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Someone once asked me if I write from my heart.
I told him it is a rhetorical question; of course, I write from my heart; where else would I write from.
But he was consistent and told me to look into my heart and see if this is where I write from.
And he got me thinking (not from my heart, but my mind, 'cause that's where you think from), and I thought about the saying "I love you with all my heart."
and it made me wonder why I never heard anyone says, "I write with all my heart."
Is it possible to write from your heart? Isn't it that once you write, you use your mind?
You can break a heart, leave it, destroy it, love it, make it bleed, follow it, open it, make it pound so fast, you can actually feel it in your head, but can you write with your heart?
With that on the table, or on the paper, I'll try now to write from my heart, with all my heart and nothing but it.
I'm writing with my heart.
He (I think it's a male) says he's pretty tired of fighting with my mind.
He knows he had some great triumphs, but he's just not up for the battles that are waiting to come.
I tell him he should shut up cause I kept him from breaking for so many years, as I promised, so he tells me to get over myself and that he can take the heartache (I think he likes talking about himself in the third person).
He says that I'm way too vain to think that I can prevent the pain, but what the fuck does he know. He only broke. I'm the one who had to fix it.
He's a softy, though. He sees I'm pissed off, and he knows how difficult that is to do, so he tells me that he really likes the fact that I dream with my heart.
(again, the third person thing).
He says it is very special to dream with your heart and not with your mind and that he feels like a special heart because of that.
He doesn't care that different minds tell him he's delusional, he thinks they are slaves of the routine, and because he's compassionate, he feels a little sorry for them.
But I think he's mad at me because I still prevent him from making decisions. I think he hates to lose. He's a competitive one.
Sometimes, he gets so big that I can actually feel him coming out of my chest, and sometimes he hides so deep that I have to really listen to him to hear.
I write from my heart.
He just told me he likes it when I put my hand on him.
It makes him feel like we are close. And he also likes it when I let a guy put his head right next to him and even sometimes right on him,
although he doesn't like the fact that this is the closest I let a guy get. He's just so fucking emotional.
I write from my heart.
He always knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he also knew he could never go wrong because a heart does not make mistakes.
He gathers experiences and feels them. With all his glory. With all his shame. With all he got.
And you might be surprised that he does have a rational side; he also learns from them, and he grows, not to be better, but to be wiser.
My heart tells me to write that he's very smart. I think I hear my mind laughing out loud in my head, but he's used to that; I don't think he pays attention anymore.
He just asked me to open him a little.
He tells me not to be afraid and that he will guard me. That's funny coming from him, considering the fact that I'm spending my time protecting him.
I'm having a hard time believing him. He has a selective memory, unlike my mind, which actually remembers everything.
I think it's his job, though, forgetting, because if he were like the mind, he would never feel again, just because the memory of him hurting would be too painful to re-live.
Some may call him naive. I think he's just optimistic.
I'm writing from my heart. With him. Just him and me.
I promised him that from now on, I'm going to listen to him more often.
As it turns out, he has really smart things to say.



A few years ago, while I was watching reruns of "Melrose Place," I heard a knock on the door. It was around 1-am, and I figured it was my neighbor in desperate need of some sugar. He always runs out of it.
I opened the door and saw it was God. He wore a white T-shirt that said "For God's sakes" and jeans with sneakers. He looked really good.


I asked him what's up and to what do I owe this surprise visit.
He said that everything is cool, busy as hell (he likes words play), and he came because he wants to consult with me.
Of course, I felt very flattered that he picked me, but he immediately got my ego to drop and told me that he just picked my name randomly out of a hat.

After I was done picking up my ego, I offered him a drink (he drinks coffee. black with 3 teaspoons of sugar), and I asked him how I can help, so he told me he is considering canceling Heaven.

Of course, I was in shock; what the fuck canceling Heaven, after all, all our lives we wait to get there, so he said that's exactly the problem.
I asked him what does he mean, so he slowly explained so that I will understand, that he's sick of the fact that we all wait to get to Heaven, and while doing so, we miss life itself.
He said that he thinks that if people realized that there's no Heaven up there, they would try to create it down here, as long as they live.
He added and said that he would really like us not to make death holy, but life and for us to live each moment like there's no Heaven at all.


I told him he's absolutely right and that it's kind of an oxymoron that he says that, because I think that if there were no religion, people wouldn't think death is a holy thing because they would think that there's nothing after death, so they would try and live longer.
So he told me to take a breath, and he smiled at me, and he said that never in his life he told anyone that death has sanctity and that we made it up, and that he has no idea where he went wrong.

I told him, with a smile, that it is good to know he doesn't totally blame us, and then he told me something really sad. He said that he thinks that his main mistake was that he gave us the possibility that I couldn't imagine them without it. Out of stress, I asked him if he can take the choice away from us, but fortunately, he said it was too late and that the damage has already been done. While he continued on that subject, I tried to imagine my life without any choice, which I think is a very sad life.

And then he sighed, and it was a little sad to see God a little hopeless, so I wanted to cheer him up, and I told him not to worry because many people do believe that Heaven can be down here, and those people are not in any rush to go up there.
I explained to him that sometimes it is worths going through hell to get even a small piece of Heaven because Heaven is not really a place; it is hope for something better that awaits us, sometimes, somewhere, with someone.

He smiled (for the second time), and he told me that he's really glad he picked my name out of the hat and immediately, my ego went up (but I didn't show him that) and just before he left, he put his hand on my head and thanked me that even if it was only for few moments, I was his Heaven.

I hope I make him proud. 



I've never written a blog.
Well, I have, but it was under an alias because I didn't want my dad to know that I know all the things he hoped I would never know, let alone, do.
This is the first time I'm signing my calm with my real name.
People who know me know that I always stand behind my words, but if I know my words will hurt, I try not to say them. Till I reach my limit, then, watch out. My words can be very painful.
I really don't know what to write for the first time. 
"There isn't a second chance for a first impression." So true, so much pressure.
While I'm writing, I realize that it will only be suitable to write about all my first times for the first time, and I don't mean to my first fucks with someone. 
Most of them, I can remember anyway).

There's something about a first-time that is unique, an experience we can't recreate. We sometimes try to do that, but we are doomed to fail, and once we do that, we destroy the sanctity of the memory.
With your permission, I'll try to write only about my first good times. The first time I'd rather forget, I'll leave it in my subconscious. Maybe some other time.

The first time I started walking was when I was a year and a half. A little late, but today I'm an expert, especially in walking out.

The first time I started talking was when I was 2 years and a half. Since a young age, I have preferred to talk only when I have a really smart thing to say.

The first time I started reading was when I was 4. I think that grants atonement on the fact that I started talking at a very late age.

The first time I learned English was when I was 5. My dad promised me that every day he would teach me another word. He started with "Apple" and ended with it. Till today, I really like apples.

The first time I realized that walking around with a bathing suit in public is a nightmare was when I was 6. I was a chubby kid, and I really didn't want anyone to know it. The nightmare, by the way, is still there for all the other times.

The first time I fasted was when I was 8. I fast every year in the Jewish "Yom Kippur," and my dad still tries to figure out what the f*#%.

The first time I lost someone I love was when I was 14. It was my grandfather, and till today it hurts me he can't see how I turned out (although I hope that there are some things he can't see from up there).

The first time I had a crush on a famous person was when I was 15. It was Patrick Swazi in "Dirty Dancing," and I used to watch it at least 5 times a day, till my mom decided that enough is enough and typed over it. 
Till today my motto is: "Nobody tells baby what to do!"

The first time I kissed someone was when I was 15. There were two other girls with me in the room, but this is how it goes when you grow up in a kibbutz. Most of your first time is with other people.

The first time I decided I was a vegetarian was when I was 16. I worked in the kitchen, cleaned chickens, and suddenly looked to me like babies with no heads. There isn't a day that I don't want to put my teeth in a juicy piece of bloody an-tricot.

The first time I slept with someone was when I was 16 and a half. He was Dutch and a Christian, and I thought that all grown-ups' penises look like they have a blanket over them.

The first time my heart was broken was when I was 17. He left back to Holland. It was also the first time I realized that love ain't enough.

The first time I was on an airplane was when I was 17 and a half. My parents gave me a trip that included a month in Classic Europe because I was such a good student.

The first time understood life ain't so cozy was when I was 18. I went to the army, and right at the training time, I had a trial. After it, I had 12 more.

The first time I had a tattoo was when I was 19. I escaped the army, and when I got back, I was grounded for 2 months as a punishment. I have 5 more today. I wasn't grounded for them.

The first time I tried to free dive was when I was 19 and a half. I tried to overcome my fear of height, which didn't work. Then, I also realized that there are no magic solutions, not even if you jump.

The first time I left my parents was when I was 20. I packed a bag and went to work in a hotel far away. There I also discovered that not all people that look nice are really are.

The first time I was fired was when I was 21. After that time came many others. This time I also understood that people don't like it when you think differently than them. Especially when those people are your bosses.

The first time I saw New York was when I was almost 22. I fell in love with her the minute I saw her, and 6 years later I left her with tears in my eyes. Till today she is my true everlasting love.

The first time I got married was when I was 22 and a half. We got married at City Hall in NYC, and I didn't even know his parents.

The first time I ate sushi was when I was 24. Since then, I'm addicted.

The first time I got my Bachelor's degree was when I was 26. I think this was one of the moments my dad was most proud of me. Till today he still waits for me to get my Ph.D.

The first time I was at Disney World was also when I was 26. My parents took me there because I finished my degree with great excellence. I'm definitely going back there.

The first time I lived in Tel Aviv was when I was 28. I came back from New York, and for 6 months, I still opened the menus from left to right and couldn't understand why the menu starts with the deserts.

The first time I got divorced was when I was 29. It just didn't work out. I wonder if it's ever.

The first time I was with a real famous person was when I was 30. Here I found out that things are not as they seem. They are usually worse.

The first time I decided to be independent was when I was 31. I've realized that I'm probably the only one that can't fire myself. Unlike others, I have to deal with myself.

The first time I went, backpacking was when I was 32. India, Nepal, and Thailand were amazing. I just have to go back there. Especially in Thailand.

The first time that I'm writing a blog is now when I'm 34. It is also the first time I'm going to sign it with my real name. If my dad reads it, 
I will just tell him someone is using my name.

See you the second time.

Ofri (oh, that's not too bad)...



A few years ago, I wanted to commit suicide.
Not because I really wanted to; I was just curious to see who would come to my funeral. I completely planned it. I had the song I wanted my parents to play (I'm not telling, so no one steals my idea). I planned a winter funeral, so it will be gray with an option for it to rain (so the dramatic effect will be greater). I planned what I'm gonna write to everyone, and how whoever reads my letter will immediately burst into tears.

Obviously, everybody will say that I was gorgeous, amazing, talented, special bla, bla, bla, cause for some reason. Anyone who dies suddenly would become the greatest person in the world, even if he was a dick head.

And I will float from above, protected from the wind, cause I'm a ghost, and I will observe everybody and see who's really sad and who's just playing sad (although between us, of course, everybody will be devastated) and I'll think of tomorrow.

Believe it or not, but I had planned from here until there for what I'm going to do in the other world.
First thing, I would go to see my Grandfather that I loved so much.
He would right away get me into business, and he would probably sit with his pipe, and I would inhale the sweet scent I missed so much.
And after he would have made me a meat stew, even though I would have told him that since he died, few things have changed and I became a vegetarian, but he would probably have told me to "stop with my nonsense, so I would just eat the potatoes.
And I would have told him that he had new grandchildren (great-grandchildren not yet, cause his grandchildren are a bit problematic), and I would have told him how much I missed him. I'm sure he would have known all that, but from me, he would have gotten it with comments.

And then we would have set a date for a Friday dinner, and I would have gone to look for Elvis. The king. The one and the only one.
He probably went on a diet and went back on being the most handsome man in the world. Both worlds.
And then I would have told him that my dream was for him to dedicate me to his song "You were always on my mind," but when I was 3, he was found on the toilet, blown up from all the drugs, so I didn't make it.
And he would sit with his guitar and sing it from the start till the end, and I would probably get teary eyes, and then I would ask him to make his famous hip move, and then I would invite him to come for a Friday dinner with my Grandfather, Tibi.

And then I would have gone to look for Louis Armstrong, whom my Grandfather loved so much, and I would have told him that at my Grandfather's funeral we played two of his songs, cause that's what my Grandfather wanted. After all, before he died, he said that if people want to talk good about him, they should say it while he's alive and that on his grave, he wants Louis. And I would also invite him to the Friday dinner and tell him to bring his trumpet, cause Elvis will be there also, so an improvised show might take place.

And after I would have done those, I would have looked for a coffee place cause there's no way Heaven doesn't have coffee places, and I would have found one. I would have ordered a large cappuccino and a big slice of cheesecake |(it is not that every day you arrive in Heaven so that I can celebrate with 500 calories). I will have asked the waiter if it's allowed to smoke. He would have laughed and said that "sure, it's not like it is gonna kill you," and I would light a cigarette and drink the coffee and eat the cake in 3 big bites and read the daily newspaper, which they probably have there so that people will stay posted with the daily events. 

And after this, I would have gone to see James Dean, whom I had a poster of, and when I was little, I imagined that if he knew me, there is no way he would crash into a truck and say goodbye to this world way too soon.
And I would have told him about the poster (and think it's special) and that I was in love with him, years after he was in the ground (and he will definitely think it's special) and I would have invited him also to the Friday dinner.

But, I decided not to commit suicide because I realized that I still have so much to do, and for the truth to be told, I just love Friday dinners down here.

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