The Perfect Perception of Pride

Pride is an interesting social construct. It is an idea based on perception, not fact. Entire personalities can be fundamentally hated because of misconstrued words and idiosyncrasies. We write people off as proud or egotistical only by interpreting what we see.

A little known truth is that, people’s actions do not always point to their true selves. Humans often display a smoke screen that creates an illusion that we are what we are not. Sometimes, it is easier to put on a facade of complete detachment and apathy simply because allowing reality to shine through can only expose our vulnerability.

“This is me.”
“You don’t like it, I don’t care.”
“I am who I am.”
“I will change for no one.”
“Get over it.”

These statements are thought to be nothing more than a verbal manifestation of a person’s high sense of their own grandiosity. However, they are not expressions of extreme hubris. More often than not, they are the words we hide behind to distract people from our floor-level self-esteem. When people are kept safely at arm’s length, the pain that intensifies when we’re alone in the dark is invisible.

Pride isn’t palpable. It isn’t easily discerned. It is often a cover for depression, anxiety, and low self-worth.

It is better to be awful than weak. It is better to be pompous than broken.

Be careful what you say, because your words are worse than sticks and stones. Broken bones heal. Broken hearts don’t. A simple sentence said can run races in someone’s mind until they fall apart completely.

And there’s no coming back from that.

Points of pride be damned.

Nastily Exhausting Nightmares and Dastardly Other-Worldly Dreams

I keep having these horrible recurring nightmares that make me wake up in a complete panic. A different person is featured in each of the dreams–some people I know and some I don’t–but the same thing happens every single time. Faces change, but the events do not. I am even wearing the exact same dress every single time–a pure white ball gown with trumpet sleeves. Then, I wake up in tears.

The dream always takes place on my wedding night, and I’ll have just walked into my hotel room with my supposed husband. He walks toward me, smiling like mad, obviously ready to consummate the marriage. That’s when, in the dream, I start hyperventilating. Seconds later, I wake up already crying and breathing hard.

The last time I had it was the worst of all. There was screaming involved.

I am so screwed.


Sometimes something seemingly sweet slightly sucks

Despite their constant existence in human life, how few people understand the common nightmare, and even fewer still have nary a notion as to what it means to become one. Of those people who don’t fear them, they don’t believe that they’re real. Simply put, they are fantasies; figments of our at times wild imaginations personifying fears that we harbor and shy away from, which disappear when the eyes are no longer closed—and this is true. It is indeed true that nightmares dissolve into nothing the moment we wake, but this is only one piece of the enigmatic phenomena that we have accepted as part of our daily lives. It is not until one finds himself less peaceful in his waking hours than in his sleep that he begins to lose ability to discern reality from hallucination.

As for myself, I am two people who live the same reality; My current self, working in a United Nations newsroom, and the self I hope to be one day: a writer.

Unwise attempts at wisdom aside, I work at the UN building in NYC for an Arabic News Channel, now. It’s cool, but it’s just not at all for me. I don’t want to be in TV production. It’s not what I got into Journalism for.

It’s kind of awesome, being behind the scenes for a bit, just seeing how all the “magic” happens, but it’s so…banal?

It’s also very proper. I hate that. One of the reasons I’ve always liked being in JRN newsrooms is how loose people are. Everyone is worried about getting the paper out, not the obnoxiously pretentious matters of talking with complete eloquence and perfect composure at all times.

A little tiny word of advice: Stop taking life so seriously. You can be professional without being uptight.

And to be honest, I’m so incredibly tired of working for Arabs. I appreciate the opportunity like hell, and the people are really nice, but I don’t really fit in. I’m not allowed to talk to any of the other news stations on our floor. Fox and NPR are right next door, but it’s against the channel rules for trainees to “network.”

There’s also a crap ton of typing that we do. All of the UN council meetings, we transcribe, and I’m not fast enough to keep up.

That also brings me to the question of why we type that shit. We already record it, and we don’t even use those recordings ever again. They keep telling me to get my typing speed up, and I’m really trying, but I just wish I could ask why they trouble themselves.

We transcribed a five-hour UN meeting. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

I don’t get it at all, but no way in hell am I complaining. I am so thankful for the opportunity, but my lifelong dream is print. Writing. I’d do almost anything for a newspaper job, right now. I could be writing tiny little sentences and I’d still be happy.

I really just want to walk up to my boss and tell him–very, very nicely–that maybe he should take a break from all the proper and just take a chill pill.

But that’s not how Arabs roll.

And speaking Arabic doesn’t make you an Arab, I guess.

I’m clearly missing something.

So in summation, I just have but three things to say:

Be Professional. Be Passionate.

But for the love of god, do NOT be Pretentious.