to tinder or not to tinder?

Two weeks in and I have to say, I think there may be a lot of good stories coming up. And that, ladies and gents, is because I have decided to play along the new way to meet people in New York, which is basically all digital. And it's changing so fast I can't keep up.

Last week, I went for dinner with a friend, and she was surprised to find out that I didn't know about the latest on the New York dating scene: Tinder. It's an app, that has sort of revolutionised cyber-dating, because it has millions of users, and tells you if you have Facebook friends in common (which is helpful if you're worried about freaks out there). Also, it's super user friendly and sort of addictive, because you get to check out hundreds of guys just by scrolling, and you X them if you don't like what see. If you do like a guy, you click "like" --and if he likes you back, then you're a match. Which means you can start chatting privately. And so, at dinner with Anna, I downloaded the app and was instantly hooked. In 24 hours, I had conversations going with Jason, 34; Tim, 29; and Jesse, 30. Weird? Definitely. Fun? Yes. And I have date.

It's the sort of thing I would've never thought I'd be doing, but here I am, dating in New York in 2014. And if that involves too much of my smart-phone, I guess it's to be expected.

So back to that date --after a small conversation on Tinder, I decided that Jason, 34, seemed nice enough for me to meet. And interesting enough too. So I said yes, let's go for drinks. I got in cab even though the place we were meeting was 15 min away walking --it's just too cold in New York City. And the cab driver turned out to be this Greek older man who had been to Beirut in 1975 when he was sailor. "You're going to meet your boyfriend?" he asked me. I said no, going on a first date. "No! Not a blind date?" Yes, a blind date, I've never met the guy. "Oh! Thank God I'm not a woman" he says in his greek accent. "I would have to date all these American men!"

I get to Miss Lily's and I look around the room, and I don't see a guy matching his picture. So I text him to let him know I'm here. "I'm here too" he answers. I'm confused. I don't see him. We exchange about 5 texts before we realise we are actually not in the same place. Finally, he walks up behind me: he actually does look like his picture.

But a picture isn't enough. Neither is good conversation, it turns out. I am happy that I actually dared to go on what was basically a blind date that started on a phone app.

I'm experiencing our times, you see --and then using it to write.

this is an excerpt from my book

I wrote this today, for the book I'm working on, and I thought I'd share it here. 

There’s an ad on the side of my Facebook Newsfeed this morning: it says “Be Brave. Write.” Am I being brave? Or am I just running away from the life I don’t want to live? I always hoped my life would be special. As a kid I dreamt of being a very famous actress, the first Lebanese actress to ever win an Oscar. Two Oscars, I would tell my friends. That was my life’s ambition. But it turns out I wasn’t brave enough to try that. I tell myself it’s because my mother died and I was distraught and didn’t want to leave my brother and sister, but maybe that’s just an excuse. I’m not sure what I would do if I had to live through that again. I had these piles of acting-school brochures in my bedroom, because at the time you still ordered brochures to check out colleges. Seems like a lifetime ago. A lifetime when my mom was alive and I was just a teenager with my whole life ahead of me and my dreams still very much alive. Now I’m scared. Terrified actually. I only have enough money to last me a week. Maybe ten days, if I’m very careful. This weekend I’m meeting two different families for prospective babysitting jobs. That’s what I’m looking forward to now, babysitting. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids, but I’m 28-years-old. I have a Masters degree from an Ivy League school. That I got on a Fulbright scholarship. And I choose to leave my job, my country and my family to come write a book about my life. Is that brave? It doesn’t feel brave. I look around me and see all these people who have it figured it out. They have their own apartments, beautifully decorated, like real grownups. It makes me feel so much older. In Lebanon, people live at home with their parents until they get married, so it’s nothing unusual there, but out here I feel like a complete loser. I don’t have any of it figured out. I have absolutely no income and I still haven’t figure out what makes me happy.  Maybe I should go hide out in a mountain in Lebanon, plant fruits and vegetables and write stories from my imagination. Maybe I’m not cut out for that “special” life after all. Maybe I don’t have what it takes to make it. And maybe I can still change that. I can decide to be brave, starting now.

My mother was brave. That much, I’m sure of. So many things about her I question, I wonder if she was actually different than I remember her to be. But I am sure she was the bravest person I know. Sometimes, I wonder about how she chose to fight. She decided not to go through chemo, because it was making her too sick and it wasn’t worth the time we’d be buying. When the doctors found out she had a tumor in her brain, they gave her two weeks to live. But my dad fought like hell. He flew her to Belgium to get her operated on and reduce the tumor and suddenly she had a whole year. But the tumor wasn’t only in her brain. It was a metastasis from cancer in her lungs. And it was bad.

When they flew to Belgium, they told us they were going on vacation. She always wanted to protect us, my mother, not wanting for us to worry at all. I remember how I found out it was all wrong: A woman called at home, asking me about my mother. She asked me how the surgery went. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I started shaking, and hung up the phone. It’s like I knew something about this Belgium trip that happened so quickly right after my mom spent a week in the hospital was a little weird. But I guess I didn’t want to see it. When my mother dropped me off at school that day before she traveled, I barely kissed her goodbye. I thought it was cool we would have the house all to ourselves. And I think about it now and I’m shaking. I didn’t know she was going to have a brain operation that could’ve left her completely paralyzed, lose her memory, or killed her.  I didn’t know. She knew and she didn’t show it for a second. That’s how brave she was.

what my sister wrote

***This post wasn't written by me. My sister, she wrote this today to mark her 24th birthday. And she made my heart swirl with happiness reading it. I'm so proud of the woman she's become.

Look at that,

I wake up this morning smiling,

because yes, I'm like a 6 year old when it comes to my birthday.

Today is my birthday; and i'm 24.

If I'm writing this today it's (I think) because I want to voice out the fact that I love my life.

I stayed in bed this morning, 30 min, it took me 30 min to look back to when I can remember till today.

Yes, I've been through horrible situations,

moments that broke my heart,

moments that took away my childhood,

moments that I carry around with me, every minute, every second of every day.

This last year scared me. May 31st 2013, was the 12th anniversary of my mom's death. 12th. 

That means I was starting on living more than I lived with her.

This is where the countdown stopped. From this moment on I can't say my mom was here for half of my life anymore.

Loosing all of these important people after loosing my mom, broke me, it teared me into pieces,

it broke my family, I felt like everything was crumbling down.

And the more i got older the harder it was, to accept everything,

The more I could see the sadness in Karim's eyes, the more my heart would stop,

The more I could read Yasmina's sadness the more my heart would stop,

The more I could see my father struggling the more my heart would stop.

Getting older I realized I had a job and a place in my family,

I realized that I live for these 3 people and they live for me.

I realized that yes I may just be a dust in the universe,

I am just one person, in a tiny country,

I can't change the world (even though I would love to)

I can't even change what is happening in the country I grew up in, my country.

But I can change their world and they can change mine.

I can make a difference in their life and oh my! they can make a difference in mine.

I look around, and see my father, who gave up his life for his 3 little babies and he did great.

I look around and see my sister, oh this woman, believe me, everything she touches becomes gold.

I look around and see my brother. My soul mate, my evil twin.

I look around and see my friends, these people that I call family, this perfectly dysfunctional family that we chose for ourselves, and I suddenly can't imagine my life without them.

I look around and realize that i don't need to change the world,

I have my own, little perfect world,

and i love it.

You people, thank you for being part of my world, thank you for making my world magic,

I'm 24 years old, and my heart didn't stop.

Instead my heart is really F***ing happy.