I’m getting more interviews now than ever. Maybe it’s because my resume and cover letters have been written and revised and tailored down to the most minute detail so many times, that people are responding. Or maybe it’s just because I’ve given up that sense of desperation, that Retail Job is the only job that I’m qualified for, and resigned myself to whatever happens is going to happen and I can’t change anything. So I’ll keep answering those phone calls, putting on the suit, and leaving those interviews with a smile on my face and not a care in my head. It’ll happen when it will happen.

I’ve gone back and forth on the idea of teaching, even going so far as to put a proper application in for the New York City Teaching Fellows. I surprised myself by the intensity of my passion for issues in education – how to motivate students, why they should be reading, how the system is currently failing them, and is it because of socioeconomic issues? Or simply because their teachers aren’t proactive enough in trying to make their students’ education as fleshed out as possible? Sometimes I think I’ll make an awesome, amazing teacher who gets their students standing on chairs and dancing in the classroom. Other times, I worry that I’ll be burned out after a few months and come to school, hating my students – partially because Retail Job leaves me with so very little tolerance for teenagers. But less than a week after submitting the application, I got the invitation for the interview. And I can’t decide if I’m excited, nervous, scared, or just plain whatever.

I’ve decided to stop worrying, stop thinking about what other people want and need from me. If they want to talk to me, as always, I’m here. But I’ve stopped trying to create meaning when there is none, contemplate perceived relationships when they’re really just conversational engagements, and most of all, stopped taking people for their surface value. And suddenly, the people who I spent so much time thinking about, being frustrated with, so on and so forth are trying to pull me back into their snare. I’m not having it. I left high school over seven years ago, and I’m content to keep it that way. The same thing goes for the male gender. I will always enjoy their not-so-subtle glances and once-overs, but for now, that’s all it’s ever going to be. Which is odd, since I’m getting far more of those than normal.

Socially? My calendar exploded. It feels like every day, there’s something else, and though I’m trying to keep up with the books and Netflix and the job applications, it’s just not happening. My cat jumps onto the chair next to me every morning at breakfast because it’s the only time she gets to see me anymore. After being socially isolated for so long, I feel like a blind man seeing the sun.

The financial mess is always going to be a mess. It’s what happens when your annual salary is five times less than the amount of student loans you owe. But there are benefits to that: it means I get a ginormous tax break because so much of my paycheck goes to paying my loans. The rubber stamp of NYU seems slightly less painful, because suddenly, there’s a plane ticket on my horizon, courtesy of the IRS. The specifics are still being worked out, but the destination is definite: Hello Europe. It’s been five beautiful years since I’ve seen you last. Can I do three countries in seven days? You betcha.

My sister? It turns out ignoring her is a blessing in disguise. She’ll always exasperate me, but for the first time in a long time, we’re getting along moderately decently. Who knows. Maybe we can even keep it going.

And the piece de resistance? The sudden food allergies. It’s pretty bad when your lip blows up three times in five days. It’s really bad when your lip and the inside of your mouth blows up two days before you’re supposed to go for a skin test. Upon seeing the list of food allergies I was being tested for, the lab tech commented, “I would die if I couldn’t eat any of these things anymore.” Right now, I’m just mourning the loss of omelettes, scrambled eggs, cereal and milk, and eggs sunny-side up from my diet. I feel like it’s somehow inorganic and unnatural to be allergic to eggs and milk, the bastions of meals everywhere since the beginning of time. Is life worth living without cheese?

Quite honestly, I feel a bit like I either drank a bottle of Felix Felicis, or I’ve just stopped caring. Apathy suddenly makes the world seem so much brighter. Whether or not that’s a dangerous thing and this is all about to come crashing on my head remains to be seen.

And by the way? You can call me accidentally graceful, or you can call me Jess. Either way, I’ll respond.

Haiti.

Right now, the news reports are overwhelmed with details about what happened in Haiti. With expected death tolls of at least 100,000 for an island that has a total population of ten million people, it’s a bit staggering.

I keep thinking about the 2006 tsunami in Asia, and the 2008 earthquake in Myanmar (Burma), and even Hurricane Katrina in 2005. As someone who has mostly been safe from natural disasters living in the Northeast region, they have always seemed so far away. I know I’m not the only one to feel that way – I think many of us were able to separate ourselves from what was going on in the world simply by our lack of proximity. After all, how many Americans are wandering around Thailand or Myanmar on any given day? How many Northeasterners know New Orleans as anything other than a vacation spot for Mardi Gras and the Big Easy?

But then I went to Thailand in 2008. I saw the signs that said “In case of tsunami…” and felt that shiver of fear. I saw the reconstruction of the beach resorts on the Andaman Sea, an economy that lost millions of dollars when their entire industry swept out to sea. I saw the effort to try to build up tourism in southeast Asia, the conflict between making a living and recognizing their lost ones so much more evident. I couldn’t be a jaded American anymore, with the concept of “Well…that’s so far away from me.” Because I saw firsthand the repercussions of the devastation.

I don’t know if that’s what makes me so much more attuned to what’s going on in Haiti. Maybe it’s because unlike Thailand or Myanmar, this is something still within my time zone. Maybe it’s because so many people I work with and know are of Haitian descent and that makes this disaster all the more personal. Maybe it’s because of all the characters on NBC’s “Heroes,” the Haitian was the one I liked the most.

There’s no sense of distance anymore. It may not be my house or my job that no longer exists, but it is someone’s. It may not be my sister who is lost to the devastation of the earthquake, but it is someone’s. To be unable to account for a full percentage of a country’s population is mind-blowing. Now, more than ever, amidst all the arguments about nuclear weapons, our personal traumas, the frustration that has led so many into an economic depression – they seem so petty. Yeah, they’re important. But..for whatever reason, this earthquake seems to be hitting much closer to home.

I’m sure tomorrow, I’ll be back to my worries about the job market and if I’ll ever get to that place I want to be personally, professionally, romantically, and so on. But for today, my thoughts are with the nation of Haiti.

Letters for a new year.

Dear body,

No offense, but you kinda suck. In three short weeks, you waged full on war, and I’m only just beginning to recover. First there was the madness of the mysteriously swelling lip. There I was, just hanging out watching TV, when I felt a tingle on my lip. Two hours later, my lip was five times its normal size, and stayed that way for the next fifteen hours. It wasn’t enough to blow up that one night – you also had to blow up twice more with no warning. Doctor says you decided to allergify yourself to milk, eggs, pork, grass, trees, cats, and dogs out of nowhere. On the one hand, this means I’m allergic to the state in which I live and all the foods I typically eat. On the other hand, this is just another addition to the list of weird things you do.

Then, if that wasn’t enough, you decide to lower your immune system and ravage me with an upper respiratory infection. You almost made me miss New Year’s – almost being the operative word. At least you gave me that much – never mind the plans I had to cancel with friends and family, the days of work I missed, and everything else. It was only slightly annoying to be banished to my house on and off for a month.

Silly body. Pull yourself together!

_________________________________________________________

Dear Retail Job,

I still hate you.

No love.

_________________________________________________________

Dear books,

Hi again. We go through phases, don’t we? The whole body-being-attacked-from-the-inside thing probably helped us bond again. Between rereading the entire Twilight series in four days and discovering new authors and new book series (hi Stieg Larson and Michael Buckley – let’s be friends!), you’re on my very very very good side. In fact, you’re probably one of the few things making me happy right now. Cuddling into a ball under the blankets with a good book is way better than anything else I can think of right now. And I can say that accurately, since it’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what cuddling under a blanket with a cute boy is like. Among other things.

Book up!

_________________________________________________________

Dear New York,

Please take me back. I’m sorry for ever leaving you. I realize now what a fool I was to have ever left you in the first place. I don’t regret my experiences. I just…wish we could have left on better terms so that maybe you wouldn’t be so angry with me for leaving you. In my defense, I’m a better person now. And don’t you want to be with the best version of me? I know I would.

*insert winning smile here*

_________________________________________________________

Dear high heels,

I miss you. Every time I open my closet door, I think about the days when I wore you with regularity and strut through hallways, heels clacking against the floor. One day, that will be us again.

Until then, stay high.

_________________________________________________________

Dear 2010,

For a while I associated you with “Something’s Coming” from West Side Story, thinking this HAS to be my year, and things have to FINALLY start going my way. As in, getting a job that really rocks my socks, moving out of Bumblefuck, experiencing regular happiness, rather than the few hours I get when I see my friends every few weeks, moving away from the high school atmosphere of Retail Job, maybe even meeting a boy and exchanging kisses on a regular basis and not being the girl you just hook up with. (Seriously. This has been a not-fun year.) And then I remembered that the boy who sings “Something’s Coming?” (spoiler alert) – he dies at the end. And while death is part of the natural process, I’m nowhere near ready for death. I’ve got some planes to get on first. So that may not be the best song to use as a theme for 2010.

I don’t actually have any resolutions for you. The things I want currently are out of my control. I could ask you to be kinder to me this year than you were last (see: dear body especially), but I don’t know that I deserve any better or any less than anyone else. I just want a chance to prove myself and to start living my life. Let’s say 2009 was the year of the eternal record spinning. Let’s make 2010 the year of the action. Let’s make 2010 so action-packed that when I look back on it, I’ll think, “Gosh. I can’t believe how many awesome things happened that year.”

I’m ready for you, 2010. Let’s make magic happen.

Jess

Reconciling this recession. Poorly.

The last time I saw him was in front of his office building, when I stopped by to say hey. It’s always me being friendly, reaching out. Yet when we see each other, four times in the last year and a half, it’s easy to fall back into finishing each others’ sentences or referring to “Oh, do you remember when?” He was my best friend/boy I could have loved with the most complicated relationship in existence. At least he was until he sent me that text out of the blue saying we couldn’t be friends anymore. Now, we’re not friends – we’re just two people who have mutual acquaintances and frequent the same areas who still finish each others’ sentences.

He lives in downtown Manhattan. I live in Bumblefuck, New Jersey. He’s been with his girlfriend, happily, for the last two years or so. Me? Relationships are a foreign land; I’ve just had flings and regular pangs of longing for the long distance ex. His job? Took off to become one of the hottest creative companies in New York. Mine? Pays a few dollars more than minimum wage.

It’s really hard not to compare and feel dismal about where my life has gone. The worse part of it, is my second-guessing myself. What would have happened if I had never made that move to California, but instead, had stayed in New York? What if I hadn’t gotten fired from the university position? What if I had not gone to grad school and instead, gotten a job straight out of college? Would I be like the majority of my peers, tenured at a company that pays them well, even if it’s not emotionally and mentally fulfilling? Or just now going back to grad-school, where I could commiserate with my best friends about how hard the work is? Lately, I find myself disengaging at work – I don’t want to be there, at all. I don’t want to help people. I don’t want to talk to most of my coworkers. I don’t want, I don’t want, I don’t want.

I know it’s silly to think about the what-ifs, especially because I’m so proud of the work I did for my Master’s, and I’m so happy that I finished my degree and got to experience a different lifestyle. It’s just so frustrating to feel like all my life, I’ve been told I was due for big things by people I know incredibly well, and people I’ve just met. Is this just a case of parents and teachers trying to make every child feel special? Or do I really have that it factor, that makes people stand up and take notice? Because right now? Despite everything I’ve worked towards and done? I’m no further than I was when I was a seventeen year old waiting for high school to end and college to begin.

And that makes me really depressed.

Israel, in increments.

2006 – Birthright

We wandered the streets of Tel Aviv, left to our own devices. All I knew was this was the city where my father had been born, my grandmother had been born, and my great-grandfather built the first Temple from sand. The stories of their one-room apartment was myth, as I meandered along the boardwalk and took in the fiber optic lights as they danced from color to color. The Tel Aviv I saw that night was the one advertised in travel guides, of hotels along the Mediterranean and beach chairs and a boardwalk that spanned miles. We drank beer at a beachfront bar, content to be Americans in Israel.

2009 – Homecoming

This time, we started in Yafo. We meandered over the Rainbow Bridge, past the Clock Tower, as my father wished my grandparents had been able to come along with us to share their own memories of the Tower. We had left them behind with promises of pictures and videos, as though that would allow them to recapture fifty years past when all they knew and cared about was Israel. And suddenly, that one-room apartment was in front of us, the door held open wide by a great-uncle I had never met. The room in which my great grandparents raised their seven children now stood across from a hotel tower, three blocks from the Mediterranean. I was beginning to see my Israeli roots.

2006 – Birthright

My group was introduced to Israel by way of history and war. We spoke of Israel in the biblical sense, in the mythical sense, with politics and culture governing our cause. Some of us were there to explore, others were there to explore each other. I wanted to know the country of my father’s childhood. But without him, I could only layer his stories over the city around me as though his life were a transparent drawing board for me to shade in.

2009 – Homecoming

His excitement was palpable. The once dirt streets were now paved with cobblestone, as he remembered how he and other local children used to play four square, running whenever a car came. He remembered the roof he climbed, the groups he led to the beach for a day of soccer and tag, and this time, the past was right in front of me. Not only could I see it – I could touch it. I could touch the four walls of the synagogue my great-grandfather built, now held as a historic landmark. I could reach the backyard in which my grandmother and her mother before her hung up the wash, while children chased each other around. For the first time, I could reach out and touch my own history.

2006 – Birthright

He showed up in the lobby of the hotel our group was staying at. I had met him once before, when I was thirteen or fourteen and he came to America with his daughter and youngest son. “He looks so much like Safvta,” I thought, even though I knew they were five children apart. The mannerisms were the same, the constant concern for my welfare recognizable, and my relaxation in being with one of my family, my great-uncle, in a country that should be mine was immediate. Thousands of miles away and the same bonds that connected me to my grandmother connected me to him.

2009 – Homecoming

We stayed with him this time. There were no hotels – instead, there were family photos, homemade cooking, stories of growing up with my father who was only ten years younger than him. There was laughter as we saw this whole other side to my family and we learned how some of my grandmother’s habits are genetic to him and his brother. The uncle I had met for the first time, I learned, was my great-grandfather’s son. Whereas my two other uncles and my grandmother belonged to my great-grandmother. Those seven children I had always heard about had grown into men and women with their own families, and I was beginning to see just how it all tied back to me.

2006 – Birthright

Our last day there was a challenge to see how long we could withstand Israel. We woke at 3 in the morning inside our Bedouin shell to climb Masada in time for the sunrise. We swam in the Dead Sea, we hiked Ein Gedi, we ran ourselves into the ground so that our flight home would be comparable bliss despite many of us having to make do with limited shower resources and having covered ourselves in sand and dust and dirt and camels and food and hookah and sunrise. That last morning there, as the sun welcomed us, invited us to stay even though we were about to leave, I recognized why this land called out to so many.

2009 – Homecoming

Our last night there was a celebration of Tel Aviv, of the city that had finally reconciled itself in my mind as the land of my family. We walked past street performers, danced to their exuberant music, laughed at the story of my grandmother feeding my aunt bread just to get her to walk around the city. My father posed by a statue he used to climb as a child as we snapped pictures, all the while murmuring about how we wished my grandparents had been able to withstand the twelve hour flight back to their homeland. I was changed this time. My pores breathed the country, breathed its humanity and culture and happiness and all of its turmoil and history. I breathed the story of my father’s family as they built their way up from immigrants to commanders in the Israeli military, the sadness and the triumphs and the jobs my grandfather worked to support his wife and three children while he waited for an American visa, so that we might create our own history, one that is weightless and ecstatic and spans continents so that we might continue telling our story, so that I might one day be able to sit here, and write here, and see the story of my life etched in walls and cobblestone and the wide shimmering Mediterranean Sea.

(Written for the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge.)