Day 5 of my writing challenge

Despite having boarded a flight so many times, I actually haven’t been to very many places at all. I’ve mostly moved back and forth between two or three countries. I’ve visited a few European cities, and a few in the Middle East. A few others here and there but not nearly as much as I should have by now. 

Five places that I can think of right now:

1. Bethlehem – I’ve always been so curious to experience the location and history of Jesus’s birthplace. Not so much for religious reasons but just to find out where such an important and influential figure originated. 
   
   
2. Buenos Aires – I just picture myself tangoing my way through the city. Even though I’ve never tangoed in my life. 
   
   
3. Somewhere I can see the northern lights. I’ve always wanted to go to Norway. I’m fascinated by Vikings. Mostly the way they looked and dressed. Don’t worry, I’m aware I won’t be running into one when I’m there. I just would love to see the nature they lived in. 
   
   
4. Somewhere in the south of France. I want to be in a French village where there’s vineyards and wine and friends. And more wine. 
   
   
5. Italy. Because everything I think of when I think Italy, I want to experience. 

Day 4 of my writing challenge

Yesterday I glanced at Day 4’s writing challenge and I’ve been worrying about it since, which is why I’m posting 1 hour past my deadline. I’ve been staring at my screen, typing words and hitting the backspace button repeatedly. Then I decided to Google search the definition of “inspiration” and Google kindly obliged:

“Inspiration is the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.”

So I thought about it and asked myself: when do I feel most “inspired” to write? And I immediately found myself picturing the cutest 87 year-old rolling her hair as she does every single night without fail. 

My teta, my grandma, has a daily routine. She wakes up. She has her yansoun (anise tea) and kaak. Then she gets dressed for the day – class is key. She sits there so elegantly until it’s noon – one Almaza beer, please. So I drink one with her. Then it’s lunch time. After lunch, we have Turkish coffee for the second or third time that day, depending on how many visitors we’ve had. We talk, we laugh. Then it’s time for her evening shower. She changes into her equally classy robe-de-chambre and starts rolling her hair using hair rollers and pins that I’ve known ever since I can remember her. She does it so that it stays perfectly waved for the next morning. She has her dinner: toast, cheese, and tomato and finally, after watching the news at 8:45 pm, she asks for her evening glass of whiskey. And this is when we really talk. 

She talks about her days in Deir el Qamar, her hometown – when she walked the streets, people stopped and stared at her beauty. I’m not surprised given the Grace Kelly look she had going for her. 

She talks about old Beirut, in peace and in war. 

“عايام بيروت” و “وقت البير كان يروح عالمنارة”

She talks about Albert, how he never let her go to bed upset. She talks about her days at the American School for Girls. 

She talks about being 22 years old and hosting Ain el Abou lunches for prestigious guests like the President – with no prior cooking experience. Being a Deir el Qamar native himself, he named her the “Ambassador of Deir el Qamar in Ain el Abou”. 

“كان يسميني سفيرة دير القمر بعين القبو”

She talks about winters in Ain el Abou during the war – about being accidentally locked out in the snow and having to wait for Albert, my grandpa, to come back from work with the house keys. And somehow she makes that story sound warm. And as she talks, I find myself taking notes of things she’s saying.

So there it is. This woman, who from her stories made even wartime seem beautiful, has and continues to be an inspiration in my life. No matter how lonely it may get for her living alone and only getting to see her children and grandchildren once or twice a year.. No matter how much age takes its toll.. Not one complaint. Just grace. Elegance. Confidence. Inspiration. 

Day 3 of my writing challenge

I find that I always come up with new pet peeves. Someone will laugh and I’ll be like “such a pet peeve of mine”. Someone will say a word and I’ll be like “such a pet peeve”. So it’s safe to say I have way too many and I need to chill. But I can definitely pick my top 3:

1. When someone eats and then casually wipes their hand on their trousers. Please stop! 

2. Chipped nail-polish. I hate it so much. More so on my nails than anyone else’s.

3. Spelling and (major) grammar mistakes. Especially if you’re someone whose job requires you to spell correctly and have proper grammar. For example, if you’re in advertising, please know how to spell and know the difference between “you’re and your” before you go public. If you’re a CEO, please don’t use “affect” when you mean “effect” and vice versa! (P.S. if you’re gonna go check if I’ve made any so far then you’re also a pet peeve!)

And here you have it. My top 3 pet peeves.

If you ask me again tomorrow, it’s highly likely that I’ll have more. 

Day 2 of my writing challenge

“انتي بتحبّي تلاقي شي تكوني زعلانة عليه يا بنت. ليش ما بتعرفي تكوني مبسوطة؟”

مرّة من شي ١٠ أو ١١ سنة، في حدا كتير كنت حبّو وقدرو واتفق معو رغم فرق العمر قلّي هالجملة. هيدا الشخص خسِرناه هو وعم بيكافح ضد مرض ما بيستسلم الّا ما يدَمّر ويربح. ما بعرف ليش بس قريت جملة اليوم تذكرت يلّي قالتلي ياه هالانسانة يلّي الا فقدة اكتر من كبيرة. وما بتذكّر ليش بوقتها قالتلي هيك بس بعرف انّو كتير اوقات بتطن بدينتي هالجملة كل ما كون حاسي حالي متضايقة وبرجع بشد حالي شوي. وبفكّر اديش كانت تعرفني قبل ما أنا اتعرّف عحالي 

يمكن هالجملة بعدا ببالي لأنّو فيها وما فيها. ما بعتبر حالي شخص سلبي. أو عالأقل مش مع غيري. بس ايه كتير سلبية مع حالي. كتير بكسّر بحالي وبتوقّع الأسوَء وعلى طول بقدر لاقي شي مش عاجبني بحياتي وبدّو تحسين أو تغيير. وهيدا الشي كتير بيمتص طاقة منّي وبِتعبني وبتعب يلّي حوليي أكيد. بس كل ما بتذكر هالجملة بجرّب خفّف تفكير وتَعَب وبركّز عالاشياء الحلوة بحياتي وبلاحظ انّو هالاشياء كتار كتير. بس هيك

“You don’t need to always have something to mope about! You know you can be just happy.”

This was something that about 10 or 11 years ago someone – who I absolutely adored, respected and, despite the age difference, could spend time with and truly enjoy it anytime, anywhere – said to me. This person got sick and she lost an exhausting battle against that thing I like to forget exists. Although unfortunately, it more than exists – it invades and insists on destroying everything in sight. Despite that, she fought bravely and it was the last thing I ever thought would happen but it happened.

I’m not sure I remember the reason she said that to me at the time but I know that it still resonates with me to this day, especially when I’m feeling blue and she was right. As soon as I read today’s challenge, it was the first thing that came to my mind. Maybe because it still rings true often. I wouldn’t describe myself as a negative person. Not with others at least. But I am negative with myself. I undermine my successes, I expect the worst (and when I mean the worst, I really mean the worst), and I can always find something in my life to pick on, that can be improved, or that can be changed or eliminated altogether, and not in a healthy way.

Anyway, this post is a bit deeper than I like but this is a challenge after all and I’m trying to be as transparent as I am comfortable to be. When I saw the challenge for today, I thought of what she said to me instantly and thought I’d give this a go. Every time I think of it, I push myself to have a different outlook on life and start to realise the happy. And there is a lot of happy. The end.

Miss you Mich.

Day 1 of my writing challenge

1. Being praised for a job well done at work.
   
2. My wake up call from Freya (my cat) tip-toeing on me every morning.
   
3. Having conversations with my dad in our home in the winter time over wine and escargots.
   
4. Having conversations with my dad in our home in the summer over arak and Lebanese food.
   
5. Just being able to have conversations with my dad really.
   
6. That Thursday (or Friday) end of the week feeling. Every week.
   
7. The narrow streets of London on weekends – the buildings, the people, the rain, the gloominess.. all of it! Especially when I get to see it all through a foggy window from the inside of a cafe or a bar. It warms my heart.
   
8. Arriving at Beirut airport and making my way to the arrivals’ section. The familiar faces of people I don’t even know start to appear and then the familiar faces that I love – no better feeling.
   
9. Mark’s face when he’s focused on work – and that moustache.
   
10. Sending a kick-ass email.

It’s always been really difficult for me to commit to anything; whether it’s a diet, the gym, a plan to go out or even anything that I actually enjoy doing like reading, drawing, writing… I know I can’t be the only one who struggles with this. I find the world we live in so increasingly fast-paced that even when I try to slow down, I feel uneasy about it. When I pick up a book to try and read, I find a million thoughts racing through my head. When I grab my pencil and sketchbook to start drawing, I find myself needing to rush to see the end result sooner. When I start writing, I feel a bit more at peace because I get to structure my thoughts and see them but I still don’t have the discipline to sit and do that every day partly because life gets in the way and mostly because I’ve not learned how to commit. 

So today I’m going to start committing to the things I enjoy doing in an attempt to make this quite draining lifestyle a bit less so. 

Here we go. One post a day for 30 days or however long!

How good it feels to be flying back home for Christmas and how sad it feels.

How good it feels to have empty seats on both sides and how sad it feels – where is everyone this year?

How good it feels to step out of the airport in Beirut and how sad it feels to see Beirut.

How good it feels to take that right turn near the church just before my house to see the warmest faces waiting for me – and how sad it feels.

How good it feels to see my hometown’s annual Christmas decorations again and how sad it feels.

How good it feels to be home after what felt like the longest year and how extremely sad it feels.

Maybe this is the feeling of most expats returning home every year but this time for me, and maybe because it’s the first time since the Beirut blast, it feels different. Intense. Difficult. Too many emotions and too many words to say and the feeling is a bit too bitter-sweet for my taste this time.

Hi Lebanon, I’m back. But not for long.

.حلو ومش حلو

.شو حلو الاحساس انّي راجعة عبلدي لعيّد مع أهلي وشو مش حلو

شو حلو انّو الطيارة ما فيها كتير عجقة وشو مش حلو – وينُن هالسنة؟

.شو حلو الاحساس أول ما اطلع من مطار بيروت و شو مش حلو شوف بيروت هيك

.شو حلو ارجع شوف زينة العيد بضيعتي بعد سنة غياب وشو مش حلو

.شو حلو الاحساس قبل ما تفرق السيارة عمفرق الكنيسة حد البيت واعرف انّو رح شوف الوجوه يلّي بحبّا ناطرتني و شو مش حلو

.شو حلو انّي رجعت بعد سنة حسّيتها أطول سنة و شو مش حلو

ما بعرف اذا هيدا شعور كل مغترب راجع عبلدو بس هالمرة ويمكن لأنّو هيدي أول مرّة بعد الانفجار ببيروت، عم حس كتير وعم فكّر كتير وما عم بعرف شو الحلو و شو المش حلو

.مرحبا لبنان. أنا رجعت وما رجعت

The alarm rings at 7:30 am. I hit snooze. And it rings again at 7:38. Then at 7:45. I hit snooze again. And again… until I finally wake up right when it’s time to start working. Of course, this is the case when I work from home. The other days I do the same thing until I really have to get up to catch the metro or take a cab to get to work on time. Please don’t judge. I’m 28 years old and yes I still don’t have a healthy morning routine consisting of exercise like many adults my age do. But anyway, my mornings for the past week have started to feel a bit easier – and no, I haven’t started exercising and it hasn’t become “addicting” as I hear it does. To those of you who are healthy-morning-exercise people: I’m really not hating, I’m just jealous that I haven’t been able to do it yet.

But never mind that, let me tell you why my mornings have become a bit easier.

My mornings have become a bit easier because even though I am still waking up and dragging myself to the kitchen only to stare at the kettle and wait for water to boil so I can make my instant coffee, I’m one day closer to waking up from the best sleep. The kind that makes you feel 10 years younger.

I’m one day closer to getting out of bed and having the ice-cold marble tiles hit my bare feet and wake me up once and for all.

I’m one day closer to slowly making my way through that corridor. That corridor that echoes my entire childhood; the games like “Chambre Noire”, the quiet tiptoeing to eavesdrop on adults’ conversations, the corridor whose sturdy doors served teenage me with the perfect weapon to make an angry statement – SLAM! Not to forget, that corridor whose main role was to keep its light on at night so it wouldn’t get too dark and scary for my sister and I to fall asleep.

I’m one day closer to hearing that distinct and powerful voice that is my grandma’s, asking if the water has come today (اجت المي؟؟) – in other words, has the government graced us with free drinkable water from the tap today? If only they could hear my grandma’s commanding voice; they would have no choice.

I’m one day closer to the smell of Turkish coffee roaming around the house and saying good morning to everyone.

I’m one day closer to “Bonjouuuurrr Oumayatiii” with a side of mom’s cuddles.

I’m one day closer to stepping into the living room and seeing the faces that I love and miss the most in the world all in one room – and as I write this, I try not to feel sorry for myself that this is not a norm in my life; that it’s a special treat I get to enjoy only once or twice a year.

Nonetheless, my mornings and days and nights have been just a bit easier because I’m one day closer to finally being home.

When I was a kid in school, I loved when the teacher gave us writing homework, whether it was for English, Arabic or French class, although my French has now gone a bit MIA. I would sit at my desk in the room that I shared with my sister, open my “exercise book” and start writing. It was a genuine guilty pleasure to work on my writing homework. The years went by, completing homework after homework. University started, and again I found myself enjoying my 20 page papers but this time, my writing became more opinionated and argumentative – kind of inevitable when you’re studying law. Then over the years I would often find myself writing about the things that I love, the things that move me; things, people, places. I would get the urge to write in the most random of moments; on the bus, at the supermarket, that moment right before you fall asleep… When I didn’t have any paper or my laptop on me, I would write things down on my hand or make notes on my phone. Anyway, long story short (or not) I’d like to start sharing my homework with you through a blog that is long overdue (six years to be exact).

About two years ago, I woke up feeling the same way as I did today, which has happened far too many times now for me to ignore it. I wanted to start my own blog already but as usual, I was scared. What’s the point? Who cares? What if I’m a really bad writer? But I took the first step, one of many “first” steps over the years. I started googling ways and tips on how to start. A recurring theme was that I would need to find something I am passionate about and start writing about it. All kinds of topics were suggested; from travelling, to make-up tutorials, to veganism. So I started thinking. What am I passionate about? I studied law and yes, I could write about law and politics but a key reason for why I’ve been wanting to start my own blog is to explore my creative side – the one I’ve neglected over the years. So I kept thinking – really, what am I passionate about? What intrigues me the most? And so I started looking back at what I’ve written over the years. And there I found it. People. Places. More often than not, I write about people and places, whether it’s me, home, a second home (a second me..), the people in my life or anyone I’ve crossed paths with – even if it’s just a street vendor who doesn’t know he’s been the subject of my people watching session. So I decided to do just that. Except I didn’t really. I continued to write every now and then but never actually took that next step. Until today.

Welcome to my blog! Some of my posts will be ones that I’ve written at some point in time and hid away on my desktop for years, all in anticipation that I will one day start a blog… And others I will write as we go. I know that most of us are impatient these days and can’t read more than two lines of anything before moving on to the next thing but I’m gonna take my chances. I am just hoping that you can enjoy some light reading while you’re having your morning coffee and putting off looking at your to-do list for the day. Or maybe you’re on the metro and are bored of scrolling through Instagram and want something different to read. Mostly, I’m just excited to be assigning my own homework and sharing it with you!