There is nothing cool about being in your twenties. Whoever said it was is a big fat liar. When you are twenty-something, you worry about university. About exams. About last minute revisions. About whether you did well or if you could have answered question 5 differently.
In your twenties, you suffer your first major heartbreak, the one that changes you as a person. The one that makes you insecure, lonely, bitter. The one that makes you write poems, listen to Radiohead and eat pizza in bed. You make new friends. You go out a lot. Only to come back to a very lonely place.
Filed under disappointment, Dream, Family, freedom, Friends, Goodbyes, growing up, Lebanon, Life, London, loneliness, Love, Memories, people, Relationships, soul, struggle, Work
The Lebanese passport is not the best one to have. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of my country. Yes, I am proud. Proud of being able to ‘ski and swim on the same day’, proud of our hummus, proud of our multi-lingual upbringing, proud of the Lebanese success stories on the international scene keeping in mind Lebanon is a tiny-teeny country, proud of our family values, of our strong educational institutions, of our sophisticated banking system, of our ability to (kind of) cohabitate when we are 18 officially recognized religious groups, proud of our ability to survive (and somehow forget) a painful – and recurrent – history, of our persistence to make it happen on our land despite all odds, of the fun in our clubs… Being Lebanese has however a lot of downsides. Holding the Lebanese passport is one of many.
Filed under Ambition, Dream, Family, freedom, Goodbyes, growing up, Lebanon, Life, London, struggle, Work
I’ve always tried to point out that one particularity that attracts me to people. I’ve tried putting down lists of the things I liked most in my preferred members of the family, closest friends, boyfriends, colleagues. But the task proved impossible. Nothing seemed to link them. Their age varies between 20 and 95. The colour of their hair ranges from charcoal to white. The sound of their voice from weak to powerful. Some of them I met in my hometown, Beirut. Others during my voyages, in Paris, in London, in Sri Lanka, in New York. Some I met while sun bathing on a Lebanese beach. Others while studying Law in the city. Some have achieved a high level of education. Others only speak their mother tongue. Some are rich and (kind of) famous. Others enjoy a modest life and an intimate circle of friends. Some are men. Some are women. Some have married, had children, grand children. Some chose to live a free, careless, adventurous life. Some I loved from the first contact. Others grew on me with time. Some have helped me find my way. Others I tried to help in my own way. With some I discussed serious, deep, heavy matters. With others I have enjoyed that odd beer on a rainy terrace. Some I lost touch with. Some others I speak to every once in a while. Some I only saw once. I always think of those people. Those who are very special to my heart. Those who make life worth living. Those who manage to delete all its sorrow and pain. I’ve always tried to understand what it is about them that is so special. What is it about them that makes them so beautiful, regardless of age, height, weight?
I guess it is soul.
Filed under bonds, Dream, Family, Friends, fun, growing up, Lebanon, Life, links, London, Love, Memories, people, Relationships, soul
J’ai toujours voulu être libre. Mais la liberté est un concept difficile à comprendre. Libre de qui et de quoi ? Libre comment, et pourquoi ? Libre des parents, des mecs, des copines, des bancs de l’école, de ceux de la fac, du boss, des calories, du boyfriend macho ? Gagner son argent de poche, son salaire, payer son loyer, sortir après minuit, rentrer au petit matin, ou pas, claquer la porte de la maison, peindre un mur en marron, insulter ses collègues, partir seul au Mexique, faire son linge, dormir le jour, se réveiller la nuit, ou pas, croire en tout, en rien, en quelque chose de ridicule, exprimer ses pensées sans craindre les conséquences, s’affranchir des clichés ? Le problème de la liberté, c’est qu’elle glisse. Plus l’on croit s’en rapprocher, et plus elle s’éloigne. Et puis elle se confond tellement bien avec la solitude. Il est facile d’être libre quand on est seul. Le plus difficile reste à trouver et sauvegarder sa liberté quand (trop) entouré. Il ne faut pas confondre seul et libre. Etre libre, c’est bien. Etre seul, moins.
Il y a les expériences que l’on provoque. Deux mois de bénévolat au Kenya. Par envie de donner, d’enseigner, de partager son savoir, de vivre sans Rimmel, sans fer à lisser, sans Special K, sans sa soeur, sans son mec et les lundis soirs ridicules sur son roof qui snobent la ville qui s’endort, le bruit qui s’éteint, le travail du lendemain. Partir loin par besoin de trouver le vrai, le simple, le sauvage, le sens des choses ou son absence.