My mother raised me as a “good kid”. She doesn’t remember me as a naughty, trouble-maker. She doesn’t have memories of me hitting my older siblings, running around, or secretly sneaking out of the house. She raised a rather quite girl who grew up wanting to please people, wanting their approval and acceptance. In a way, not breaking rules and needing to be as perfect as the word meant, was a burden.
I’m not a little girl anymore and I’ve made my mistakes along the way. In my own eyes, I have not been a perfectly innocent child. But in the eyes of most who know me, I’m the innocent, nice kid. I’m the kid who turns in homework on time and is never late to class. That’s the label they’ve put on me.
I’m thinking of the boyfriends I never had, the dates I never went on, the secret parties I never attended, the beer I never drank, the…But on a daily basis, I don’t have to think of these little things. I don’t have to think that maybe I missed out on something because I didn’t miss out. I lived life my own way. I decided to write. I decided to take it slow, whatever the “it” is. Society can label you, but you don’t have to keep that label.

Sadia and I sat on a curb, near the front door of the school. I laughed hysterically about something she said. The sun shined, almost making me believe it would be warm. But it was a cold afternoon and I was too lazy to take my coat out of my backpack. I realized how tired I was. I had been to all of my seven classes. But I felt happy, laid back. I didn’t have to have a reason for my laughter or for my silly behavior, or for not caring, for not thinking. I didn’t have to rationalize in my head. I no longer have to.
Sometimes you change more than your outside appearance. You change your beliefs, your attitude, your decisions. You change the way you think, the way you reason. You take control over how far you go with those thoughts. You don’t get carried away with facts that are beyond your control.
What if I hadn’t changed? What if I’d remained as broken and as lost as I had once been? I decided to stop questioning myself.
Maybe I just learned to laugh and take life easy. Maybe I worked my way to get there. Or maybe time changed me. I guess I’ll never know for sure how I learned the game. I’ll just know that I learned it.

Tonight is another Friday night and we’re walking to a new Starbucks we found in Old Town, Alexandria. For the first time we’re walking past unfamiliar roads. Yet these unfamiliar roads remind us of familiar places. They remind us of our trip to Istanbul and Belgium. They remind us of Tehran. A bus drives by and she tells me she misses riding one. At 7 p.m. we reach Starbucks, our savior. We cross the road and go in. There is a short line and I stand in front, searching the menu. This time I don’t know what to get. Normally I get a White Chocolate Mocha, a frappuccino, a hot chocolate, an Earl Grey tea, or a latte. I never get coffee because it tastes too bitter. So I keep looking and I still can’t decide. I finally order a hot vanilla crème and a latte for her. She wants a chocolate too, but I say no because I’m trying to cut on sweets. She buys it anyway. We sit on two couches by the window and drink in silence. We’re both looking out the window, watching cars and people. They’re blurry but we refuse to put our glasses on. “What do you know about the chemistry between two people?” She asks. I give her a blank look and then say, “Um, when people say we have a great chemistry, it means they somehow connect and have a common understanding.” She starts talking about her past again, her relationships, her job, her old colleagues and friends. She re-lives them by remembering certain memories or stories. I don’t ask. I listen to her and learn more about her. As she speaks, I think to myself. Is this her way of letting go of the past she left behind? Is this her way of rationalizing the decisions she made then? Or is this simply her way of overcoming nostalgia?
Sometimes you hold onto memories. You hold on to your past, to your mistakes and regrets. When do you let them go? Or do you?

I walked in, ready for my last session of therapy. As usual, I saw G’s bright smile and we exchanged a quick hello before I sat down in the waiting room. Minutes later I walked into her office and she told me about her new furniture. Instead of the old, red couches, she now had two black leather ones. We sat and I began talking. She was wearing another one of her sexy pairs of black high heels. We talked for 50 minutes and I told her I was happy and finally loved myself. I promised her I’d keep in touch via e-mail and would let her know when I heard from colleges.
I thought back to the first day I saw her. The first day I told her about my anxiety, my fears, and my inner problems. That was the first day I revealed an entire chapter of my life to a complete stranger, a stranger who became my most amazing friend. I talked and with every word I felt weak, heavy, as if I were a boat, slowly sinking. I felt like a broken glass and I couldn’t pick up the pieces. I sat there, wishing G would help me fix them. I wanted her to fix me. And she did. Together, we found my weaknesses and finally my acceptance to them.
I gave her one last hug before I wished her a happy time in England for her daughter’s wedding. “This isn’t good-bye, it’s good-bye to therapy,” She said and smiled.
We have our faults, our imperfections, our troubles, and our defects. But, there is a way to learn them, accept them, and even love them. When you love them, you can love yourself. You don’t have to be the “it” factor, the cover girl on a magazine, or the hero or heroine. What you can be is yourself and you can choose to love that self no matter how imbalanced or flawed it is.
I walked slowly down the steps, carrying my light-weighed backpack, towards the white door. I pushed the door open, remembering the times when I couldn’t push it open, when I didn’t have the want or the energy. A car stopped in front of me and a young girl came out, running past me. She was probably late and wanted to get in fast so she wouldn’t lose even five of those 50 minutes. I stood, feeling the vibe of February’s cool breeze.

I burned another light bulb today. On sunny mornings, my room is warm, sweet, and comforting, and I forget to change the broken bulbs. Today it’s cloudy outside and I only have one working lamp sitting on my desk.
It’s a dark, somber, lifeless room…yet I feel light. I have nothing to fight with in my mind, nothing to lose, nothing to give up…
I don’t think I need the rest of my lamps right now. I’ll change their light bulbs later…