Miscellaneous...and goodbye, home.

Sorry about that last post (for goodness' sake, I hope that I won't have to start off every post with an apology). But I do despise whining, especially from those who have nothing to whine about. And I don't.
This will probably be my last post until I'm back in New York (sigh...I can't help but count down the minutes, even though my father is not completely well yet. He's still not back at work, which, at least, has given me a great deal of quality time with him this week before I leave.)
So to end my string of I'm-trapped-at-home-in-the-California-suburbs-and-don't-know-what-to-do rants, I'll tell you that I'm reading an amazing book right now: The Ghost of Hannah Mendes, by Naomi Ragen. I am LOVING it, and saving the juiciest parts for Shabbos reading. It centers around a Jewish family from Spain who was extremely prominent and wealthy before the expulsion, and much of the book takes place during that period, which I find fascinating. I don't know why it hasn't gotten more press, but thanks to my Nana's best friend - whom you'll probably hear about again; she's the most considerate person I've ever met - I'll be adding anything else by this author to my Amazon wish list.
I'll share one more thing with you, in the spirit of Elul. Last year, even though I'm not nearly ready for shidduch dating, I ended up in touch with a boy by e-mail who, at first, I seemed to have quite a bit in common with. After realizing that it would never come to anything, our correspondences slowly faded away and I nearly forgot about it altogether. But just recently, I got an e-mail from him apologizing if he'd ever offended me or done anything to provoke me to stop responding. Now, this might not seem like anything, but being that I didn't grow up religious, I was so incredibly touched. I immediately apologized to him for not clarifying my feelings at the time, and could not have felt more liberated and at peace. In fact, I couldn't wait to ask for forgiveness from my family and friends this month. So, on that note, I encourage all of you to take the apologies you make in Elul very seriously and never underestimate how much meaning they may have for the receiver. You may just be the person who encourages them to apologize to someone they might never have thought of otherwise.

Goodbye, until New York!

Being that its my last week with my family at home before I go back to school, and I’m an extremely sentimental/nostalgic person, I’ve been trying to squeeze in as much “childhood” stuff as I can – from watching my favorite old movies, getting in some piano-playing and drawing (the two hobbies I’m always least likely to keep up at school), and of course, seeing my family and friends. I even had my best friend over the other night, and she ended up turning on a home video of the two of us and her little brother goofing around when we were about two. We realized that as children, we were both surprisingly adorable and articulate, and yet the dynamic between us as friends hasn’t changed much since then. I thought I had found a new friend in nostalgia with home videos…
But yesterday, I somehow ended up watching the video of my Bat Mitzvah party. (Keep reading, folks; I know you're already thinking, "WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU DO THAT?") And yes, I was awkward and not the best dancer. But the saddest thing about it for me was that I think it might remain the biggest celebration of my life, and I didn't even fully appreciate it.
Everyone told me, "the only party as big as this will be your wedding." And no, the size of the party is not my greatest concern. But the truth is, I don't think my wedding could possibly be anything like my Bat Mitzvah. At my Bat Mitzvah, all of my non-Jewish friends, some of my BEST friends growing up, were welcome and, for the most part, had been to other bat mitzvahs, knew the drill and what it was about. And my family was the same. But if and when, with Hashem's help, I marry a religious man, my parents, the rest of my family (aside from my beloved grandmothers and aunt, who have passed on), and all of my friends - well, unless a miracle occurs, they will not fully approve. I have friends who don't even realize that I keep shabbos - or know what it means. How on EARTH would they feel about separate dancing for men and women? And my family has already said - in not so many words - that they wouldn't even want to throw a fully frum wedding. They just don't get it. No one in my life will "get it," and therefore I don't think I could have a wedding with true nachas. Which makes me sad.
I'm sure that its not right of me to predetermine that I will get married and my family and friends will be miserable about it. If I find my bashert to begin with, I think the idea of a big Jewish wedding won't really matter that much. But my family always will, which is why I'd like them to experience and understand the holiness and joy of a frum wedding, without having to feel all the animosity that they do about my being observant and someday "giving me away to some strange guy with a beard."
Well, at least I have the Bat Mitzvah video. My whole family, dancing awkwardly. Available to watch forever and ever.

So the truth is that I just really cannot wait to get back to New York. Its not even my excitement that makes me want to go back; its how utterly unproductive and low I feel out here. I have my family, a job in retail and some close high school friends to hang out with; but well, really, I am just addicted to Manhattan - every square inch of it - and the constant social and academic stimulation of college. And I miss Jewish life like crazy - I'm completely isolated out here. So if any random stranger has read my last few blog entries, and was baffled - well, I'm not myself. Don't give up on me yet.

I always imagined that I would find writing such a romantic profession. I'd sit down at my desk and some gorgeous heroine would creep up from the back of my mind and possess me; my fingers would move over the keys so quickly that I'd hardly remember what I'd written until I'd read it myself. I'd laugh and cry as I brought to life the character who was a real manifestation of what was in my heart, who lived in a parallel universe of beauty and truth that I felt it my humble duty to share.
I want to say that that is rediculous and childish, but my current - hopefully more realistic - image of myself as a writer is not as drastically different as you might think.
I still hope to - first and foremost - bind myself to a main character, if I am ever to write successful fiction. That seems to be the hardest part, as I sit down every night to write but simply lose enthusiasm for the underdeveloped heroine after only a few pages. And I'd like the actual storytelling process to be a little easier, but there is something almost delicious about having folder after folder on your computer full of incomplete - but not totally discarded - beginnings. I imagine myself still at the bottom of a long ladder leading to my actually producing something that works, from beginning to end - but with all the practice I build up, I can see myself on the second or third rung of the ladder instead of gloomily pouting next to it, waiting for the burst of "sudden inspiration." And in looking for that inspiration on my own, I've learned to see the world around me differently. Little anecdotes in my own life become starting points for a meaningful short story.
I still have so many things to work out, in my writing style, wording, structure, plot progression. To tell you the truth, I'm really not that disciplined, and at this point I'm just not devoting myself enough to my work to judge whether or not I have a chance in the grand world of literature. Who knows? Maybe, in Jo Rowling style, I'll have to plummet to the most humble existence possible, with nothing else but a pen and a keen sense of observation, before my scarred hero decides to creep out from my fingers onto a paper napkin at a cafe. We'll just have to see.

Would anyone who reads this please keep my father, who's ill, in your prayers? I don't want to give his name, but I'm sure there's a creative way to include him...I'd really appreciate it.

I think my expressiveness is slowly depleting. Tonight was one of the worst I’ve had in a long time, cumulating with my mother, more intoxicated than I've ever seen her, stumbling down the hallway - telling me that I “screw her over every chance I get.” I could normally write about the last clause of that sentence alone for ten pages, but tonight it seems I’ve got nothing. (And I'm sure it would be major lashon hora.)
I’m sorry to share such a graphic image. I really hate to air out my dirty laundry to the unsuspecting stranger. But you know - we baalas teshuvah girls tend to have colorful backgrounds...
And yet, my worst fear is that somewhere down the line, the instability of my family will resurface in me.
I guess only Hashem can prevent that. It's just scary to fear - well, yourself. And what might happen to you if you lose control. Because I know that my mother is not really like that. She would rather die than let me see her behave like she did tonight. She's done things that most people would never look at her again for, and yet my family sees through to her soul enough to forgive her. But my question is, who IS that that I'm talking to on those days when I force myself to believe that its not my real mother I'm speaking to? What force is it that makes her do such hurtful things? And will it someday consume me, too?
I often look at her and see a stranger. But what disturbs me most is that I know she looks in the mirror and feels the exact same way.