Aguardiente and The Parent Trap

I think I blogged about my former neighbor before. She's this stunning looking Colombian chick whom I was just absorbed with for the longest time. I thought she was so intensely sexy that whenever I ran into her, my mind's language software would immediately reset and I would just be at a total loss for words. Those of you who have met me know that I'm all talk, so you can imagine that I'm pretty useless without it.

Anyways, I helped her move out of her apartment about a month ago and I remember ruminating that I got nary a thank you out of her, which seemed odd. I chalked it down to her being busy and stressing about the fact that she hadn't found an apartment yet. I put it to one side and moved on.

Well, today, she showed up at my apartment with a bottle of Aguardiente Antioqueno, as a token of her thanks. It was a very sweet gesture, tempered only by the fact that she brought along some dude named Tiago, who appeared to be her boyfriend. I was touched that she'd stop by to thank me and bring a gift but bringing along a dude made me feel like she was-I don't know-concerned that I would misconstrue her showing up at my apartment on a Sunday evening with a bottle of Colombian Anice-flavored liquor? Maybe Tiago was there to ensure that I didn't get the wong idea.

Who knows, but the whole thing made me feel very uncomfortable, and it led me to think that women really don't understand how men are affected by women's actions and how the male-male dynamic is a treacherous field you should test only at your peril. For instance, here are ten facts that I'll bet you anything my neighbor would never have considered-or cared about, for that matter.

1. I helped her move because she's hot and I was attracted to her.
2. I subsequently did not make a move because I'd have felt like a sleaze bucket if I helped someone and then revealed to them that my gesture actually had about twelve strings attached to it.
3. When she didn't stop by to thank me after I'd carried most of her stuff, I became convinced it was because she was uncomfortable around me and was concerned that the slightest gesture of gratitude could be either misconstrued or taken by me as an opening to ask her out. I then became mortified.
4. Another reason I didn't ask her out is because I'm scared of how attractive I find her. If she had said yes, I'd be completely in her power and she would inevitably change my life.
5. Women threaten to change things, which is the single greatest fear men have of women. True, most of the changes they bring are good, but we still fear them.
6. Secretly, I fear having sex with someone I like. They end up hating me anyway and I always feel ashamed that I showed them myself in that kind of a vulnerable state.
7. I spend most of my life ignoring feelings like number six. Because ignoring feelings is something men are hardwired to do.
8. If you don't ignore your feelings, you become lost and you try to 'find yourself' and you eventually stumble of truths and realities that depress you and paralyze you from being a man.
9. I mistrust everyone, as a rule, and the people I mistrust the most, are the ones who say they like me. When it comes down to it, I don't want anyone to like me.
10. But I want everyone to respect me, especially women. I hate being undignified, impolite or inconsiderate: it tortures my soul.

I don't know why I got into all this. Possibly because her showing up at my doorstep just fucked up my afternoon.

On another note, I spoke to my mother yesterday, on the phone. I got the usual "I have a feeling something's wrong" followed by "when will you get married?" to "stay close to god" to "Why don't you move to an Arabic country" to "I want to be happy and I'm not going to be happy until I rejoice for you [arabic euphemism for getting married]".

Every week, the same old, debilitating, non-productive drivel. I never have an answer for it and she never has an alternative script. Why can't she just accept that I've chosen a different life for myself? Everything I've done since I graduated college has been as far removed from the Egyptian paradigm as is humanly possible and still she persists.

I have never gotten along with my parents and until I moved out of their house in 1997, our relationship was untenable. I'm talking on a level where if I saw either of them on the streets, I would have turned away and not spoken to them. I hated my mother and resented my dad and if I've achieved anything in my life, it was fuelled by an absence of fear borne from their continuous insistence that I was a bad person who would never get anywhere in life. From the age of three, I heard this.

At a certain point, when I stopped talking to them for a little under a year, I came to the conclusion that if I was a failure, I needn't fear failing. Which gave me the impetus to pursue dreams that I almost certainly wouldn't have had the strength to chase after. This absence of support of any kind shaped me not to be afraid of things like work challenges and being on my own in the world, but when it came to relationships, I quickly realized that I didn't have the software needed to open up, to share, to trust or to rely on anyone.

That's just the way it is and I'm long past allowing it to shape my day.

My parents are almost 6,000 miles away. Sometimes, the thought of going back to spend time with them, makes my stomach turn into twelve hundred knots. The last time I went on vacation, I couldn't sleep for three days out of sheer anxiety: what did these people expect out of me? What do they want from me? A relationship? How could I possibly start to have any kind of relationship with them when I never had one before?

I would shake, in my bed, in my old room, before I went out for breakfast with them.

Egyptian parents live too long. And that doesn't mean I want them to die. In fact, I know that when they die, if I haven't been killed by gypsies (little Borat joke) or something, I'll tear my insides out wondering why I never tried harder. I tried, to the point where I thought if I were to simply drop dead, it might make life easier for my parents and my brother.

Egyptian parents stay being parents for too long. I'm 35 and I don't need a parent. I need something from them, but I lack the tools or the training to even tell them what that thing is. I'd rather get nothing than have to explain or tell them anything about myself or what I want. And that's an excruciating whirlwind of turmoil, trying to sort out a repulsion for their bids for intimacy and a desire to establish some kind of makshift emotional bond, at this late stage of the game.

I'm currently struggling with what I'd like to do next, in the coming phase of my life, and it's causing me a great deal of stress and anxiety. I know I don't want to live in New York and I'm trying to move to London. That's a big move any way you look at it. I secretly worry if this move to England is just my way of resetting my emotional index back to zero, by moving to a place where people hardly know me. I also know that I want to spend some time with my parents and my brother, because time isn't TIVO; you don't get to hit the pause button while you catch up. Or make-up. I don't want to hate my mother or resent my dad and while I don't think I can make them happy, I do want them to think I'm making them happy. Because I know they can't help being obtuse, emotionally-crippled assholes. Much like me.

I also know that I'd like to meet a girl who'll bring me a bottle of Aguardiente Antiqueno-without a fella by her side-and who'll demand I hold her hand and tell me off for being a pussy about getting close to someone. In return, I could kill roaches and rodents, fix light bulbs and show her how easy it is not to be intimidated by people, because most of them are full of shit. Including me.