Love All Around The World.

There’s a dog wagging his tail, a couple kissing on the side of the street. It’s all the romance of the Earth twirling around us like the music on her spinning dress. They are there at the cafe, getting coffee discussing their former mates. They have wide smiles and wine filled stomachs for they love to laugh a little too loud in the dinner candle lights.

All the love in the world, but somehow we are just magical observers who gets a glimpse of the lady he’s pulling himself into. We look in the mirror at ourselves and wonder, “Who is that? How have we changed into this person?”

The reflection erodes our understanding of self and our egos are enlightened to the uncomfortable revelation of reality, we are not the center stage performer as we once were. There was a time of our moment in the spotlight but that time has come and may never come again, or at least it feels that way. Sticking to our way to big book, we can see the eyes gleam at us while we eat a sushi dinner for one.

They were mocking the scene across the bar, and the woman couldn’t resist to ask the question, “What book is that?” Turning around to pleasant eyes radiating behind circular glasses, it wasn’t a mistake. The thought that the couple had been staring this way for the past 15 minutes had been confirmed with one question.

“Lord of The Rings,” a voice answers, and somehow the next thing a person knows is they find themselves joining a meal for two as their plus one. Becoming a now third element to the type of couple family members pressure over wedding cocktails, “so when are you two planning the engagement?”

But there was no reason to disengage as she started to describe,

“In France, people start dating from the moment they go out. Right on the first date, that’s it, you are my boyfriend.” She looked at her man and smiled.

Now being in no rush to leave, we discover they’ve been dating for one and a half years and just moved in together.

In no rush themselves, she works here in Israel at a big time company dealing with blockchain of some AI program and he, being from Rhode Island, happened to find himself working as an employee for Fiverr and mainly as her man. A sweet, simple, yet modern couple. They couldn’t help but mingle with the meal words signifying a modified management of monogamy.

There was an impressive chord struck when she claimed she wants the kids to be raised by him while she climbs the corporate cubicle. France, apparently, spiced itself with the same spunky feminism of the west, and there’s a moment where we listen to the fresh take on old told notion.  

With the sight of their seamlessly solid twosome, we ask ourselves the subtle question, “Is this the new way for our future?”

Pondering the rules to the generation’s new game, we conclude, “Whatever the rules, will we be able to stick by them?”

Walking away with more questions than answers we think, “Who are we? And as a person, how do we view relationships?”

The time has come to try and answer these questions.

Friends tell us it’s time we go out and date, that we should step up to the plate.

But what are we trying to swing at? How was the pitch for a relationship up at bat? Will it even be a home-run across the globe?

More importantly, “Will these beliefs get us a definite travel ticket to the City of Love?”

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PLEASE!!**  Share your thoughts 🙂 That’s how we all learn and grow, Thank you!

We Write at Night.

This is the time we write, at night. Where no one can hear the sight of light because we are in the dark midst tormented by which way to turn and what to see.

This is when the lights go off and the dimly lit street light becomes center stage and we can see the graffiti art on locked up stores. Who says these sprayed on smiles aren’t painted for us? See the silent messages of, “fuck yeah” as we feel the emotion well up from within. The spark that follows into the never ending rainbow of this art turning into the artistic thoughts we think. It’s ours if we claim it. Copywrite or continued connected consciousness?

Report as a spam. Because we too speak the words, “I am my biggest problem” written in the alley corners of contemplation.

These are the thoughts we think. This is the way we roll, behind street paths with funny names and and the not so funny moment when someone looks back at us as we take a hit of the moment.

Why haven’t we ever taken the time to just absorb the atmosphere, to sit at the corner of Ha-Carmel and Allenby to listen to the bus beeps and the inhale to second hand smoke? We stop little ones from riding into oncoming traffic, and barely have time to look up and see that the city has been built off distress and art made in twilight.

It’s the time when we can’t make eye contact. It’s not safe. Don’t talk at midnight, walk like we’ve got somewhere to go.

In the waking hours of 4:44am we hear it, the not so subtle gargling of its underbelly. And the fact of the matter is we’ve sharpened all our nails for this point. Because we know we aren’t just being followed by our inner shadows as a random dark stranger follows us whichever way we go.

We march for violence against women because the one to one ratio of offense is an alarming feat, so we pick up ours and walk to a new pace but it’s not at our own speed and it isn’t even in our direction. Something says we better pay attention. We are trying to see, there’s no need to stop and no place to go.

We wonder.

“Is this the station for the bus or where we get off to stop?” Stand still, breathe in the overwhelmingly sweet bread, and try not to act tempted. Are we our own superwoman? Could we fly away with wonder words waging womanly wars? We have a right to be here. But that birthright is on no basis at all.

The holy land.

The land of holy bibles and holy battles, like wholly bloodshed.

If we were so above the days of sexism why are we deathly terrified to trail down that dark path?

“Grr” in anger as if we were growling like the zombie sounding man-of-the-street does at the stroke of night.

No train of thought, just endless tracks that have no destination. We’re in Israel, don’t you see it? The motorcycle vroom-vroom on the move, but that social time has got us drifting in a rhyme. With this prophetic language we are speaking Hebrew just fine.

Yes it’s  jewish, but not so orthodox. We don’t see things the same as them. They ask if we have a shekel or two to donate to a poor jew? But what if we are that poor few?

What if we are the ones who need to fill our paper cups and spill out on a not-so-paper-page as we write down the way we walk in a story.

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He Likes Her, She Likes Him.

He likes her…

Because she is different, adventurous, spontaneous, completely illogical. She has the perfect amount of curves he’s called to, a captivating charisma, a confidence of core character. He thinks she’s a beauty both on a basic biological basis and in brilliance of a bold brain. Her arch in her back sends him wild to the sky, sending messages overseas in a bottle of opened vulnerabilities. He thinks of her as a princess, depicted in his mind as an ideal that can’t be shaken and scratches his head as he shakes off the slumper with another night dreamt of sleeping beauty. What a goddess in his eyes, a pinnacle of potential perfection. She was a light on to him, and he contrasted her glow. What was he to her? The shadow underneath, the repulsive underbelly of way to many nights cramming codes on keyboards. He wasn’t at her level, she was just too pure to be his. So he held out his hand and dramatically took it back, “I guess I’ll just go.” And on he went without her, mopping and trying to man-up, but he was a mess. Mortified to the merical of a possibility, “Could it have been us?” He types her a message in pain of a reply. Why does she barely reply?

She likes him…

Because he’s like a reflection, one with the shine of an extroverted magician, that can spark her fantasies of romantic affairs. He is the exact fit to her storybook ending, a man of charm, a lover of her world. She believes he is stable, even with his unpredictable consistency, he manages himself. She writes letters to him daily she never intends to send. A ritual act that builds up her love of his lips, a lust of the lingering link between them. She wonders about him as she wakes up in the morning, as she goes to sleep at night, and all throughout her walking days. He seems so far away from her now, halfway across the world. Many time zones away, she was ahead of his lifetime and she wonders if she’s ran too far astray. Was she ahead of him? Did she move too quick to capture his concentration? “Was she just too above him?” she’ll wonder as she writes these words on journals she’ll share to the world but will not dare for him to see. “I suppose I could reach out now,” she will say as she sends the first email, a response 4 months overdue. The hurt of her heart hangs hopeful at the positive reaction, but why does she resist to reply?

He likes… nobody knows.

Because his actions are off and the mood of time’s discordant records of behavior calls for him to not know what he wants. Is it her, or is it just,

Himself.

He likes himself…

Because he has the ability to choose what he wants and where to go, what to do. His freedom is first and frankly that is his choice. He admires his extreme lifestyle and is a diehard addict to a businessman’s pace. He replies back to her for himself. He loved her, he remembers as he trips over memory’s lane.

In love there is three sides to attraction:

He likes her, but she likes him, and he likes himself.

But maybe he also likes her?

Because she likes herself.

But him, the him that only likes her, never really likes himself.

So she can never really like him.

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We Are Single.

There it is again, that feeling. The unmistakable moment of blood rushing up from your core because you’re knocking on the door, and no one is answering. The only thing looking back at you is an empty page. The white void of just nothing behind the screen but a bunch of CSS and HTML. But here we are, sketched on the page and colored in by a personal shade of choice. “Where am I? What do we look like?” we ask ourselves. Shaken by the sight in the mirror we begin to see, and it makes us want to puke. Something about it doesn’t sit in the stomach.

We are absolutely alone.

We are in our own time and it seems timeless.

We are nobody and anyone we want to be, all at once.

We are the person who answers the door and the one who walks through it.

No one stands in our way. No one, except someone that goes by no one who happens to be someone who is no one, and someone has to be no one. We are that one. We are the one heartbeat that everything is alright. There is no one in the way. No one but, the no one we wish to see in ourselves. It’s the hardest part of growing up, no longer can you be distracted by the constant background of social groups and contrasting characters. There’s just too many faces to really see our own and the mirror gets fogged by the cloud of countless people. Finally, we have nothing to see but ourselves. And the illumination is a dangerously beautiful mixture.

We have become ourselves. Nothing to see here but the chiseled contexts of core beliefs and a brainwashing upbringing. And just like that a diamond is carved from the mines of man’s mental expression. Sure, there’s still work to be done. We have to sand down the edges and polish it off, but at the very least we held our ground and now it’s our time to learn how to make ourselves shine. So it’s not about anyone around you, it’s about you. You realizing the priceless jewel of self. What’s our inner pearls? Can we crack open the shell?

Nothing there but the frame of an opened door, and we are the ones to walk through it. We are the ones to take that step, that first qualifying leap, that we are ready to cross over the threshold. We begin to have immediate doubt and fear of the inconceivable, “Are we actually enough?” No not us, we are no one! No one is not enough. To be enough, we have to be someone. “Yeah that sounds right,” we say to ourselves, and it would sound like the truth, but our wise wide eyes can already see everyone is no one. That someone you see as a ‘someone’ is actually no one at all. We are all no one and everyone and anything we’d like to be. What are we?

A blab of emotions thinking, talking, eating, breathing, acting.

What role do we want to play? Because everyday is a new day do perform a new part in the masterpiece of self-mastery. We can be the magician of this mural and the high priestess of the divine, but what about the fun loving fool? The scary thing is we are that too. We are like that pink bunny that shows up everytime a Sim becomes depressed, we know how to get laugh. Looking like Legally Blonde got invited to a ‘costume’ party for a few stops on this bus ride, why should we care if they don’t know what Halloween is in Israel? The jokes on them, we don’t need their approval. The holiday is already so much like every other day. Only now the whole world is laughing at us because we’re different. And it shatters our self-esteem.

Breakdown all the walls of this house and see that we’re babies. We are the children that are raising ourselves. We may kick and scream that we don’t want to be who and what we are, but here we are. The unapologetic version of ourselves. Don’t worry no one is looking, we are all by ourselves.   

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To be in a Relationship, or To Not Be?

That is the question. When we look around us at all the exceedingly attractive people and we look inwardly at all the beauty we behold, one begins to wonder, “Why be in a relationship?” What’s the point of having a relationship when we have a good book and casual flirts that send us flying. Why bother with the title?

No one tells you when you sign up for boyfriend or girlfriend that the friend is definitely out of the picture and the focus is on the boy or girl. Not man and wife, but boy and girl which means almost certainly that there is a level of childishness about the whole matter. So why take things so seriously is the question?

He plays the prince and you the princess but, there’s no real castle to maintain. You both get your fun and there’s no after to the happily-ever-after phase. It could be just endless rainbows of mind blowing erotic indulgence. No, “I love you’s” followed by, “I love you more’s” just plain and simple fairytale fantasies. A la-la-land of living life to its limits. We don’t need a text back, we need a freak in the sheets with a maximum chance we’ll meet again.

The irresistible offer warps our weighing scales, “To be or to not be?”

We are still so young, “What’s the rush to be in a relationship?” We can take things as they are and leave them alone. Not to mention enjoy actually being alone. Having our personal space to express what we actually are, no judgement. After all most people in their early adult years don’t even know how to be themselves because they haven’t found themselves. So why try and find someone else to be with if we’re still lost?

It’s the attention isn’t it? Our egos getting a bit bruised because he likes her better. No one wants to just give themselves away without the promise of their value as a priceless person. We want to be special, so special we can’t be the special single shortie who breaks double standards and straddles whatever she likes.

Though, once we cross that line at the bedroom things are bound to be serious. I mean you can become seriously pregnant and then seriously screwed, or more likely the other way around. In any case, if we know the title eventually leads to the new title of man and wife, or even an even more advanced title of mother and father, then when do we as person know what’s the right time to even dabble in an endeavor of such significance?

One doesn’t just date without the repercussions of dating. Unless you are a severally jaded person, going on blind date after blind date will eventually get a person to see the after effect. But blind as we may be, it’s blind leading the blind and we become blindsided with our beloved.

Love doesn’t come according to our calculations and we can’t analyze it anyway. If love is there, it’s there. If love is not there, it’s not there. You don’t really need to date someone a whole year to know if you love them, love is intangible and no amount of time spent will change what already lies in the heart of two souls.

That’s why some people are puzzling, how can you date someone for more than a month without full belief they could be the one for you? If you’re not at least in some belief of this, then what’s the point of even dating this person? Take a more honest look and it seems like they are just wasting their time and the time of their partner’s. What’s the point of being in a relationship without love?

Sincerely I’d love to be enlighten! What’s the purpose of even trying to fling around feelings if there’s no means to an end, just endless loose ends and flat endings. We cry for the ones we love and moan over ones that made us hurt, but to tell the truth sometimes we all begin to wonder, why even date?

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This is Not New York, This is Tel Aviv.

“Omg it looks like new york” she said with glitter in her blue eyes. I smile at her because, how could I not, she loves New York. She loves New York because she didn’t grow up 40 minutes away from it. The strangely familiar visual changed the whole perspective of the place. She was right, it did look like New York.

But it’s just not New York. The air is different and the music is warming. This is not New York. This is Tel Aviv. This is a city that knows peace because it knows war. This is a type of place that has a tough exterior, but a loving inside. Not that New York hasn’t had it’s battles and Tel Aviv is the land of always peaceful, but something about the side street falafel and hummus assures you of it’s family values.

The small hours wandering a museum of Yitzhak Rabin makes a person wonder why it’s always the person advocating peace who pays the price of resting in it. Why?

The city marked on miracles and misfortune can make a mensch out of a menace. But who else can become a mensch but one who has been misfit? “One can only make peace with their enemies” the Rabin says. I say one can only know hurt by being so.

Just as we women know love because we know heartbreak. We know proper educate because we know how to act a fool. We are both sides of the coin and we argue for both sides of the case. For love, all for love. Love that we will one day be there on that day of peace as one, one of love. And then it rains, then the people say to life, “l’chaim!” As we start to head down stream. The night after the full moon, and now we have an eb to this flow. A dance to this music. The splash sound to droplets of truth, the poetry of going out on a gloomy night. Because tonight even in lit up streets we prefer to be in the dark.

This is not New York, this is Tel Aviv. This is where we know ourselves, because we don’t know what we will become. Where a night taking the one bus becomes the one night we acted like we were number one. Yes the night life is always face up, so we put our drinks down. Why not be young and free in the foreign priceless memories of a person’s early twenties. We have our youth, we are single, and we can choose to do whatever we want. Who cares if Jerusalem encourages us to wear sleeves.

This is the city of Tel Aviv, who were they to know anything about us as we jog down the streets and pass on wearing a sports bra. Who are they to know what the context of our character consist of? We are here to be ourselves regardless of the fact that if we stop to take a breath from running we wind up unintentionally racking up a guy’s number without even wanting it.

No I don’t think I’ll be texting you my name. It’s just too Israeli, it’s just so Tel Aviv. It’s too forward when you aren’t even in the mood. But we just keep pressing on like a soldier. We are fearless, and there’s a proud pace to our steps. But we can’t stop running, and the silence remembers that we are still that little afraid girl.

This is not New York. This is Tel Aviv, the city of parties-parties, restaurants, businesses, and stores. The lifestyle is full of different sounds and beautifully lit hidden side streets. It’s a lotus in a pond and its petals are the walls of its skyscrapers. We aren’t protected by any of the realities of Israel even if all the apartments must legally have one bomb shelter room. Because this is so not New York.

This is Tel Aviv. This is a new spring that flows from the eternal soul to seduce us with sensual allure. “This is the place to be,” a small voice may tell us. There has never been one who could resist the thoughts of temptation surrounded in a such a holy land.

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