The Harsh Reality

Other people.
They are so daunting, "The Others."
"What will 'The Others' think if I do this?" That's the question we most commonly ask ourselves (consciously or not) when we make decisions.
People are judgmental. By nature, humans are hostile. I have come to know that. Some channel that hostility and are able to control it much better than others.
What a shame, really, that homo sapiens are so... harsh.
Yeah. It's a harsh world, made harsh by harsh people. It's survival of the fittest. The fight to the death. Honestly... it's a vicious, cruel circle.
But we humans have been conditioned through time to deal with the harsh realities of life: financial problems, familial attachment, cultural and racial discrepancies, social dichotomies, body image, equality, career choices... all of it. Some of us choose to pursue particular interests that require more frequent confrontation with the harsh "others."It's life.

Take the Middle East for example.
Lebanon was torn up because the Christians hated the Muslims. Lebanon hates Syria because Syria occupied their territory for so long and killed their prime minister, Rafik Hariri in a 2005 car bombing. Saudi Arabia hates Syria because Hariri was a dual Lebanese-Saudi citizen.
Actually... every Arab country hates Syria because their dictatorial regime sucks a lot and is essentially hazardous to it's surrounding countries. Syria hates everyone because it was suspended from the Arab League. Israel hates Palestine and Palestine hates Israel. Their struggle predates the Bible, and everyone  knows why. Land. Religion. Hierarchy. Power. One of those things are ALWAYS seen in Middle Eastern conflict. It's so redundant.
Anyways, continuing on:
Yemen was ravaged by its own revolution and has consequently become so impoverished that Al Qaeda essentially turned it into their headquarters. Al Qaeda, Hezbollah, and countless other terrorist organizations are ravaging the Arab socio-political landscape. Let's not forget the Arab Spring and it's widespread civil rights initiative that sparked recent protest and opposition. Egypt is the prime example of that. They toppled one dictator, in the hopes that the Muslim Brotherhood could fix their problems. They were SO WRONG. Now, all hell is breaking loose, and Morsi set up a regime that the people will rise up and destroy. Round two. Now, their economy is crashing, and they have no means to rebuild their infrastructure.
Refugees from all over the place (particularly Palestine and Syria) and overwhelming the infrastructural capacity of the countries to which they are fleeing Through all of this, Israel insists on bombing Gaza, and Palestine is fighting back.
This enormous chain of events doesn't even BEGIN to cover half of what is happening in this forsaken corner of the world.
The saddest part? If we respected national sovereignty and just left each other alone, none of this would be happening. It Muslims, Christians, and Jews learned to tolerate one another, not a single bullet would have been fired in the name of "Allah."
Yes, we live in a world of trade, military alliances, and capitalism. I get that. But really? Must we wage wars that stem from differences in opinion? Must we really engage in bloodshed that came as a result of a cultural or religious dichotomy?

I have never once thought of myself as an idealist. I am a realist. I am logical, sensical, to the point. 

So, here's the harsh reality: these conflicts will keep happening. People will continue to live in misery and die in misery... until we, the human race, decide to squash that innate, harsh, hostile part of ourselves. 

Here's a shocking idea: be nice.
My point is this... and yes, it is an elementary one.
If we were nice to one another, like every religious text (no matter the god or prophet) preaches, then war, famine, bloodshed, poverty... none of it would happen. None of it.

My Ode to Entropy

Expectations.

The most threatening word in the English Dictionary. 

What happens when expectations are not met?

Disappointment. 

The most frightening word in the English Dictionary. 

What happens when disappointment clouds your judgement?

Bad choices.

Let me tell you about bad choices. They can be completely life-altering. 

When people are asked, "If you could change one thing that happened in your life, what would it be?" 

Most will tell you that they wouldn't change anything because they learned something from every experience, good or bad. 

It's safe to say that people learn from their mistakes. My Goodness. What a cliché. 

I learned a very interesting concept in my chemistry class the other day (and yes, I only pay attention when I can apply chemistry concepts to real life... which is pretty rare).
There's this thing called Entropy. A measure of chaos in the universe. All mathematical and logistical figures aside, it's a purely awesome concept.
How could I possibly quantify the disorder in my life? The chaos in my universe?
Well, simply put... I can't. I can't count the amount of times that I have made bad decisions.
But I can tell you one thing: those decisions have made me who I am today. They solidify my personality. They don't define me, per se... but they do define how I came to be.

So, to expectations, disappointment, and bad choices, I say cheers. Thank you for allowing me to get from point A to point B. Thank you for helping me grow in the most positive way. Thank you... for the entropy in my universe.

Another thank you goes out to Kelly Pearson, my best friend of five years (and counting), for helping me keep the chaos at bay. For watching me grow as a person, as a friend, and as a sister. And for always being there, no matter the time of day. I would like to conclude my cheesy sentimentality with a quote: "Go hard, today, can't worry about the past 'cause that was yesterday... imma put it on the line 'cause it's our time." Love you, Kellbell <3

i Am An Adult?

So, I turned eighteen today. I'm an adult. "Officially Legal."
People can no longer call me a "child," because (regardless of the fact that I am two years younger than everyone in my grade) I have lived for eighteen entire years.
Who came up with that? Who decided that one could legally be dubbed "adult" after eighteen years of life? My brain hasn't even fully developed yet. I know for a FACT that I am still growing. My parents are paying for my tuition, health insurance, car insurance, clothing, food, and vacations. I still bite my nails. I still enjoy idiotic things like making food mountains out of my left-overs from dinner. I throw temper tantrums, even in their mildest form. I make irrational and impulsive decisions on a daily basis. Essentially, I'm a child. Eighteen years of being one just doesn't really seem to be enough for me. Back off, adulthood. I'm not ready for you.

So, what does one do on their eighteenth birthday? I was planning a relaxed evening with friends, completely low-key. You know, just a chill thing.
Sivan and Selaina, on the other hand... yeah, they had other plans.
For those of you who don't know Sivan and Selaina, they are two of the most genuine people I have ever met. They each have their quirks-- quirks that make them who they are, quirks that I love. Sivan sways on the spot when she stands, almost as if being constantly in motion is essential to her survival. She's just intense like that. Selaina does this thing where she simply refuses to believe that anything bad exists in the world. I would argue that the blood that flows through her veins is the color of the rainbow.

So, after being told to wake up, take a shower, put on a dress and be ready by noon, I found myself in my mother's car, clueless as to where we were headed. Selaina and Sivan blindfolded me, and I couldn't see anything. I was completely reliant on these two girls... and I wasn't sure how trusting I could be, especially in five-inch heels.
No worries; they passed the test with flying colors. I was escorted directly to my seat, completely unscathed. Still, I had no idea where I was. When they removed the blindfold and and flashed a brochure, I yelped, almost as if it were a reflex. I was sitting in a Cirque du Soleil (Circus of the Sun) arena, along with hundreds of other spectators... and my two best friends. I was so surprised, and completely shocked. How did they even manage to pull it off?
I was ecstatic. Absolutely ecstatic. Then, the lights dimmed, and I was thrown into a world of inhumane stunts and majestic performances. And trust me... it wasn't your average circus.

When I came back home to McDowell, I walked into my room to find it completely decorated. Balloons were scattered across the floor, streamers hung from the ceiling, posters hung on the walls, and eighteen cupcakes were lined up on my dresser. Kayla, Alexa, Nicole and Jane (four amazing and absolutely stunning women that have made my time here at AU exceed all expectations) jumped out at me when I walked in. I loved every second of it.
Shortly thereafter, we went to DuPont Circle and decided to eat at a Lebanese grill called Kababji. I walked in, demanded VIP access (due to my Arabness) and enjoyed my birthday meal with my beautiful mother, brother, and friends. I walked out with a food baby... and a job. Mr. Hakeem, the manager, asked me if I spoke Arabic, I said yes, and then he asked me when I wanted to start working. Yeah... the Arab community is just too awesome for words.

I came home, ready to relax and fall asleep.
Chris just wasn't going to let that happen. "You can't fall asleep before midnight Sarah, it's your birthday." Spoken like a true fraternity brother. So, I was forced to wake up and walk all the way to the Berkshire apartments. Chris made me tea, and we talked with some of his friends and pseudo fraternity brothers (that's an inside joke, don't plan on understanding it) and I formally asked Chris to be the Mr. Big to my Little. Then it was midnight. And I was eighteen. And I felt the exact same as I did two days ago, when I was still seventeen.

So, as they say, age really is just a number. I have allowed myself to grow, above and beyond any goals I might have set for myself at the start of my freshman year. "Ayo I once was a kid, all I had was a dream..." Chiddy Bang had it right. I have a dream... and that dream is to be an adult, without sucking the life out of... well, life. I will still yell out of my car window at random strangers. I will still pull my shorts up to my chest at soccer practice. I will still act like a fool whenever I so please. Oh, and one more thing... I will still be me.

This is Sarah Samaha, the eighteen year old adult, leaving you with your life to ponder.

Parading Around in Yellow Pants

I like the color yellow.
It reminds me of the sun and the trees, the birds and the bees, the blah blah blah and the summer breeze.
I also like college, and the fact that I am now a sophomore.
I have acquired a sense of pure serenity and complete comfort as I parade around campus, in my yellow pants. I am an Eagle, and I am Home.
As I turn a new page in this book I call "life," I leave broken relationships and petty problems in the dust, and I focus on the bigger picture.
What is the bigger picture, really?
The bigger picture is waking up, excited to go to Chem Lab (just kidding, if that happens to you I strongly suggest seeing a psychiatrist).
It's having a Behavioral Science class in Ward, then ninja dodging the "after class crowd" to reach the exit, sprinting clear across campus to Watkins in ten minutes (for those of you who don't know AU, that's a good third of a mile), and spending all of Microeconomics trying to cool down and stop panting in a 90+ degree room with no air conditioning (love you, AU).
It's going to the Davenport Coffee Lounge (The Dav) and being told that iced coffee would no longer be served for the remainder of the afternoon. What kind of coffee shop runs out of ICE? It's literally frozen water.
Okay enough with the dry and cynical commentary. Let's try this again.
What is the bigger picture, really?
It's walking around campus with my headphones in, blasting Timeflies (for those of you who don't know who Timeflies is, do your research and prepare to be mind-blown) and people-watching on my way to class.
It's going into my history class, and having my professor rant against the Republican Nation, insisting that immigrants are the future of this country (boy, was THAT a confidence-booster).
It's spending all afternoon with my sisters, messing around and doing absolutely nothing in the School of International Studies (Delta Phi Epsilon Professional Foreign Service Sorority foh LIFE).
It's knowing that once Syllabus Week is over, I will be toiling over my homework in the library until 4AM every night.
It's declaring my third major, which was the most stressful, time-consuming and horrifying thing I have ever done.
The bigger picture is life. And mine is finally on its way... to bigger, and better things. And I might as well just keep wearing those yellow pants while I live it.
This is Sarah Samaha, reporting from my dorm room (I'm sorry, "residence hall"), signing out.

Meet the Sisters. Well, some of them, anyway. <3

La Crise d'Identité

Every writer needs their inspiration. 

That’s what I’ve been looking for, relentlessly, since my arrival at American University. 

I guess you could say that I was enlightened. 

Having lived in Delaware for nine or so years, I knew nothing other than the monotonous drone of rural life. It was pure boredom-- a slow-paced and exasperating routine. 

I would wake up, get ready, and stand outside my neighborhood at 6:45 every morning to wait for the yellow vehicle of doom (known to those less cynical people as the “school bus”) that shuttled me to my imminent ennui. An hour and a half later, after that dreadfully bumpy, rough and frankly enraging commute, I would shuffle out, already frustrated with my day. 

After seven hours of pointless worksheets (that’s right, worksheets-- the intelligence of today’s youth is seriously underestimated) it was straight to sports practice for me. 

Then, after an entire day of being talked at by people with southern accents, the very same yellow vehicle of doom would take me home. 

Dinner would be there, on the table, thanks to my loving mother. Homework came next-- lots of homework. Oh, I guess I might have taken a shower in between there somewhere too. 

Finally, exhausted from the day-after-day repetition of those daily activities, I would collapse onto my bed and fall into a deep, blissful, and dreamless sleep. Emphasis on dreamless. 

I may have forgotten to mention something: I’m not American. 

Well, technically. But then again... who is? We’re the melting pot, right? All people, regardless of ethnicity, race, gender or color aspire to live the American dream. It’s just the cool thing to do these days. 

I was born in Beirut, Lebanon. My parents brought me here when I was little to escape the civil war that was plaguing our country at the time. I guess that was a smart move... I don’t think I would have liked growing up in a bomb shelter. 

Actually, yes. I would have loved it. Don’t get me wrong, I swear I’m not some insane sadist. I wouldn’t like the actual act of living in a bomb shelter, hiding in fear and apprehension-- but just the memory of it. It would add to my identity as a purely Lebanese woman, you know?

No... I guess you don’t. 

You see, before I came to American University in Washington, D.C., I was perfectly fine with being “American”-- after all, I grew up here, and I knew nothing else. I had only been to Beirut a few times since we moved to the United States. I was at peace with the fact that I could make myself blend into my culturally lacking surroundings in rural Delaware. That was before I knew that “diversity” actually existed in some places. 

It was complete culture shock. I was blown away by it. 

Arabs of all shades and colors, Europeans, Latinos, Africans, Asians, Indians... Holy cow. It was like a mass invasion of foreign aliens. And I was loving it. The way they walked in their little cliques, still immersed in overseas culture, taking great pride in where they came from... it was beautiful. It was inspiring, really. 

It made me realize something-- I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be labeled “American.” I wanted to be defined by the beautiful and mysterious country that my family once called “home.” I was Lebanese, nothing else. 

One of the many advantages to my growing up in a Lebanese household was the gift of language. I speak English, French, Arabic, and Spanish. In Delaware, I was a genius. It was simply unheard of for anyone to be a polyglot. I was known as the girl of many tongues (and that is NOT to be taken literally, so please calm down gentlemen).  

Oh, how I wish that were the case in D.C. There, people scoff at mono-linguists. Sure Sarah, you speak a few languages. Big whoop, so does everyone else. 

I wanted to be foreign. I wanted everyone to know that I wasn’t from here. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops (cliché, I know). I wanted to be... unique. 

But who am I kidding? I’m not Lebanese. I grew up here, in the organized, clean, and powerful States. Not in the battle-worn, chaotic, and breathtakingly beautiful mountains of the ever-enigmatic Beirut. I speak English with no Arab accent (incidentally, I would like to take this opportunity to inform those avid movie-watchers that native Arabs do NOT speak English with British accents... Hollywood can be excruciatingly inaccurate sometimes). I have an American driver’s license, and an American permanent residency card. I have never had the fear that my mom wouldn’t come back from the grocery store because of some hostile roadside bombing. I have been safe, protected, and blessed with this life in America. The sky-high obesity rates, severe national deficit, financially-fueled and somewhat corrupt politics, scandalous media, and back-breaking tuition prices... all of it. I love it. God Bless America. 

So I guess I’m pretty darn United Statesian (United Statesanese?). But then again... I don’t speak English in my house. I eat Lebanese food. I grew up with classical Lebanese ideals. My collegiate studies are all centered around the Middle East and its glorious inner struggle. I am very possessive of my Lebanese identity. I want to work for CNN Beirut, for goodness’ sake. It’s what I do, and it’s who I am. I’ll never let it fade. 

So, in a sense, I’m a two-sided human being. I grew up in the American way of life, but I still refuse to let go of my-- for lack of a better adjective-- Lebaneseness. 

So, what does that make me?

Well, I guess it makes me..... The non-American, American girl? The non-Lebanese, Lebanese girl?

No... I am the Lebanese American. 

And there are thousands, millions more out there, just like me, torn between two cultures. I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to make a choice. You don’t have to be one or the other. Not many people can say that they’re from two places. 

You can be it all. Embrace it.

Your Average Atypical Introduction

Writing is a process, an art, an outlet, and a joy.
It all comes down to the nitty-gritty.
I write. A lot.
And I usually have a lot to say.
Welcome, to the inner workings of my mind.