What I do have

It's the end of the year. A difficult year for me, but a very fruitful one. One that made me extremely sad but also left me richer in so many ways.
We spend so much of our lives  focusing on what we don't have, but I want to think about what I do have for once --new year's resolutions coming up and all...

I don't want to talk about the fact that I'm ending the year with no job and no boyfriend, but rather, that I am free to go in any direction I want right now. I dont want to talk about the fact that don't have any money left in my bank account and no plan to make any for the first time in 8 years, but rather that for the first time in so long, I feel free of the constant worry that I need to make enough money to live.

I have friends. The best one could ever wish for. When I was 11 and 12 years old, I didn't have any friends and I used to hide out the fact that I was all alone by hiding in the school library at recess every day. Now I have friends I couldn't live without. Not just obe but many and I know it's one of the best things to have in life. Boyfriends come and go but friends are always there, with a blue couch for me to cry on. Better yet, they take you out dancing, they let you crash their apartment in new york for a month, they knock sense into you with tough love when you need a slap on the face and they sit entire  days with you without saying a word when you need them close by.

I have siblings. A brother and a sister whom I love more than anyone in this world, and I know this must be the thing my mother is most proud of. When I was a kid she used to work very hard to get me to appreciate how beautiful brotherhood can be. Yeah it wasn't always easy to be the elder sister with no mom around when they were growing, but today they look at me with so much love that  makes it so worth it.

I have a country that breaks my heart, but at least I have one. Yeah I hate the fact that I don't have another passport but the truth is, this countrsfcwy wouldn't break my heart if I didn't love it. And has so many of the people I love in it. And has the streets and houses and places where all my memories are.

I have my freedom. No one ever made me practice a religion I didntt believe in, no one ever tried to make me do something I didn't want to do. My father isn't strict about the way I live my life and I do whatever I choose to do, which is incredibly lucky.

And I have my story. Whatever happened this year,  whatever I lost, I gained something else for it in return. And the good thing is, I'm taking all of these things into 2014 with me.

why I haven't been able to write a word

I've been back from New York almost 3 weeks now. I'm currently not working which means I have lots and lots of free time, all to myself, with nothing to do but sit at my computer and write. Or so you would think.

I've sat down and opened Beirut Rhapsodies and tried to work on a new post --wrote something, read it, realized it was very "blah". Left it in the "drafts" folder and forgot about it.
I've tried to work on the story that I came up with when I was in New York, a really exciting project for a novel that I absolutely can't wait to get started on, yet I haven't been able to do anything about it since I've been here.

Every day I've woken up and told myself that today, I would get back to my active lifestyle and go to yoga. I check the schedule, pick the class I want to attend --and then don't end up going. I spent the last two weekends on my best-friends' blue couch, because it's my comfort zone: we each sit on a side, watch some ridiculously mind-numbing TV series and let the day go by.

When it rained last week (superstorm Alexa really wasn't that bad, was it?) I hid under my covers and listened to the honking cars outside, imagining the traffic and feeling delighted that I was completely avoiding it.

So what the hell is happening? Everything I'm describing is me at my most passive behavior. No inspiration to write when it's all I should be doing. But I recognize this feeling. It's me being in Beirut. I get sucked in this black hole of no motivation and no creativity, and the only thing I've actually been able to write about is just this: nothingness.

The truth is, I'm a dreamer. I don't like to feel insignificant, in my little life, driving my little car, running errands and taking way more instagram pictures than I should have time for. So I've been hiding.

But I want to come out now.

little bits of happy

Maybe I'm feeling particularly sentimental because I'm leaving New York tomorrow, but I feel like writing this down.

I've had so many small bits of happiness in the last few weeks here, I had forgotten how much there is that is wonderful with the world. I should be more down, I guess, since I don't have a job to go back to and I just broke up with my boyfriend... But the truth is, I feel good.

Happiness isn't just about having a man in your life or having a great job and making lots of money. Turns out there are thousands of ways to feel bits of happiness.

For me, it comes with walking around the streets of New York and suddenly looking up, and for a second realizing the size of the world. It's spending a night with one of my best-friends playing like 12 year-olds making a music video for a Lady Gaga song and having so much fun doing it. Or going to a store and trying on a dress and feeling you look hot in it. It's going to Bikram Yoga when I haven't been in a year, and having the possibility to go any day I want (turns out, not that many!). It's listening to pandora (even though my friend says it's outdated and I should use spotify, I haven't been able to use pandora since 2008 and I've missed it!) and finding yourself dancing alone...

I'm going to be honest --because it's the whole point of this blog. Last year when I said goodbye on this blog, I thought I was moving on to bigger and better things. Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out the way I planned. I didn't get in the screenwriting program I applied to, I didn't move to Paris like planned, I broke up with my boyfriend and found myself lost and back at point zero. But very quickly, I decided to take my life in my own hands, and I bought a ticket to New York. Best decision I ever took. In Beirut, it was like I was waiting for my life to start. Like I was on pause and just watching the time pass by. But here, I feel alive. And suddenly, I feel like I have all my answers.

If I'm unhappy in Beirut, I should just move. Even if it seems complicated because of my Lebanese passport and visas and all the shit that comes with it, I have to just try. I realized that when the Polish housekeeper came over the other day: she doesn't speak a word of english, she wasn't as lucky as me in terms of education, she also isn't as lucky as me in terms of financially ability, and yet she is here. She tried and found a way to make it work. She took a risk; why can't I? People do it every day.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote in a post that I was going to start doing a lot more things for myself, and I've actually started doing it: Buy a dress that makes me look (and feel) sexy, even if it's outrageously expensive (I think of it as an investment in my self-esteem). Have entire days to myself, where I don't have to do anything I don't want to do, or see anyone I don't want to see. Dare to dye my hair kind of blond to see if they actually do have more fun.

And, best of all: I got an idea for a story. When I started Beirut Rhapsodies 3 years ago, I said it was my way of getting back into writing, because all I want to do is write a really good novel. And now, I finally feel like I have my story. I know exactly what I want to write about, and I can't wait to get started.

All this to say that sometimes things don't work out as we planned --but if we just open up, even a little, a whole new world of possibilities appears. Sometimes, you just have to take one big step, and the rest happens on its own. Like this quote from a book I'm reading: "Fret not where the road will take you. Instead, concentrate on the first step. Once you take that step let everything do what it naturally does and the rest will follow. Do not go with the flow. Be the flow." (Elif Shafak, 40 Rules of Love)

So here's what's next on my list: move to New York.

how technology is changing the way we date

And I thought the time of MIRC was rough. That awful year in 1999 when I'd wait for dial-up internet connection (we all knew the sound it made by heart) and join these chat rooms with weird names like "blue flower" and ask people "asl" because that was the "new" language, the internet language --asl standing for "age, sex, location" in case you forgot.

It was supposed to be cool. I remember I was 13, but always pretended I was 16, because that's how old the girls were in that movie "Clueless" and those girl were super cool.

But in those days --it was the easy stuff. Nothing like 2013. I can't even count the number of methods you have for tracking someone down now... Monitor their whereabouts, through Facebook pictures and trip-advisor reviews. Read what they read from what they share on twitter or their newsfeed. Listen to the same music through Spotify and FB, of course (basically with Facebook you can do everything but appear on their screen and jump them...)  But not just that... You can actually tell the number of hours they waste in the day by tracking their "last seen on" update on whatsapp. Now how creepy is that?

So, to sum it up --not only are you supposed to watch your behavior when you're out on a date or on the occasional phone call, but you also have to watch yourself when you're talking to friends on Whatsapp (what if you don't want him to know you're awake? No seriously?) or when you're liking something because FB will record the exact time you did it (why? who cares if I liked it a 1:46PM?)... And you now have to make sure every picture everyone has ever taken of you looks amazing because you never know what will end up on Facebook... It's just so much to think about! I mean, there was this guy who liked every Instagram picture anyone I knew ever posted, and we all thought "boy this guy has a lot of time on his hands" --so yeah, I'd say people notice and judge you for your social-network behavior too. Funny, no?

What is crazier? The other day I got a Facebook inbox-message from a guy I was newly seeing and imagine my surprise when at the top of that message, there appeared a message I wrote, wait for it... on March 27th 2007, at 8:22pm --basically when I was 22 years old and still living in Manhattan, I apparently had wrote him a message that went unanswered. Did I remember ever writing that? No. Did he remember ever reading it? No! Yet Facebook did a great job reminding us, and sort of helping him get points 6 years later... Do you know how embarrassing it is to re-read something you wrote 6 years ago?

But then there are the good thing about all this technology. Like how easier it makes it for my two friends who are crazy about each other but living in different countries --at least, they have Viber. And Skype. And Facetime. They can send each other videos and audio-notes on Whatsapp. They can somehow manage to share their days with each other, as much as technology permits them to.

In 1949, my grandparents met at a summer hotel in Lebanon. But after the summer, my grandfather returned to Cairo and my grandmother to Beirut. For seven years, they exchanged letters. Sometimes, they would go months without any news from each other. Months. Not minutes or hours like we count them now. They had to wait for the mailman. How amazing is that? If my grandmother was here now, I'd love to ask her how she thinks all this technology would have affected her long-distance relationship with my grandfather.

Of course, whether we like it or not, it's happening. This new way of dating, of connecting with other human beings, there is nothing we can do to change it. Yet I feel lucky I had the chance of knowing a bit of both worlds. I'll have to remind myself to write my children letters one day, so they get to experience it too.

the "nice" girl syndrome

I have been repeatedly accused of being a nice girl.

You would think that it's a good thing, to be considered nice, but of course it's not. It's like the worst thing you can be called. Like when you ask about someone and the answer is "she's nice", you know there's not that much else to say.

Except that I know for a fact that there is more to me than the whole nice girl aura. But as soon as there is too much niceness, people wont see much else anymore. I've studied the freakin' rule book by heart: men love the chase, yes, it's been written countless times and proven and said by so many men and women that I've lost track. God forbid you should ever let your guard down and not challenge a man for ten minutes.

In long term relationships, it translates as the girlfriend who is too convenient, too caring, too available. A man can love you, worship you, want to spend the rest of his life with you and suddenly, because you're having a bad time and you are unable to hold up the whole "I'm a mysterious woman who can leave you at any second" role, he can just let you go because --well, it's just not exciting anymore. I'm guilty as charged, I'll admit it. I have a hard time following the bitch-persona because it's just not who I am. I've tried and failed. And then I think about all these successful relationships around me and wonder, do all these women have an ability which I obviously lack, or do I just date men who require an unreasonable level of "challenge"?

In the dating world,  the nice girl appears as the girl who is too agreeable, too "into him", and again, too available. A man can find you hot, smart, interesting, yet you can turn him off just by sending one too many messages that just make him feel too comfortable about having you right where he wants you. How boring.

Now while a man is having this permanent need to be challenged, the woman is supposed to satiate his needs by being perfect: the perfect amount of presence and the perfect amount of indifference; the perfect amount of sexiness and the perfect amount of working-woman; the perfect amount of nights out with friends versus the perfect amount of nights spent together. We should just all write down the list and stick it on our refrigerators, pencil in the perfect amount depending on the guy we're dating and refreshing it every month as the relationship evolves. You know, just to be sure we're not missing anything.

Maybe I've got this all wrong --I wouldn't be surprised. After all, I have been dumped countless times for the same reason (yes, too nice is a reason for men to break up with you) and so I'm obviously not very good at learning from my mistakes. Unless of course, I switch perspectives. What if I'm a nice girl --with myself?

I grew up in a house where taking care of others was a pre-requisite. And it somehow settled in my DNA. When my mother died I was 16 years old --but my sister was 11, and my brother was 7. I've read somewhere that people who grow up taking care of others develop this thing called "the need to be needed." I catch myself doing it sometimes, with my friends, with my siblings who are adults now and can take care of themselves, and of course, with men in my life. And the constant advice I receive, is that if I was just as "nice" to myself as I am to others, then maybe I can finally beat this thing.

So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to make a list of things I'd like to do for myself before the year ends, and will document it, here on Beirut Rhapsodies. And we'll see how well that works out.

a love letter from the grave

Love letters. Something that seems improbable to get today, in the age of email, sms, whatsapp, audio-notes and skype. Just a mere 60 years ago, it was the only way my grandparents kept in touch in the seven years in between meeting and getting married, when one lived in Beirut and the other in Cairo. Without these letters, I probably wouldn't even be here.

So what's better, in 2013, than getting a love letter, in an envelope, written with ink on a paper? I'll tell you --it's finding a letter that my mother wrote my sister 14 years ago, and realizing that it is timeless. The love of a mother, it seems, can overcome the fact that she passed away almost 13 years ago.

Today, my sister got a new tattoo: she took my mother's words from the letter, in my mother's handwriting, and had them tattooed on her arm. Now if that isn't love...

I translated the letter here because I thought it was beautiful. And because even though my mother didn't write this to me, I feel like she would've wrote me the same thing.


"To my darling daughter
I am your mom! And I always will be. Know that I love you more than anything in the world. And that I am always here for you, for better or for worse, and never, and I mean ever, be afraid to tell me how you feel and what you want. If there is a problem, we resolve it together, and if there is a happy situation then we will be happy together.
I love you and I wish you all the possible happiness in life. I am sure that with your smile and your kindness you will always get what you want...
Well! I hope you're going to fill this diary with happy thoughts and fun adventures...
I love you!

PS: I'm sure there are a lot of spelling mistakes, but I know you understand me..."

Are we aging or just appreciating?

I know what you're thinking --this girl hasn't written anything in ages and now she's invading my newsfeed with two posts in two days... I'm actually writing this for me more than for you, just because I'm so over-excited that I actually feel like writing and I'm not gonna miss out on it. It's magical that a simple night in is inspiring me to write.

So, last night... Let me give you some background information. I am staying with one of my best-friends, in his New York apartment. We met in journalism school 7 years ago right here in Manhattan and have been quite the inseparable pair ever since --like he said yesterday, I don't think I've ever spent so much time hanging out with anyone else. The year after we went to Columbia, we were both in our early twenties, living in New York, starting our careers... and doing all kinds of crazy shit at odd hours in the city that never sleeps.

And so yesterday afternoon, when he came home from work, I was there waiting to hear all about his day. Keep in mind this is my first night in New York City in about 18 months. He comes home after a long day (he's kind of a famous success story) and we wind down as he is telling me about his day. Then we decide to go out --for juice. Apparently New York has turned into this super health-freak zone in the last few years and everywhere you look there is something organic, detoxing, vegan-related and other things I don't understand yet. So we go to this juice bar, and I follow his lead, order this juice that is supposedly really good for you. Then we walk around the neighborhood for about 30 minutes looking for a liquor store, and I have a brief flashback of us 6 years ago... except this time, we're a going in to buy --wait for it-- ginger cognac. Not wine, not beers, not vodka or even whisky. Ginger cognac.

We get home, kick off our shoes, I start making grilled cheese sandwiches, and he takes out two pairs of those hotel slippers and gives me one. By 9pm, we were eating, drinking ginger cognac and watching The Voice ("because it makes his mind switch off"). An hour later we're both ready to shower and go to bed, and I hear him screaming from the bathroom door: "Yas... Are we aging?"

Truth be told, six years ago, on a random tuesday night, we'd sometimes end up renting a car at 11pm and would find ourselves driving to Atlantic City. So yeah, I guess we are aging. But the absolute joy that comes with spending time with a friend eating grilled cheese, drinking cognac, watching The Voice... it's priceless. Even in New York City.

New York and the Rays of Sunshine

I know it's been months --almost a year actually, but I woke up this morning and all I could think of was I need to write a blog post. So here it goes.

I woke up this morning in New York --the city I first fell in love with when I was 17 years old and made my very first visit to the United States. Since then, I visited New York countless times, lived there for two years and left it with regret. Today I find myself back here, and the feeling of walking down lafayette street on a magical fall morning is just as good as it was the first time, 11 years ago.

I already forgot all about the horrible plane delays, the missed connection, the fact that my suitcase didn't make it and I have been wearing the same clothes for 36 hours... Who cares? I am in Manhattan and the weather is at my absolute favorite: sunny and the perfect amount of cold. 7am and the streets were already alive, people walking their kids to school or walking themselves to work (how amazing to see people walk after so long in Beirut traffic) and I found myself just enjoying gazing at the activity on the street. Morning coffee at the corner barista, with the line of the usual customers ordering their usual cup of coffee, to each their own. There is something about that morning ritual which puts smile on my face. Not just the smell of coffee and the familiar interaction between the customers and their baristas but just the simple fact that people do that here: no one in Beirut stops around the corner for their morning coffee... it comes on a tray to your bed without having to even ask for it.

I stopped by Whole Foods and just enjoyed walking through the aisles of organic spreads, realizing that in Beirut we barely have a few shelves of bio products. I held onto the crispy craft grocery bag walking back home and it's not even 9 in the morning yet I'm having a wonderful day.

Why am I sharing all this? I've had a rough couple of months --not that we don't all go through bad phases but for me it was an especially tough time I was having with myself and I decided I needed a break. Destination New York because it's the one place in the world where I feel totally free. And because I have an amazing friend who is letting me crash his perfect lower east side apartment. I asked for a leave of absence from work --haven't had a break longer than 2 weeks in 7 years and now I am free for a whole month. Just wanted to take some distance and time, regain perspective and regroup my thoughts and plans. Sometimes to find your way back to yourself you need to get out of everything comfortable you know, out of the routine, far from the comfort zone --and just be able to enjoy the little rays of sunshine like New York in the fall, the smell of morning coffee, the noisy streets, and a craft bag of groceries.