time to say goodbye

All good things come to an end. And this is just one of those things.

There are a lot of good things I've watched come to an end that I never wanted to see, but it's taught me to recognize when it's time to cut the cord.

You see, when I started this blog, I was unhappy. I was in a relationship that wasn't working, I couldn't remember any of the things I liked to do, I had no direction in which to pursue my career, I hadn't written in years and I didn't know what to do. And things evolved the way they should: A breakup, which taught me everything I needed to know about myself, my strengths, my expectations of a good relationship. Months of celibacy which helped me have fun again. Peaking my interest in different directions, like charity work, acting, film-making, writing for the screen. Traveling to the four corners of the world, visiting wonderful places from San Francisco to Thailand. Finding out who I am, what I am and how I want to live.

Last year like today, I met the boy who I've come to refer to as my Parisian... and as unexpected as my falling for him was, I have to say I am a really lucky gal. I'm won't overstretch on this, otherwise he'll get a big head, but in fewer words: it's been a full year now, and I am happier than ever. Because not only am I happy in love, I can now confidently say that I know what I want from my life.

So here I am, finally setting off to be what I've always wanted to be: a writer. I have decided to take a year off, move to Paris --because what better place to write than in the city that inspired the greatest writers in the world?

And so it is time to start a new chapter of my life. I am writing the closing lines to what has been an amazing experience and I am so excited to see what is ahead.  It is all thanks to the readers I've had following me through every post, hugging me on street (I swear, it's happened), telling me that what I write means so much to them, and giving me faith in my words. And now I'm ready to put those words on real pages.

So this isn't the last you'll hear from me, that's a promise.

Beirut, I'm sorry.

Dear Beirut,

I have to admit, I’ve given up on you many a times. I’ve insulted you, I’ve cursed you, I’ve tapped my feet in exasperation against you, I’ve yelled out my window at you, I’ve made fun of you, I’ve been ashamed of you, and I’ve hated you.

Even yesterday, I hated you. But today… what can I say, today?

Today I realize that whether I like it or not, whether I care to admit or not, I am part of you. And what’s worse, is that you, Beirut, are part of me.

Today I walked through the streets of Achrafieh, streets I’ve walked through my whole life. And they were darkened by evil. They were wrapped in smoke, stained with blood, screaming in fear. And I realized as I walked in front of these places where I order my food every other day, watching them sweep the broken glass from their windows just barely an hour after the blast, was that they were the places I knew the most. Because as much I love the streets of New York, Paris or Florence, they are not my streets. Not like the sidewalk where I had my first car accident with my mother 23 years ago. Not like the roads I went to school on every single day, not like the place I had my first kiss or where I smoked my first cigarette or the café where I spent hours and hours hanging out with my friends. Today, it was Achrafieh. The hospital where I was born was filled with more than 50 victims of a vicious crime. The same Achrafieh that just over a month ago, we celebrated with no cars and the most amazing sense of community. Today this Achrafieh, the neighborhood where I have spent most of my life, was blown up to pieces.

And you know what? I was blown to pieces too. Which is incredible because I really truly thought that I was over you. That my heart wouldn’t skip a beat. But I was wrong.

Today, I heard a sound that took me back seven years ago when I was an AUB student and Rafik Hariri was killed just a few hundred meters away from my campus. It took me back to 2006 when our city crumbled under Israeli fire. It took me back to those nights as a child, when the whole family was huddled up in the corridors and we lived by candlelight… And it seems like so long ago that I sometimes wonder if I dreamt it. But I didn’t dream it. I was there. Here. This is where I was born, where I went to school, where I made my friends, where I fell in love, where my mother is buried, where my home is. And even if I hate it, even if I wish I had another passport twenty-times a day, even if it drives me crazy, it’s my city. I’m a Beiruti. I’m an Achrafieh born and bred woman and whatever I am, in some way, has got to be impacted by you Beirut.

And so, I wanted to say that I’m sorry.

I wanted to say that even though I hate you, I love you. Because that’s just the way it is with things we really love. And I wanted to say that I hope, when I see a crowd spontaneously gather with candles to honor their neighbors, that we can get the chance to treat you right. To love you better. To have you always.

Yasmina.

Leap of faith

I was glued to my TV yesterday my heart beating and my eyes wide open, watching as Felix jumped from the edge of space, wondering why anyone would attempt to this. Jumping at 40km from earth in an astraunaut suit, risking your life, why exactly?

And then I watched him land. And I realized how incredibly amazing these five minutes must have been for him. For the rest of us, it was just another five minutes. Many of us spent it watching him on television, or on our laptops, tweeting and facebooking and flooding the blogosphere with his name. "What did you do today?" I asked my friend who was lying on his couch, feet up, laptop on his chest, TV in the background, and I knew that's what he must've been like all day. And what did Felix do?

He risked his life, yes, just to break a record and do something no human has ever done before. And these five minutes were probably more thrilling than a hundred years of someone's else's life. That's what I'm taking from this.

You see, lately I've been in a rut. It feels like I wake up everyday to the same damn routine and it's like I'm waiting for something to change but at the same time I'm not really doing anything to change it.  And I've been having this conversation with so many of my friends lately that I know I'm not the only one who feels stuck that way. I realize it's hard. You have a job, you have a salary, you have a certain way of life and even if it doesn't make you happy, the idea of losing that salary scares the shit out of us. What if whatever we try doesn't work? What if we're not as "special" as we'd hope to be? Well, what is special about someone like Felix isn't that he is built differently than the rest of us humans that he can physically withstand a 1000km/hour speed. It's that he has the willpower and the courage to just do it. Even if the risk is death.

What I also came to realize is if I don't take a risk, if I don't jump 40km of my own edge and take a leap of faith, then I could very well live another 50 years stuck in a rut, waiting for something to happen to me. And that's not how I want to live.

two years of Rhapsodies

It feels like it went by in a flash and I wasn't even sure that I had actually accomplished anything in the last 12 months until I started thinking about it for the blog. Turns out I did okay. I think.

Let's see... Went to Cyprus for a week of delectable vacation, doing nothing but lazying around the beach of Paphos with a bunch of girls. Turned off my phone, stopped checking email, didn't go on Facebook. Remembered what it was like to think about nothing. Shot season 2 of Beirut I Love You. Acting, Casting, Writing. Realized being on a film set is my favorite kind of "workplace". Had my first on-screen kiss. Helped organize a fundraiser that raised more than 400-thousand dollars for children. Wore a (borrowed) designer dress (for the first time) by Reem Acra. Felt like a famous actress walking on the red carpet. Lost my uncle to Cancer a week later. The same exact kind that killed my mother. Met a boy by asking him for a lighter. Had a one-night-stand that never remained as "one night". Went to Thailand with the boys and their girlfriends. Walked on the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. Spent New Year's in a bar with Thai prostitutes/dancers and had my first midnight hug with one of them. Came back to my new crush and started falling in love. Fell in love. Started learning Italian on my iphone. Went to New York for the first time in almost 4 years. Hung-out with one of my best friends in his Brooklyn apartment. Went to my 5-year Grad School Reunion. Did Bikram Yoga at my old Union Square studio. That's yoga in a 45-degree room for those of you unfamiliar with it. Visited Paris for the first time since I was 8 years old. Went to see the old apartment we used to live in. Saw a friend I've kept in touch with but haven't seen in 19 years. Went to the opera for the first time in my life. Did Romantic Paris with my Parisian. Watched Game of Thrones, Dexter, Breaking Bad and Six Feet Under. Won best foreign film at the Beverly Hills Film Festival for "Anoesis." Had two films showing at the Short Film Corner of the Cannes Festival. Quit my job. Got a new one. Celebrated my brother's high-school graduation. Watched my sister get her diploma for finishing her BA. Went to Italy for 2 weeks. Rome, Venise, Bologna, Portovenere, Cinque Terre, Florence. Drove on the Italian highway. Took a 2 hour hike in jungle-like terrain with sandals on. Did the cheesiest thing ever and wrote our names on the"via del' amore". Helped my best-friend/back-up plan pick out an engagement ring. Celebrated my younger cousin's engagement. Went to my prom date's wedding last weekend.

Today I'm at exactly 9 months with my Parisian. 38,875 views on the blog. 128 posts. And two years of Rhapsodies.

"Anoesis" Short Film

                      "Saudade" Short Film

             Hanging out with one of my best-friends in NYC

                Hiking from one Cinque Terre to Another

                   Lazying around the beach in Paphos

 My sister's Graduation

                                 My brother's graduation

                          Writing our names on "Via del Amore"

great expectations

At the very beginning of a relationship, everything seems fun. Nothing the other person does bothers us, we enjoy the time we spend together and we try to make each other happy.

Then, somewhere along the way, something snaps. What used to be a fun, casual, happy relationship turns into this constant stress because we don't know how to make each other happy anymore, we want the other one to make the efforts, we fight about silly things but we can't help it because they bother us so much that we can't control our urge to fight. We spend time together but instead of  enjoying it we spend it talking (or arguing) about everything we think is wrong, or bad in our relationship, and we end up unhappy, frustrated, unsatisfied.

Basically what happens, in my humble opinion, is that we go from no expectations to high expectations. When one first starts dating, he doesn't expect anything. So everything that comes is a good addition, a good surprise. Then, we fall into the "efforts" phase and that's always a rocky one.

Sometimes I think it's good to stop, halt, and take the time to remember that even though we're a couple, we're in love, we're "different" than all the others, we are still two people. And by that I mean that even if we'd like to believe that we are"one" we are not, in fact, one. We are two. Hence the term "we." And it's hard enough to find someone who we like to share our time with, with whom we get along most of the time and who makes us laugh --so, we should be lenient if that person doesn't want to do exactly what we want to do at the exact time we want to do it, or if that person turns out not to be able to read our minds (crazy, huh?) or if that person isn't in the mood we'd like them to be in.

Bottom line is: expect less, be happier.

Just my two cents.

all cynicism aside

Last night, I officially lost my back-up plan.

And by that I mean that my best-friend, who, coincidentally, is also my first kiss, first "boyfriend," first love, first guy I ever received a gift from (a pepsi can when I was 8) and first boy I ever gave a Valentine's to (a red heart-shaped cardboard with heart-shaped pasta glued on it, when I was 10), has officially proposed to his girlfriend of 5+ years. In our late teens, we had said that if we were both single at 28 (which seemed like centuries away at the time), then we would be each other's back-up plans. But he beat me to it! A few months ago we had dinner and he told me "I'm giving you 3 months notice." That was code for: I'm going to propose.

And so last night, at around 11pm, I get a phone call saying he did it. And the best part? He was so excited! In a matter of minutes, I was gathered with my boys and the latest addition to our circle, his lovely fiancee. And for one night, as they told us the tale of the big proposal, and as we watched him tell us the details with his eyes beaming with joy, we were all so genuinely happy for him.

Same was that feeling on Sunday night, when we partied until the wee hours of the morning, celebrating my beautiful cousin's engagement. Her smile and excitement made me forget all about my fears of eternal commitment, my criticism of modern day marriage, my statistics about divorce rates and my theories about love in the 21st century. It was just a happy moment, and it was as genuine as they get.

All and all, it was a good week for love. And, all cynicism aside, whatever we each choose for our lives, I hope we all get that moment of happiness. 

speak your mind, woman

There's something I've been learning to do this year that's changed the way I am in a relationship, and that is: say what I mean.

It might seem odd for a man to read that. Say what you mean? You mean you lie in a relationship?

No. I don't lie. But us women, we have this tendency to not say what mean. We think we're saying it (with our tone, with our body language, with our eyes, etc.) but men tend to just hear the words coming out of our mouth.

Let's take this for example:

Thursday Night, 8pm.

Guy "You know what, I don't feel like going. Just go without me."

Girl "Oh. Ok. [Pause] Fine." Loud expiration through the nose.

Guy "Are you upset?"

Girl "No. [Yes] Why would I be upset? [Of course I'm upset you idiot. You just ditched me last minute and now I have to go alone and everyone is going to ask me where you are and I would really enjoy it a lot more if you come with me and why the hell can't you make an effort for me, I would go if it was the other way around.]

Guy "Great then. Have fun!"

They hang up the phone. Now here's what happens: Guy thinks Girl is perfectly fine* with him not going [more on that later], orders a burger, watches Lord of the Rings or a Football match, and doesn't think about it twice. Girl, on the other hand, gets dressed and goes out, all the while starting to simmer negative thoughts [I can't believe he just ditched me to stay home and watch Basketball, he never wants to spend time with me, I always have to beg him to come out, why is football more important than me...] She's out, trying to have a good time but ends up complaining about Guy who didn't come, checks her phone every ten minutes expecting an apology message, gets even more furious because she doesn't get one. By the end of the night, she's so angry she calls him throwing a million accusations his way and he doesn't know what hit him. They fight, go to bed angry, and no one really knows why.

Now, here's the truth*: Guy probably (I'm giving some the benefit of the doubt, depending on the situation) knows that Girl is upset for him not accompanying her. he could hear it in her tone, but chooses to ignore it because, hey, she said she was fine. If she was upset she should've just said so. Here's a hint Girls: Just say so. He wont have an excuse for not knowing you're upset if you say you're upset. Guys always say they "can't read out minds." Fine. Tell them what you're thinking then!

Here's how the conversation could have gone:

Guy "You know what, I don't feel like going. Just go without me."

Girl "Oh. Ok. [Pause] Fine." Loud expiration through the nose.

Guy "Are you upset?"

Girl "Yes. Why is staying at home more important than coming out with me?"

Guy "Sorry babe, I just really don't feel like going out tonight. I'm tired and all I want to do is sit back and watch TV. If you finish early, come over and join me on the couch."

Girl "Fine. Though I'm really not happy to be going alone."

Guy "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

Girl smiles even though she doesn't want to. Guy hears it. She goes, has fun, doesn't obsess about why Guy didn't come and maybe ends up joining him later for a little cuddling.

Basically overall a much better situation.

Sometimes we think we're avoiding a fight by not saying what we mean, but the truth is we're just putting it off until we explode and he doesn't get it. Even if you do get into a fight, it will be much easier to resolve on the spot and just move on.

Moral of this story: Women, speak your mind.

no such thing as perfect

I realized something today. Well actually I realized it many times before but as I've been trying to come up with a smart blogpost everyday for the past week and still haven't come up with anything, I asked myself what exactly I was trying to write about anyway.

I mean, every day I browse dozens of articles on Huffington Post (they have sections on women, weddings, divorce...) I read blog posts from different people of different ages and different places, and I have at least 8 or 9 books at home also on the very same topic; in recent weeks, I've interviewed couples on the realities of marriage and I talk about this with anyone who cares to to hear different perspectives and different takes and try to boil it down to something concrete. Something useful. I'm talking about the recipe for a good relationship, of course.

And am I better girlfriend for it? I don't think so. You see what I noticed is that everyone has their own kind of relationship and you know what? There's just no labeling it. The other day I read a post on open relationships and although in some way it seems like a smart solution to the modern couple, it is also impossible for me to actually imagine having it. But then again, when a gay friend of mine explains to me that wanting and having sexual intercourse with men other than his boyfriend has absolutely nothing to do with his love for him and their relationship, I understand it. I even accept it. Although I would never accept it for me. And all these questions we try to find answers to: should we move in together? I mean statistically is that better or worse for your couple on the long run? Because I read an article that confused the hell out of me and all I got from it is that it works for some people and doesn't work for others... Big surprise. Well what about marriage? How soon is too soon? Can we have a baby without getting married? Look at Angelina and Brad --it took 6 kids from 4 different countries before she agreed to wear a ring. But then again if you do that in Lebanon than your child will be registered as a bastard and society as a whole will "frown upon" you.

I look around and see the people surrounding me and I honestly can't compare my relationship to any of theirs. Although the patterns are similar and the feelings are similar, it's never like 2+2. So what's the point, right? If none of us have the same story and if advice doesn't apply to everyone, then why read books and why write this blog? I think that by sharing, we learn more about ourselves. We take the things that do apply and adapt them the way we see fit. Trial and error and tears, and maybe you'll end up with your own recipe. Just note that you'll probably have to change it with the next person in your life.

got one!

I was browsing through Pinterest and saw this:

Funny.

But more seriously: oh so true. I mean the relief of every bride out there telling herself that "phewww, I got one" is palpable. Just like the stress of unmarried girls between the ages of 25 to 35 is one you can cut through with a knife. And the social pressure of it all makes it so that if you are 27, not at all "stressed" about ending up a "spinster" and without the hint of a white dress on your mind, everyone else around you makes it so that you will be stressed, one way or another. I went to Italy with my Parisian for two weeks and at least 4 people asked me if he had proposed. No, he didn't propose. We've only been together 7 months. He doesn't even believe in marriage, and frankly, neither do I, I would only get married to have kids.

But there it is: the stress factor. So did you get one yet? Or are you going to end up alone for the rest of your life? Well I don't mean to be the Grinch that stole weddings, but seriously, "getting one," even on paper, even on holy scriptures, it really doesn't mean that you wont end up alone anyway.

Take this for example: the other day I was sitting with three women: my aunt, my dad's girlfriend and my uncle's girlfriend, and they were telling me how: one of them was married at 19 and divorced by the time she was my age (27), the other was the last of her friends to be married (at 30) and the first to be divorced (at 32), and my dear aunt who got married at 31 lost her husband to Cancer 8 months ago, making her a widow at the ripe age of 53, and has to spend the rest of her life alone, even though she had a good one. But, my dad and his girlfriend have been together for 10 years now, and they might very well be together for the rest of their lives, and yet they don't feel the need to get married at all. It's like once you're passed a certain age, and you've already been divorced, then no one will pressure you about it.

Well, I say no pressure from the start. Seriously, I mean, if you want to get married and believe it's the right thing for you, then by all means, have your perfect day and hopefully a happily ever after marriage. But for all the others, I really believe we need to tone down the social pressure. It no longer makes any sense in this day an age and honestly, it breaks more couples (and morale) than it makes brides and grooms. Women start pressuring their significant others because they are pressured by their moms, dads, aunts, sisters, and because they see all their girlfriends getting married and they don't want to be the last one to go --it makes them feel like they failed the pre-set story board of life, that's been told to them ever since they were little girls. And men also feel the pressure from their girlfriends and their parents and they might end up proposing even if it's not really what they want or what they are ready for. And then what happens? Divorce rates in Lebanon have risen from 13% in 2000 to 20% in 2011, and that's only considering religious marriages. I have two divorced friends and they're not even 30 years old.

I think you only really "get one" if you've spent ten, fifteen, twenty years of your life as a couple and still want to be together. I think you deserve a huge party and a wedding and fireworks when you've made it that far, when you've been through thick and thin and stuck together, when life has tried and failed you, and you've both come out on top.

scaredy cat

I'm really not a cat person. And by that I mean that I hate cats. They scare the shit out of me. I don't know why, I can't explain it, but when I see a cat all I think is "run" and when I catch a cat's eyes I get shivers down my spine...

Now my Parisian lives alone in a big apartment on the ground floor of a building in the middle of Achrafieh, with a garden and a balcony that both connect to the streets. A few months ago, he saw pee and excrements on his father's bed --which has a door that opens into the garden, that he must've left open. This happened on more than one occasion. Cats were constantly roaming through his garden then, and he kept trying to scare them away.

Then one day in May, we heard miaowing coming from the garden. It was small, young sort of miaow.  The garden was pitch black and we could barely see a thing, but we kept following the sound until we found a newborn black kitten entangled in the bushes. My Parisian helped it out, trying not to touch it with bare hands so that his smell didn't rub off on it. Once freed, he put him down and we waited for the mother to collect it. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the mother appeared with two other kittens by her side, and they were reunited.

The next day, my Parisian went to Paris for a few days. When he came back, there was no sign of the three kittens or their mother. I was relieved, as I really didn't want cats constantly around me seeing how much they scare me. On a Sunday, as he spent the afternoon cleaning his garden, my Parisian saw something odd in the small fountain: there he found the three kittens, who had drowned.

The very same night, he heard a noise coming from his father's bedroom. He went in there to check, and there he found a female cat who had just given birth to three kittens. In the bedroom! The mother panicked as she saw him and fled the room. He carefully put the kittens on a pillow and placed them outside in the garden for her to collect them, and closed the connecting door.

One morning a few days later, we were walking to the kitchen when we smelt a horrible stench. We looked everywhere for what we were sure to be cat excrements, and finally, after about 10 minutes, hidden under a pillow, was a huge pile of shit on the couch. It was so disgusting I almost threw up. We cleaned up and closed the windows, as it seemed cats came in from everywhere.

Later that day, he heard a sound coming from the living room. And sure enough... there were the kittens! Two of them, not three. Behind a big trunk. Again, he carefully placed them outside, and barred all the doors, all the windows, once and for all.

Now the family of three took refuge in the garden. The two kittens never seemed to leave the garden and the mother come and goes. My Parisian, being a born animal lover, couldn't help but feed them, giving them a box of tuna every morning, and some milk.

This morning, at about 7am, we awoke at the sound of a kitten, miaowing and miaowing and miaowing. We ignored it and went back to sleep. Then, later, when my Parisian went outside to give them their morning tuna, he couldn't find them anywhere. Until he saw one of them completely flattened on its stomach, and the other with an odd foam coming out of his mouth, both looking dead. Or almost. He called the vet and they both concluded that they must have been poisoned, although they don't know how. He carried them in a cardboard box and drove them to the veterinarian, but both of them died.

Kind of disturbingly weird, isn't it?

quitting your job is like breaking up. sort of.

It's my last week at a job I've had for the last two years. It's not the first time I resign, I've done it before, yet there's something about quitting that reminds me of breaking up.

Think about it: staying in a bad job is just like staying in a bad relationship. You've been there a few years, the routine has taken over. It's not exciting and as new as when you first started because, let's face it, you know all there is to know and nothing unexpected ever happens anymore. But you stay because it gives you a sense a comfort, of security. You know you're going to get that pay check at the end of the month just like you know you have someone to watch TV with on Sunday afternoon.

I remember the beginning: I felt like I could change the world. The possibilities were endless and I was avid to learn and give it my all. And then somewhere along the line, I got bored. I stopped making an effort because I wasn't motivated anymore, and slowly but surely, I realized I was unhappy. And once you admit that to yourself, there is no turning back.

And so you start thinking about other possibilities. What else is out there for me? Is there a chance I could find something I'm really going to be passionate about? There's the fear that you wont. That you will not find anything else, just like when you break-up there's that fear that you're making a mistake, that you might never find someone who wants to be with you again. But as the weeks pass, you somber more and more into your unhappiness and decide you must leave even if it's scary. And so you collect all your courage and finally do it. You quit. You break-up. And the relief feels wonderful. The other party might be stunned... many times, they don't see it coming --and many times, they do. In any case, they will try to convince you to stay. They will tell you that it's scary out there, that times are rough, that jobs aren't growing on trees and that there's one man for every seven woman. And you will hesitate, because its human nature.

But most of the time, you will be so proud and relieved that you finally had the courage to end it, that you will not hesitate long enough to change your mind.

You will look ahead and get excited about all the new possibilities.

I spend a lot of time wondering what I'm doing with my life. I ask myself a lot of questions, which you know if you've been reading my blog. And I know I'm not alone because I have these conversations with people around me all the time. It's become harder and harder to make a choice about the future. To commit to one job is like committing to one man. In order to know what you want, you have to explore, change, learn about what you like and what you don't like. And each time it takes you one step ahead in your journey.

Wish me luck in mine!

do a great deal of it

"You do get to a certain point in life where you have to realistically, I think, understand that the days are getting shorter, and you can't put things off thinking you'll get to them someday. If you really want to do them, you better do them. There are simply too many people getting sick, and sooner or later you will. So I'm very much a believer in knowing what it is that you love doing so you can do a great deal of it." Nora Ephron


Today Nora Ephron has died and you might not know who she is but you most definitely have seen her work. She wrote "When Harry met Sally" --need I say more? I, for one, admire this woman who is everything I want to be: a writer, a screenwriter, a journalist, an editor, a director... the only I would add to the list, for myself, would be actor. Otherwise, she had that life policy that I try to remember and apply, even though many a times I fail: know what you love doing so you can do a great deal of it. And if you love a lot things then you should do all of them. 


I find that even if we know that's the way we should live our lives, we tend to get caught up in the midst of bills and day-jobs and routines that sometimes make us forget. I know I forget to write all the time and when I remember, I'm too exhausted to do it. In the mean time though, life happens. Days pass by and there is no way we will ever get them back. So the only thing to do is get on that wheel and try, even if we fail. Even if we're scared. 


In her memory, here are some of my favorite quotes of her:

• "What failure of imagination had caused me to forget that life was full of other possibilities, including the possibility that eventually I would fall in love again" [Nora Ephron, I feel bad about my neck]

• "It’s always hard to remember love -years pass and you say to yourself, Was I really in love, or was I just kidding myself? Was I really in love, or was I just pretending he was the man of my dreams? Was I really in love, or was I just desperate?" [Nora Ephron, I feel bad about my neck]

• "Everybody dies. There's nothing you can do about it. Whether you eat six almonds a day. Whether or not you believe in God. (I Remember Nothing: And Other Reflections)

• "You can't retrieve your life (unless you're on Wikipedia, in which case you can retrieve an inaccurate version of it).” [I Remember Nothing: and Other Reflections]

• "Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim." — '96 Wellesley commencement address

we're moving!

So I've had a great run on Blogger but it's time for me to move on... you can now follow Beirut Rhapsodies on beirutrhapsodies.com


If you follow this blog by email, you might want to subscribe again on the new page so you keep receiving the posts!

And just to wrap this up, here are some of the best comments you guys had to say about my posts!

your thoughts

“I love every one of your posts!! Seriously you make each post so relatable, and even when I can’t relate, you do such a good job of explaining how you feel it makes me feel like I understand. I almost cried in your posts about the anniversary of your mother’s death and the one about your parents’ relationship. Love your blog, I could read your posts for hours you seem like a great person who is strong despite going through so much. Love love love” On there is no merit in loving if everything is easy

“Merci, tu donnes beaucoup d’espoir. Tes chroniques quotidiennes me parlent énormément alors, s’il te plait ne t’arrête pas de nous faire sourire, et rêver avec toi.” On The next best thing

“I feel so touched by this piece. I love your writing and could not stop crying when I read this! stay strong xoxo” On Dear mom,

“You make me laugh and think as always! Awesome work. Here’s to the 200th post” On So, I called in sick

“Me ha encantado el texto. Lo he leído en una mañana un poco fría. Tienes mucha razón… a veces los domingos fueron duros. Gracias por encontrar la buena chispa de la vida. Go ahead Yasmina! Un saludo desde la otra parte del mediterraneo!” On Sundays and oranges

feeding the status quo

I've been writing on this blog for over a year and a half, and sometimes I get terrified by the fact that I have nothing to say anymore. The truth is, when I began, I wanted to find a way to push my writing and get me to write a novel, which is basically my dream.

And I thought, "Beirut Rhapsodies," well that should be fun. I had a bunch of single friends who always had some kind of story about that girl or about that guy, I thought Beirut was this endless source of fun stories that I would always be able to incorporate in my blogs. I was wrong though. After a while, stories run dry.

The problem with this city is that we live in a box. As a person of a certain social class, it is very unlikely that you ever find yourself with people from different social backgrounds. It's not like in other big cities where anyone and everyone find each other uncomfortably close on a subway ride.

In the Beirut I live in, there are clear boundaries and there are walls closing in on us. Everywhere you go, you see the same faces, week after week, month after month, year after year. Someone told me the other day they went to White and "it was the exact same people sitting at the exact same tables" as last year, and that is a scary thought. But it's true. You go to any bar or night-club or rooftop bar --because frankly, there is not much else to do-- and you know exactly who to expect. And then you have the same conversations over and over again. And when you overhear someone else's conversation, you realize that they are talking about the same thing too.

As a writer, you get inspired by other people, by places and encounters. You feed off other people's conversations, you meet someone who will tell you a story, you see something that gives you an idea. Sometimes you just need to take a walk and look at things happening around you to get creative. Other times you just want to sit under a tree in a park and read a book to get your mind flowing. But here we have no parks. And if you take a walk in the street you spend half your time ignoring the idiotic sexual purrs of every other guy passing you by and the other half trying not to get run over. And although some people try, very hard to bring some culture to this country, by opening an art center or by throwing a film festival, it is very unlikely that it will get as much attention as a new fashionista clothing store, another Lebanese designs jewelry shop, or the latest bar in town.

This is what we do here: We take the status quo and we feed it, so that it becomes more snob and more blase, more induced in that heartbreaking comfort zone and more lazy, until we do nothing but try to make enough money to keep a lifestyle we're not sure we enjoy. Our lives revolve around relationships and jobs, and for many girls, about appearance and body image. It is what makes for most of our conversations, except on Sunday when we have a family lunch and someone has the grand idea to talk about politics.

And then we say we have the greatest country in the world. We can infamously "swim and ski" in the same day and the sun is out 9 months a year. But what's the point? We're so beyond closed up there are still people who decide to cross the street when the light turns green. And it's our own fault really. We find excuses for everything: We had 25 years of war goddammit. We need people of action in government in stead of a bunch of grumpy old men who want to settle their own personal scores but we're the ones who can't let go of them and keep them in office. We don't want to learn how to recycle or wear our seat-belts before more important things in the country are taken care of, because what's the point? And it's never, never our own fault.

The bigger problem is, we act the same way with our own lives. We drown in our own comfort zone, we stay safe, we get lazy. We complain but don't do anything about it, hoping someone else will. And secretly also hoping they wont, because change scares us and we're not sure we can handle it.

nothing was different, everything had changed

I know I know I know. Bloggers aren't supposed to disappear for weeks at a time but I swear I have a great excuse...

I went on a trip in the last three weeks that took me a long way back.

It's funny how our past only exists in our memories. I mean we know we lived through all this stuff, we remember it, we have pictures to prove it, but otherwise, it's non-existent. And I realized that by going back to New York after almost four years. I was nervous to go back in a way, even though I was mostly very excited. When I was 16 and I went there for the first time, I remember standing at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, looking down towards the skyscrapers I was seeing for the very first time, I thought to myself: "How can anyone live anywhere else in the world?" And I ended up by moving there and living there for two years. It was the first place I went to build a life of my own, getting my first apartment, getting by without asking money from my dad, learning to be an adult. And I got to do it in one of the greatest cities in the world. And here I was, going back to my city and it turns out, nothing had changed. My favorite Barnes and Noble was still at the same spot, my Bikram Yoga Studio still had the same schedule, the 1 train is still just as disgusting as it always was and Artichoke pizza is still heavenly. I hadn't forgotten my streets and avenues and still knew how to take the subway and buy a metrocard without holding on to a map like a tourist and it felt like I had never left the city at all. Except that I had.

And although nothing was different, everything had changed.

I am not the same 22 year-old roaming the streets of Manhattan listening to "Suddenly I see" on my i-pod. My memory of New York hadn't changed but in the present, it did not feel the same. Suddenly I saw the streets of Manhattan as too busy, too noisy, too crowded. The buildings were too big and the lines were too long. The very things that used to give me energy drained it out of me completely. I'm the one who was different. The last four years of my life changed me.

Then I went to Paris for the first time in 18 years and that was a pretty big leap into the past as well. I lived in Paris from 4 to 8 years old and I really only remember bits and pieces, but I know it feels like another lifetime. It was a time when everyone I loved was still alive, we went to Disneyland for christmas, I was carefree and spoke with a Parisian accent. Again, all I keep from those days are pictures my mother carefully put together. But I went back to our old address and the building was just as I remembered it. I actually recognized it from far as we walked towards it. The gate was still there, the little path leading to the main door just like in mind, and the smell of the wooden stairs which for some reason stayed with me all these years. And the neighbor I used to play with on the 5th floor? Still there too... Except now she has a 2 months old baby.

But Paris was also something new. It was inspiring, with its pink skies and its brasseries. I liked the creek of the wooden stairs even when it was a 6th floor walk-up. I enjoyed sitting on a green bench and watching people go by, going to the Opera for the very first time and having real discussions with people. It made me want to write in Cafe de Flore like Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. It made me want to walk under the rain (and I hate the rain) and kiss my Parisian in the middle of the street, just because.

It made me realize that the past is in my memories and the future something I dream of. The present, however, that's where I'm living.

My favorite Pizza in Manhattan

My first real apartment in New York

Where I lived 18 years ago in Paris

flying solo

I have a fear of flying. It's something I can't control, I can't explain, and I can't get rid of. It wasn't always that way though. I used to fly all by myself ever since I was 7 years old. And I took 14 hour flights 4 times a year and I had no problemo.

But then one day, something happened: I got scared. It was a sudden realization of just how much life hangs by a thread and I'm not ready for that thread to break. I've seen death from many different angles and honestly, I don't want to experience any of it yet. There is so much to life that I haven't discovered, so much I still want to do, I definitely do not want to go down on a crashing plane. I know what everyone says: chances of dying in a car accident are like a million times higher, blablabla. But planes in specific scare me. When you're so many feet off the ground, completely and utterly without control on your own well-being with no way whatsoever to protect yourself, nothing makes me feel more vulnerable. Nothing, except of course life in general. Because even though I only get this sickening fear when I'm flying, the truth is, death is always beyond our control.

Now life, that's something we can choose, change, adapt and transform as we go.

I'm having breakfast in Rome this morning, and tonight, I will be dining in New York.

The last time I was in the city that never sleeps was 3 and half years ago, which seems like a lifetime away. I had packed up my bags and left behind 2 unforgettable years, a time when walking through Fifth Avenue, or Central Park, or near the Empire State building was just another walk I took everyday. Now I find myself filled with anguish, returning to this city I was so in love with as a different person. Maybe New York hasn't changed, but I certainly have. The last time I was there, I was 23 years-old. I was a journalist, fresh off Grad School, and the world was at my feet. I wanted to become the next Christiane Amanpour and use the Middle-East's fucked-up politics as my personal training ground. Then I made choices. Choices that you get to make even if they are sometimes dictated by things we can't control. I made it as a news anchor and head of my own news bulletin but I hated it and I quit my job and changed my career. Now I run an NGO, I write a blog, and in my free time I write and act for a TV/Web series. Basically I find myself nothing like the person I expected to be back then. And I know I'm at a crossroads once again, and that the choices I make in the coming few months may completely change the course of my life. Again. And that's okay. As long as I know I can control it, as long as these decisions are my own, then my life is my own.

I don't know what may happen in that flight I'm about to take (hopefully nothing because I'm just a paranoid freak with plane phobia) --it scares the shit out of me and I have to severely drug myself in order to survive it, but it is my choice to go. The way there might be scary as hell for me, but the destination it worth the risk.

I know they say "enjoy the journey, not the destination." I get it and it's true. I say it too sometimes. But not when I'm flying solo. 

the better story

In films and in books and in romance in general, love at first sight is a big thing. Two people see each other in a crowd, their eyes meet, and they both immediately know that they are meant to be. And I've heard about stories like that in real life. My dad always says he knew the minute he saw my mother outside his high-school that she would be his wife someday. And the other night, my aunt's friend was telling the story of how she met her husband: they were in Paris, she was taking a seminar and he was teaching it. She dropped her pen on the floor and he picked it up for her, and their eyes met. She immediately told her friend "I have the strangest feeling this man is the man of my life." And they've been married twenty-years or so now. 

These stories are great. They make us all dream and smile, and hope for the kind of love that you see in "The Notebook" which makes every girl cry her eyes out. 

What's funny though is that many a times, these words have been said and things did not work out --so they're quickly forgotten. If things had worked out, the story would be told on every rooftop. My friend Rebelious got engaged 6 months after meeting her boyfriend, because "they just knew." They were married another 6 months later and at their wedding, he told the story of how the night they met, he told his friend that this is the girl he was going to marry. And he did marry her. But then they got divorced two years later. So much for a romantic story.

I'm not trying to poke holes into wonderful romance. I love these stories. I just think they trap us in these little boxes and make us feel like that's what we should look for, someone we're just going to look at and know within minutes that he's the one. I don't believe that anymore.

I think I was in love once or twice before. And each of these times, I had decided that I was "in love" almost instantly. In love with someone I didn't even know. Now I am convinced this comes from watching too much Cinderella and the Little Mermaid as a child, because how someone can love a person they know nothing about now seems completely absurd to me. You're in love with someone first and then you get to know them? And you find out what they're like and you have to accept them with all their faults because you already decided you love them. You love what, exactly? 

Love at first sight now seems  like a recipe for disaster. You meet someone, fall in love, have a picture of them in your mind and what happens next, in most cases, is that they keep disappointing you --they don't live up to that image. They are not want you wanted them to be, and once the infatuation wears off and you realize it, it only goes downhill from there.

And then you meet someone one day, and you don't expect anything. He makes you laugh maybe, something peeks your interest, but wedding bells aren't ringing in your ears, and you haven't pictured what your three children are going to look like within an hour of meeting him. You just meet him. And spending time with him is what makes you want to spend more time with him. And suddenly you find yourself surprised by the way he is. Good surprised. You didn't build-up an image, he builds it for your, little by little. You discover each other and the more you learn the more you like. And I think that's a better story.

the next best thing

Yesterday was mother's day and for the first time in eleven years, I wasn't sad. Of course I miss my mother, like I miss her every day. But I was so much closer to her yesterday than any other year I spent curled up in my corner afraid to look at all those people buying flowers for their mothers. I always thought the only time I would ever enjoy mother's day again would be when I would become a mother. Turns out I just had to change perspectives. 

I woke up drowned in kisses from my Parisian which immediately put a smile on my face. Then I went to the spa to enjoy an hour-long facial something where they put cream after cream on your face and massage your head and all you have to do is lie there and close your eyes and enjoy it --if I can't send my mother to the spa, why don't I just treat myself to it? 

Then I called my sister, and unfortunately, she was not in the same mood as me, so I decided to take her out to lunch. There's this adorable new diner in Mar Mikhael I knew she would love and we stuffed ourselves with burgers and fries and I spotted her smile. If I can't take my mother out to lunch in a place named after the diner in Grease (one of her favorite movies) then taking my sister is the next best thing.

She then took me to a place called Karout, where you buy anything you can think of for very reasonable prices and we spent two hours there buying things for this crazy brunch I'm throwing on Sunday. It was fun because it was the kind of outing I would love to do with my mom and it just so happens that it's also great to do with my sis. When we left, we got sort of lost and had no idea where we were, got stuck in terrible traffic, and I started getting worried that we would never make it on time to visit my mother at the cemetary. And sure enough... three minutes later, we find ourselves across the street from it!

Later that day, we drove up, my brother, my sister and I, to Baadat, where my aunt lives. You see, she lost her husband about three months ago and so we decided together with her 3 daughters that we would do something special for her. We got there before she came back home and prepared a nice dinner for her, put her favorite flowers (Mimosas) all over the house, and waited to surprise her. And when she saw us, she cried of happiness. If I can't celebrate my mother and shower her with dinner and flowers, then I can do it for the only other woman who has known me my whole life and loves me unconditionally.

And now I'm sitting here and writing this and all I can do is smile because I know that through everything I did yesterday, through everything I do every day, I celebrate my mother. I don't need to be sad or cry to miss her. I can just channel it in a positive way. I can enjoy the next best thing.