To Anyone Who Has Called Me Crazy

By Cristina Farah

  Ask anyone who knows me, and all the answers will bear one common denominator: crazy. People who think they know me, think I am one crazy motherfucker.

Why, though?

Well, first off, I’ve always been kind of controversial. In high school, I always stood my ground if I thought I was being treated unjustly by the teachers. I always stated my arguments fairly and intelligently, which of course won me one too many detentions.  Once I (barely) graduated high school, I took a semester off. Which, in the eyes of the society I grew up in, was insane!!! Minds were blown galore. How could an 18-year-old not know what she wants to do for the rest of her life?!?! How could she not have chosen a school or a career yet?? And so I did, I chose a shitty ass career in a (to my own personal experience) shitty ass school.

Inevitably leading me to flip deuces after my first year.  Dropping out of college was a huge factor in the development of my definition as crazy. I didn’t hate school, as a matter of fact, I loved it. I loved learning, I loved my friends, I loved all the things you’re supposed to love in college. But I hated what I was being taught. I never really liked Communications at all, but I had to choose something, so I chose that. But of course, who in their right mind would ever drop out of college? How can her dad let her do that?  And with the same “I have to do what makes me happy” attitude (which is highly frowned upon by society), I packed my bags and exported my talents and never-ending thirst for knowledge and adventure to America. Ahh… America, the land of possibilities. Or is it?

Not if you’re a tourist with nothing but a bag of clothes, 750 bucks, and a 27″ pillow of Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls. That’s all I had. And I couldn’t get a job or a place because I wasn’t authorized to work in the US. As a tourist, your only right is to spend money. So for a while, I worked shitty under-the-table paying jobs, often making $5/hr, sweeping floors or behind the counter of a run-down eatery in New Jersey. WHAT A NUTJOB, HUH? THAT’S CRAZY! WHO WOULD EVER?!

Me. I would. I needed money, so I did.

So, while I wandered through life, not sure what my plan was, I met a boy. It was nice meeting someone, y’know? I had no friends or a place to stay, and he provided both. I liked him, he liked me, so we started dating. His family was incredibly welcoming, they took me in right away and helped me be someone. Because in America, unless you have something, you’re nothing.  Sadly, my time as a tourist was about to expire, and I didn’t intend to overstay my welcome. My boyfriend at the time, heartbroken to say goodbye, decided he wanted to marry me, thus allowing me to stay in America and apply for my residency.

Gosh… the crazy girl got married. Can you believe that?!

Yup… once again, by the mouth of others, the crazy girl struck back. But I was happy. I loved him and I thought I was ready to start my life as a married woman, when in actuality I was barely a woman yet. I was days shy of twenty-one. I hadn’t even had my first legal drink (in America). But hey, as a result, I was able to find an amazing job as an editor, build a network, and make (and save) lots of money.

I stayed in a happy and healthy marriage until it became unhappy and unhealthy. Then I got out. Something that seemed so logical to me suddenly was viewed by others as another one of my stunts.  I don’t mean to belittle the experience. Separation is heart wrenching. But it was necessary. But, what a wacko, right? She left her husband!

After recovering from a separation, I decided I wanted to be true not only to myself, but to everyone around me. So I came out as bisexual when I met a special lady. A big part of me was finally uncovered. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. And people LOST THEIR SHIT. Holy cow did they go nuts. People just couldn’t cope with the fact that I was dating a woman. CRAZY CRAZY WOW!!

So my “special lady friend” and I recently decided to sell everything, quit jobs, pack bags, tap into our savings and move west. Right now, California awaits us, and I’m excited about discovering new possibilities and adventures. I’m eager to remove all history of craziness from my chart, go where nobody knows me, and start all over. Also, I can’t wait to see how people react to this other risky move. Ha!

I think they call me that because I was the only one with enough guts to follow my own dreams. As cheesy as it sounds, I always follow my heart. Being labeled as “crazy” has taught me to care a little less about labels and a little more about myself. It’s OK to be a little crazy, if it opens doors to new possibilities. It’s OK to be a little crazy, if it makes you interesting, if it makes you intriguing, if it makes you different. It’s OK to be a little crazy if it makes you happy. And that’s the craziest thing of all, I’m actually really fucking happy.   Insane, huh?