No Pressure

“All books are alike in that they are truer than if they had happened, and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you: the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer.”

-Ernest Hemingway 

Because even beyond all doubt, Mama really does know best

When nothing seems to align like it did mere moments ago

When tears and snot and puffy eyes take heed

When Father just doesn’t get it

When all that was once rational becomes an illogical pile of crap

Mama knows exactly what to say

I wouldn’t trade these life-realigning talks on my childhood bed for the world. It’s almost mystical how the frustrating language barrier in our day-to-day conversations diminishes when Mama wants to really get through to me. It thrills and terrifies me to realize how similar we are in psyche- down to fears and regrets she has that I’ve always feared regretting. Her selflessness is unmatched, despite the painful inner dialogue she experiences on a daily basis. Now is her time. 22 years was more than enough, both for her sacrifice and for the excuses she made to stay comfortable. She wants more than anything for me not to do the same.

Happy day for you, Mama. I love you, thank you.

On leaving for Coachella...

I  have [almost] absolutely no idea what to expect. But I've found most of my most gratifying experiences have come  from having no expectations, and living as freely, flexibly, and mindfully as possible.

Here goes nothing!

Dance Marathon 2013

My first time dancing at Dance Marathon at UCLA. 26 hours on my feet, dancing to raise money for pediatric HIV/AIDS prevention, research, education, and summer camp. I ache from head to toe, but I feel accomplished.

This was hands down one of my greatest UCLA memories. During Bruin Power Hour (the last hour of the marathon), surrounded by over a thousand of my peers, jumping up and down to sing-along hits, I couldn't help but feel so incredibly proud to be a Bruin. I am so lucky. I love my school, and I've had a better college experience than I could have imagined.

Here's to soaking up the rest of it, making a difference in the little ways I do and can, all while repping the Bruin name.

Madar Joon

Upon reviewing yesterday's hormonal breakdown which I can't completely blame on hormones, my grandma, madar joon, who's staying at our house for now, proceeded to lay down her two cents on life.

1. "The springtime of a person's life comes once." She's talking about youth and beauty here.
2. Wasting your time crying, putting stress on yourself by not living for yourself, will take away the brightness in your youthful eyes. And give you wrinkles.
3. Nothing will be more important in life than finding a good husband. 
4. School is important, I'm not saying it's not important, but it's not worth ruining yourself over. Remember the wrinkles.
5. Your character, your interactions with people, your mental and physical health, these things should come first. 
6. You'll always be able to learn. Always. Don't think that you're doomed by not knowing what you want to do. You're not doomed. 
7. Remember to enjoy your life the way you want to. It'd be a shame to do any differently. You have the freedom, the real freedom to do with your life what you want. It's important to stand on your own two feet, but while doing what you want. 

Thanks Madar Joon. I love you.

You have to.

I came home from UCLA last night to go to a family friend's wedding tonight on Valentine's Day. I don't know whether it was the hormones (they still haven't quite become my friends), a legitimate chemical imbalance in my brain, or if I actually have reason to feel the way I do, but I had breakdowns, again. Maybe I'd been holding it in over the past few weeks at school and finally reached my threshold sitting in the back seat of Dad's Ford last night. Or perhaps the Persian style bagel sandwich I had at breakfast (a family favorite) with Mom at the kitchen table brought back the feelings of simplicity associated with thoughts of my childhood, and consequently the completely erratic, roller coaster of emotions associated with my present self.

I broke down for the same "reasons" I tend to do so often now. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of it and I want to fix myself. My family's tired of it, too, and recommend I see someone to help me fix myself. This version of Sheila, which is me but an unhappy, unforgiving, confused, scared me, is way too affected by external sources (i.e. PEOPLE). I'd like to call this version of Sheila: Sherona. 

Sherona sucks. But Sherona is helping Sheila. Sherona is helping Sheila realize how terrible it is to not do what you actually want in life. And how terrible and stunting it can feel when you let others' opinions supersede your own, and make you feel inferior and like a failure. 

Despite the breakthrough I had with my parents a few weeks ago, they will still be their same selves in certain respects, and I realize the umbilical cord is still there. Thankfully, my Mom's bagel sandwich session with Sherona this morning proved that she doesn't give a damn anymore what anyone else or she want me to do with my life. I think I've worried her enough with these breakdowns and unpredictable emotions. Even still, Sheila learned she needs to just "cut the umbilical cord," as Sara put so matter of factly tonight at the wedding.

Which brings me to the most touching moment of my night at the wedding.

The wedding was so warm. I danced and drank to my heart's content and rocked my red lipstick.

The bride's aunt Mina, one of Mom's best friends, has apparently been updated by Mom on my undulating state of being (this would explain her unexpected, supportive Facebook message the other day).

Tonight, as I held my high heels in my hand and made the rounds to say good-bye, Mina hugged and kissed me, and while still in her embrace, unexpectedly (though I could see it in her eyes that there was more there): told me the following:

Sheila, you have to do what you love. You have to follow your dreams. You can't think of the money or the prestige.

She told me that when she was in high school in Iran, they had to pick a "major" their first year. She picked business because she liked it, though it was seemingly "easier" than other fields. She told her favorite teacher-mentor that she felt like she should and could be doing the "harder" fields, that she could be doing something bigger than just business. 

He told her no. He told her that no matter what she did, to do it through love and passion, and do it well. He told her that she could become a doctor, but if she wasn't a good one by not doing it through love and passion, it would be worthless to her and the world. He told her that she could just as well become a janitor, and if she was a damn good one because she loved it, she would live a happy life.

She told me that if I live my life doing what someone else influenced me to do and I don't truly want to do it, I won't be living. I'll never be living until I'm doing what I want to do, and what I am passionate about, as cliche as that may seem.

 I always find that it takes me a years to internalize cliches and actually understand them for my own. Just btw.

 To really live, she said, I have to listen to myself. This, this notion is unfortunately very very foreign to me, if I'm to be honest with myself. But I am so happy that I believe this now.

She realized her true passion after 62 years on this Earth. Her's was to become a chef. She said that if she knew in her youth that she would get this much joy out of being as a chef, that who knows, she could have become the next Martha Stewart! But probably not. But who cares!? She could have worked in a restaurant and served people the best meals. That would be enough.

To get to wake up every day and love the work (as it will still be) that you choose to do, that is living. 

She ended with another hug and by telling me not to listen to all the parents and adults about everything (ironic), that they're just "old farts."

I love Mina. I love her more for telling me this story. I love her for being the family-related adult that no other adult is to me. I love that she actually told me to follow my dreams. I've never had an adult family member or family friend tell me that (despite movies, camps, school beating that idea over my head with a stick). It's just different to have a family friend say it, since I so intrinsically seek my parents' approval in all I do. This was just nice.

Thanks Mina, I will. 

I felt like England was just a dream. For the majority of my time back in the US, the memories I had of England seemed to slip between the cracks of my mind. I had feelings there, I had people there, I had beautiful thoughts there. All of that seemed gone in what was a state of frenzy and panic, my present self back at UCLA fighting to stay afloat in this foreign yet all too familiar landscape.
But with technology (this blessing and a curse which I've discussed quite often with people) I've slowly revived or maintained the relationships I had in England. With Skype, Facebook, and emails, I've been able to keep up with that parallel universe in which I thought I had dropped out of forever.
I Skyped with Tammie from Kent today. Then I Skyped with my housemate Rebecka today, for 2.5 hours, and we still had lots more to talk about. I was able to sit with her at my kitchen table, she in her bedroom (which is adjoined to my old one), and feel the distance between us shrink. Then, miraculously, the distance between that life and this life simultaneously shrunk too!

 I realize that that life was very much a real thing. It was this life. I was me then and I am me now, I was optimistic and positive and appreciate of the beauty in the world then, and I am, and can be now, regardless of external factors. Rebecka and I clicked in almost every respect, but greatest of all I think was our ability to enjoy every slice of life. My time with her and everyone else in England was a series of beautiful vignettes that I carry tucked away in my pocket. She's my Swedish sister; hey! I have someone I'm close to in Sweden! Oh hey and in Denmark! And France! Oh oh don't forget England! And of course Santa Barbara and Sunnyvale! I, for too long, (okay 1 1/2 months isn't that long..) had lost my memories of England, perhaps from being in denial of the fact that that chapter of my life finally happened and came to a close. That was cynical Sheila uprooting, the one that is much too externally motivated. Well, cynical Sheila, you're stupid. And that's not fair to yourself. You lived, REALLY LIVED those 4 months. And you were happy. And you deserve to keep that part of your life with you.

Those people and that world are but a few clicks away. This world is both so much bigger and smaller. Bless poodle.