A comfort zone without boundaries!

I often wonder why we choose so many boundaries to tackle when life can be made so simple?

In London, there are choices of many self-development courses such as Landmark Forum and meditation sessions to help ease the burden of pain we carry through life experiences. Treat yourself to finding happiness. Live and let live.

The last time Hala and I visited Niel and Rory, we asked about their friend Jal, whom we met while dating a QC (Queen's Counsel); Raymon, who was previously married with kids, was now infatuated with Jal. 
Raymon was a respectable-looking, average-height, well-dressed gentleman who had left his family for his newfound love, Jal, a petite, dark fella, lovely but with a confident attitude.
The last time we saw them was at the QC's birthday bash held at a top London night spot, where at a long dinner table, Jal made a point of going around, showing off his new emerald ring, courtesy of his high-class lover. 
Hala and I often wondered about this rather peculiar affair but happily mingled with them and had fun. We each have different needs in life, we are individuals after all. Who's there to judge?
Now, years later, Rory told us their gossip:
"The world is going crazy, Darling!" He continued. "Despite Raymon's many marriage proposals, Jal wasn't keen to give up his total freedom to domestic chores. You're not gonna believe this, but Raymon got fed up and eventually ran off with their Nigerian male cleaner to an island near Africa and bought him a house there! It's not a good look for my friend Jal here. Know what I mean?"

Oh dear. I can't quite point out a moral to this story! But Raymon had certainly pushed his boundaries, and I hope he finds happiness.

My weekend began early on Thursday, visiting a good friend's showcase at a Notting Hill spot with Ernest and Gracy, followed by dinner at E&O. We then continued the evening dancing with Pedro and his gang at the private Arts Club's compact disco to their live band.
I complimented Pedro on his designer blue shirt with an emblem sewn on. Apparently, some guy had told him his shirt was 'not nice'.  
"The idiot was telling you that he doesn't like it." Complained Pedro.
"Which idiot is that?" I asked my friend.
"The Turkish guy at the shop." Exclaimed Pedro.
"Really?" I questioned. "All I remember was seeing your shirt and thinking, wow."
I continued: "Just goes to show... Guess I don't hear idiots!" 

On Friday, I left home at 1pm and returned at 4am the following day!
There was a Christmas open studio at Cockpit Arts in Holborn, where my friend Sina held a workshop. Many craftsmen and women were selling their products, from jewellery to hats, clothing, furniture, lighting, etc.
Later that evening, the decision to go for an early dinner at the Cow with Isabella continued driving to Kentish Town, where her friend's band was performing at a pub. Still, we ended up at the Oxford pub for a drink and continued to the Groucho Club in Soho. Listened to live piano played by a severe lady who failed to smile, and as though that was not enough, we finished the night off at the Kingly Club, where I got hit on by a drunk, tall Englishman. Not interested, I left the place and finally headed home.

Saturday late lunch was at Troy's new pub, accompanied by Dylan and Salar.
Then, I went home for a nap (which never happened) and prepared for another fabulous night at Fabric. While awaiting Salar's arrival there, I found Kalina and Ryan and mingled with them in the DJ booths. Danced to Terry Francis' music in room 3. I went on to room 2, where Judes mentioned my name to Will Saul playing, and he asked to see me. I saw his brother on the dance floor, which was great, and said hi to Will, who told me of his newborn baby while dj-saying. Lee Burridge was the last DJ in room 1 with Craig Richard. Wicked! I met Lee at the Miami music conference and had some amusing photos taken with him and our gang four years ago. Must say he had aged somewhat. 
It was a while since I had seen Gabi, and she did make it there to see me, which was great catching up, shaking our bodies to the tunes and having a girlie talk during smoking breaks, amongst other Fabric friends I have made over the years. I went there on my own, yet, as another friend texted me the next day, he said: 'Haldita, you know too many people there to ever be alone!'

The lonely life is not for me. I thrive on sharing the good times with loved ones. 
Sometimes, those loved ones come and go for whatever reason. Appreciating the good times and letting go of the unnecessary marks left by tormented souls is essential. We all go through those moments in life.

I mustn't do this or shouldn't do that. It does not serve any purpose but leaves one troubled with doubt. Get out of your comfort zone and do something extraordinary outside your normal boundaries.
If you have anything to say... Say it, but also listen to reasoning. 

I just wanna fly!

You set my soul on fire... I'm alive.

It is great hearing the lyrics, but I can't relate to anyone to romance with, except my thoughts run straight up to the sky, to my God. And I smile. He sure does it to me, 'every time'.

I am again 'Home Alone' after five weeks of family moving in and out of my place, loving them each for their being in my life and those moments of Ooopsies. Well, it is family, after all. Life is to cherish one another; it is acceptable to raise questions of doubt at times of their peculiar behaviours, as long as judgement and expectation do not ruin counting their values. None of us are perfect. The lesson is learning how to handle situations with grace and true love.
The saying maybe you can't live with them. But you certainly can't live without them.

The weirdest things keep happening in my daily life.
Last Thursday, before noon, after a pilates class, I took my car for a wash in the open car park. Being a regular, the boys who work there know me. As I exited my automobile to have the inside cleaned, I noticed the two boys standing close by their car behind mine. The aroma of a spliff hit my nostrils, and I turned around, amazed to see the two boys, tall, in caps, oversized tracksuit bottoms and tight shirts to emphasize their muscly chests, passing a big joint onto one another! It was irresistible not to make a comment, so I turned to the bigger lad and said:
"That sure smells good!"
The boy seemed surprised at my remark and exclaimed:
"That was the last thing I thought you would tell me!"
I smiled and said: "See? You should never judge a book by the cover."
To my delight, they offered to pass around their joint to me.
The scene was too surreal to refuse. I stood midday in the middle of that parking lot, smoking with my new buddies. The two puffs were enough to put a large smile on my face to carry on with the rest of my day. I had only just got in the driver's seat when I noticed the car wash attendants had found one of my favourite black diamond loop earrings, though lost two weeks ago. I thanked everyone and left in owe.

In the evening, I was looking forward to meeting with my Croatian connection and at a lavish canape dinner. With the immaculate decoration of scented candles and the giant off-pink roses scattered around the glamour of architecture at our meeting place, accompanied by superb sushi canapes going around, the company of these wonderful friends made the hours pass as a short, flawless dream.  
Dreams can be reality. Moments that take our breath away need not necessarily be a scene on a beach, where the breeze of the night, brushing against one's skin, blows gentle scents of the evening flower into our sense of smell. At the same time, the eyes witness the sparkling stars in an indigo sky, a moon shining bright as a sprinkle onto the seas. It can simply be a connection with another soul.

Friday lunch was at 202 in Notting Hill with Hala.  
Zuma was the designated meeting bar with Donna in the early evening. Our bonding during the long walks in the countryside had left a sweet reflection in my mind, and I looked forward to spending time with my friend. She is genuine, fun, kind and definitely does not judge others. She had asked Suki to leave her books at home and join us for fun; as we finished our cocktails, we headed towards Notting Hill, one of my new favourite gastro pubs. Waiting for a table in the cramped area did not help our rambling stomachs. I gave my name to the waiter to be put on the 45-minute waiting list, and we drove around every restaurant we could think of in the area, unsuccessfully looking for a table of three. What is this recession they are talking about?  
Finally, we returned to the pub, delighted to be seated immediately for half a dozen Scottish oysters. Well, that was my order.

Next to us were two trendy-looking guys who opened a conversation as soon as we settled at our table. The dialogue among the five of us continued through the meal until closing. Suki suggested a Mexican bar where we could hang out and dance, so the boys came along to the next destination, and when that place closed, we appeared at the Electric member's bar. From a passion fruit martini at Zuma's to the Marguerita, followed by a coffee Petrone tequila with ice at the last bar (need I add till they closed too?!), I was feeling joyful. At our table of seven (by now), Donna pointed at a guy sitting at the bar with a friend in black attire, both staring at me. We looked towards them, and their glances would not leave my way. Even though I could not replace the faces, I wondered whether I knew them. We let out a girlie giggle amongst ourselves without a trace of amusement on the faces of our counterparts. Oh well.

At closing time, it seemed one of the starters had followed me to the Ladies'. As I walked out, he was standing next to the photo machine (yes. There's a photo machine outside the toilets in the club). He introduced himself as Mick and asked if I would take four pictures with him! In the boot. Pourquoi pas! In other words, why not. As we all later stood outside the Electric, Mick asked us to return to his place, accompanied by his older, 'too stylish' male friend. Donna looked at him doubtfully and said: "No. We're going home, and I'm giving Haldita a lift."
Although my feet were killing me from the high heels, which were meant to last for a drink and nibbles at Zuma's, and I ended up dancing and walking around Notting Hill all night long, all I wanted was the comfort of my bed. Still, it was amusing watching Mick pull one of my arms, insisting I go back to his place, and my darling Donna pulling the other arm, persisting I am being taken home by her.

Aren't friends just awesome when they watch each other's back?
I adore my family and my buddies. If we can adopt children to be part of our family, why can't we do that with friends? After all, the only consent needed is their mutual love.

It was so cool of my young friend Harun to contact me when he landed for his short visit to London. We met with one of the twin sisters from their party boat in Hvar, Isadora, at Jack's bar for a nightcap.  

One last thing... This afternoon, when we went by the river Thames with Charlotte and her boy to feed the seagulls with the leftover variety of bread from my family visiting, one of the sweet creatures shat on my hair as a token of gratitude; I can only presume!
Let's see what good luck awaits. I never understood what kind of luck can shit bring?! Haha

Power of positive thinking... Time shall tell.

Postmodernism to... Modernism? V&A

What made me reflect on the past recently was visiting the V&A museum for the Postmodernism exhibit.

This was the era of introducing radical freedom to design. Although confrontational and absurd at times, it began a new way of questioning. During the twenty years (1970-1990), a state of no boundaries in fashion, art and music changed our outlook into an autonomous world where the mind dictated expressions like never before. Yet, this freedom has had a price of its own to pay. The world economy boomed with a culture obsessed with wealth and status, demonstrated in the exhibition by Any Warhol's silkscreen of the Dollar sign.  
From fashion designer Vivienne Westwood's over-sized, layered clothing to Annie Lennox's style in playing with gender norms and photos of Grace Jones' striking poses, I overheard the two ladies behind me remarking:
"You just can't believe she's for real. Can you?"

From new designs in jewellery to crockery, the seductive imagery of film and advertising was demonstrated in a 1985 billboard in Times Square by Jenny Holzer, which read:
"Protect me from what I want". A critical reflection on desire, its cause and effects amid the commerce surrounding it. In other words, be careful of what you wish for.
Jeff Koons, a former commodities broker turned artist, captured the decade's fascination with consumer desire, wealth and power in a bust statue of Louis XIV's copy of Bernini, in a tacky, silver finish, 'a strangely intimidating effect'. 
In this postmodern era of radical expansion of possibilities, the question arises:
'Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday?'

The freedom of expression is priceless. However, there is a cost.  
We were looking forward to a new world in the millennium, a better, peaceful era that is an image lost in war, destruction, and greed.  
Do we really have a say in what is going on around us?
They will soon decide to put a camera up our backsides and charge us for breathing, and yet, we are under the impression of living a modern life where artists can display their imagination in any form.

Well... discussing politics is not my forte. Not because I am unaware of what is happening in this world but simply because 'the news' infuriates every cell of my body.

On a more pleasant note, the week continued with an invite from Aisha to a guest-listed event at The Radical Dining Society with a couple of girlfriends. The basement cave was filled with dressed-up people who did not seem to mingle well except in their crowd. A very fit, half-naked man approached us with pieces of sushi ginger scattered over his muscly chest and offered it to us.  
"Come on, Haldita," offered Aisha, "he wants you to eat a piece."
On second thought, I was not going to eat anything off the chest of a stranger in a heated room, so I prompted:
"Now, if this was chocolate, I'd lick it off you," I said cheekily. "But I don't feel like sushi right now. Thanks."
And on that note, we decided to leave the event. I joined my family at a dinner afterwards.

Thursday was a wine-tasting experience in the Palm restaurant of Belgravia. Charlotte invited me to join Nicolas and his friend Christophe at the dinner. The region where the wines were represented was Rhone, and my favourite wine of the night was a Chateauneuf-du-Pape Blanc 2009. the gentle aroma of this pleasant production was so that I could have easily worn it as a perfume, fruity and citrus in taste with a crisp, dry finish. In the red selection, the Gigondas 2004 was beginning to grow on me until the Cote-Rotie 1999 was introduced. It was a grand selection, but I returned to my first preferred white wine.
After dinner, we headed to Walton Street's new bar, which opened as another off-spring from Jack's restaurant and another bar in the same area. Another bottle of champagne was to end the evening before Charlotte and Nicolas left, and Christophe walked me home gentlemanly with a slightly naughty twist.

Friday... A big night again. A party 'chez Haldita' (at mine) to celebrate my sister Hala, brother Soltan and his adorable fiancee Tuba's arrival in town. A great gathering of as many friends as I could comfortably fit in my living room, accompanied by Soltan's playing great tunes and Gloria's unique voice on the piano, followed by a Tina Turner number, which she sang with everyone joining in... 'You're simply the best'. The place was buzzing with chatter and dancing the night away till the early morning hours.

And then... Came Saturday. Another Fabric night with Hala, Shane, accompanied by Louisa, whom I got to meet and liked from the first instant. Also joining us were Ebi and two of his friends. I had my usual table, and Tiefschwarz were playing. I spent the last hour dancing to their music in the DJ booth with Judes, one of the most remarkable ladies I have met. When they finished playing, and the lights came on at 8am, I managed to get an innocent kiss from one of the DJ brothers!

Well, another week is gone, and a new one is beginning. Let's see what this week has in store in our era of modernism.

Your way is not my way... And my way is not yours

It is easy to say 'find your path', but sometimes it takes a lot of work. What inspired me to write tonight was walking home from the cinema with Angel, Hala and Charlotte. The movie in question was 'The Help'.
It took one black woman to gather enough courage to let her voice, suffocated for years beneath layers of pain, to release its way onto the pages of a book, by a white girl's caring persistence. The best part was when the bubbly maid told her previous, snobbish lady employer: "Eat my shiiit!"

I grew up with a privileged background of a household filled with staff; in my father's and grandfather's home and I recall every single loving member being considered as our family. Some of our best times and laughs was spent in their company. We had a chauffeur who could not pronounce my name; it was different, so he called Hala and me. Halas (with a stretch on the a... Halaaaas!
The first cigarette I smoked was from my nanny, at an early age. Nothing malicious! I am sure she thought rather than persist, let me have a puff or two and get it over my system. Well, perhaps that method does not always work, although the majority of us remember how skilfully we managed to try out our first cigarette without the grown-ups finding out.

On the subject of racism, I recall taking my very young children to a London private sports club in London many years ago. It was the end of summer and our dark tan was glowing amongst the pale skin of the swimmers, inside and outside the pool. As the three of us were occupied with the games and fun of enjoying the water, a boy of barely two years of age, approached us, sucking his thumb, lying on his tube and uttered these insults our way:
"I hate you. I hate you. You're black!"
You could possibly visage the look of horror on my face. What makes a child, almost a baby, utter such words of disgust I thought, unless he heard it from his elders. But my outrage was beyond trying to hide the anger in me and I asked the child:
"Where's your mother?"
At my persistence, he pointed towards a woman, standing by the stairs of the pool. I moved closer in the water and asked:
"Is that your child?"
She nodded, totally uninterested in what I had to say.  
But I continued: "Did you just hear what your child said?" And I went on to repeat his words.
The mother simply brushed me off with a hand gesture and uttered:
"Oh! Get lost."
Although this was many years ago, it is sad to think that racism still exists. I am not black, and God knows I try to get as dark as my skin could possibly turn under the sun, but to think how any black person could perhaps bear such insult is beyond me. The best answer to a fool is silence.

I then recalled our trips with my parents and their friends to the most exotic spots of the world every Christmas and Easter holiday while Hala and I were at boarding school.  
On our visit to South Africa, one evening, we were driven to an amazing musical in Johannesburg. As I sat myself down in the back seat of the taxi, that new, latest style navy pants, with a slight silky shine I was wearing tore open at the back and I walked out into the theater with my navy cardigan hung around my waste.  
Our day tour to Pretoria was memorable with a garden full of tall flowers, so clean and tidy, followed by a drive to watch a tribal dance where uncle Has, joined in their circle to follow their moves. We were in hysterics.
We were a jolly crowd and every trip was filled with laughter and great memories.

On our stay at the elegant President Hotel in Cape Town, all dressed up one evening after dinner, the men retired back to the rooms while my mum Angel and one of the ladies in our group, Hala and I decided to pay a visit to the hotel's very stylish disco in the basement.
We were seated on the navy velvet sofas, next to a German couple, whom we noticed by the pool earlier with their two young off-springs, each accompanied by a Filipino nanny. After a short conversation, they insisted on inviting us to a glass of champagne and went on to boast about their convertible blue Royce Roys which they had brought down for their visit, amongst the lady in the long chiffon dress' tiara and the man's diamond buttons on his white shirt, under his tuxedo. They were fun.

Shortly after, Professor Christian Barnard appeared through the entrance of the club with an entourage. Mr Barnard had carried out the first open heart transplant and was giving a lecture at our hotel to a host of journalists flown in for the occasion.
I noticed a young, fit man in a smart suit approaching. He slightly bent towards me, introduced himself and asked for my hand on the dance floor. I agreed. The music was slow and he drew me towards him, held my left hand in his, next to his chest as we positioned our right arms around one another. That's the way it was done those days!
He also happened to be German, working for one of their reputable newspapers, interviewing Mr Barnard earlier. His flattering words grew my smile wider, while I flicked my lashes gently up and down, looking up at the handsome stranger.
Name? No idea. He then asked me to accompany him for a breath of fresh air, in the grounds of our residence. We walked under the dark sky, on the green grass by the pool, towards the ebony ocean, lit partly by the full moon shining upon it.
Being in my late teens, the romance of the moment, the gentle brush of the breeze against my skin and the compliments of the tall, handsome stranger with a manly voice was erupting as a volcano in my being. I was powerless in his gentle kisses. 
He then carried me in his strong arms, as a scene from 'Gone with the Wind' and walked back towards our residence. I felt it necessary to explain my situation and said apologetically: 
"Sorry, but I'm a virgin!"
He became rather irritated at the remark and laughingly said:
"You're joking with me. Right? In this day and age? Who can be a virgin at your age!"
"No," I said innocently, "It's the truth. I am."
Thinking back, thank goodness he did not drop me to the ground there and then! But gently put me down, while I ran back to the disco to join my family.

At the time we visited South Africa, it was during the Apartheid. Perhaps I was too young or was never exposed to any sort of racism at home to understand the real depth of the situation. What was confusing with the dark tan Hala and I had acquired during our visit, it was hard to decide which public toilet; as in white ladies' or black ladies' we should go to. Even the buses were separated for the whites and the blacks. It brings sadness to think such a world existed.

I follow the good Budda's words of wisdom:
No one is below or above me. We are all one.