what we're leaving behind

Another day, another bomb.

This weekend it was all about the piles of trash that weren't picked up by Sukleen. Last week it was a tie between the EDL strike, the STL trial and a blog post by my colleague about how only Christians can save Lebanon. The week before it was also a bomb; or was it the week before that? And there was the Chattah assassination, and the Christmas and New Year traffic and reunions, and the amazing article by Fifi Abou Dib in L'Orient-LeJour describing exactly what it is that we keep losing, as Lebanese.

I'm leaving on Sunday, on a one-way ticket to New York; I don't have a job waiting for me, I'm not one of those lucky many to hold another nationality, I don't have a dad with unlimited money and I don't know what I'm really going to do there, but I know I can't stay here any longer.

And I know very well what I'm leaving behind. It's not the bombs --that are more present on my Facebook feed than in my reality. The bombs will come with me, because every time I hear there was in explosion in Beirut I will frantically try to call my family and friends to make sure they are all ok. It's not the lack of government, or the social segregation, or the power held by Hezbollah, or the sunni/chiite/orthodox/maronite/etc. bullshit that I could never wrap my head around, or the towers of cement growing like mushrooms in Beirut --none of this is what I'm going to miss. It'll all be here when I return, whenever that may be.

What I'm leaving behind is my sister, the person I love most in the world and who I wont be around for every day. I'm leaving my dad, my childhood home, and all the places where the memory of my mother is still alive. I'm leaving my friends, the friends I made when I was just a little girl, going to school in this very neighbourhood where I lived through all of my most important memories. What I'm leaving behind, what we are all leaving behind, is the potential for something great that will unfortunately never be. I have travelled a lot, met many different kinds of people. As a journalist, I've heard and told many stories. And I have yet to see families love each other as they do here; or groups of friends form ties that last longer than anywhere else; or a diversity that I really believe could've made us special in stead of hateful.

What we are all leaving behind are the brave. The young hopefuls who create LiveLoveBeirut to shout out the love; the heroes like Nidal and Kholoud who defy all odds and fight to marry civilly, and have the first secular baby in Lebanon; the activists who fight for children, for the poor, for the sick, for the environment, even though they get no help and no encouragement. And so we go; writers, filmmakers, designers, finance tycoons and doctors and whatever we may be. We go, and we come back for the people we've left behind. In the country we've lost.

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.

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.