Welcome to My Lebanese Dream
When all is far, and all is empty, I set sail and dock on a familiar shore, somewhere in my imagination
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Monday, March 28, 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Forty days since the assassination of Rafic Hariri
Saturday, March 26, 2005
People with principles
Monday, March 14, 2005
This is NOT a war of numbers
The Ocean of Freedom
I am tired of listening to all those savvy analysts breaking down the Miracle that is embracing the streets of Beirut and reshaping Lebanon's modern history before our very eyes, into a war of numbers. I am just about tired of listening to them saying that different factions are responding to each other by bringing more people to the sacred peaceful freedom field of Downtown Beirut.
Try to understand, all of you journalists and political pundits, that this is Lebanon, the true Lebanon, gloriously glowing on the faces of the true lebanese people, not some imported mercenaries and brainwashed pawns, moving around aimlessly on a land they cannot recognize as their own, only because it isn't, gathered together by one broomstick stroke and soon dispersed by another.
I am so very tired of all those ill-advised souls forseeing instability and division, and anticipating a new civil war that will tear, once again, Lebanon apart. How blind should one be to see pending division and collapse, when never in the history of Lebanon, or any regional country for that matter, has there been unity and communion of such biblical proportions amongst people of every possible religion and denomination.
All I can say is this. We had our war, call it "civil" or otherwise, and whether we like or not, whether we are willing to admit it or not, fifteen years after it ended, we were still carrying its extraordinarily heavy burden on our bent shoulders. Until came the 14th of February and died a Man. Since then, and only then have we truly shaken off the ashes of war. Only since then have we realized how much was at stake, and how it wasn't just about a little boy's comfort zone and a little girl's little pink doll house.
The stakes were our identity, our name, our country, our freedom, and our so precious and yet so cheap lives. But it did take the life of one great man to wake us all up. Maybe this time our eyes will stay open long enough for us to find all the things that we have lost and destroyed. And maybe this time, Morpheus will see that we have changed, and will leave us alone for, at least, a while.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Tired of Crossroads
My program gave the hemepath position I applied for to someone else. The people with whom I worked on several occasions, who truly know my talents and capabilities, have chosen someone they didn't know, over me. I wonder if that says something about me, or about them, or about the system itself. Either way, here I am, again, standing at a crossroad, with no signs to read and no vision whatsoever of where any of the roads would eventually take me.
At a time when my brain is but a mad vortex of blurry and shattered images, when my soul is torn between who I am becoming right now and that other guy who I always wanted to be; at a time when my heart is wandering between the crowded streets of Atlanta, the sweaty sun-drenched alleys of free downtown Beirut, and some little cottage house in a forest on a mountain near the sky, here I am, at the same, neverending, everhaunting, muddy, foggy, empty, very empty crossroad.
A few years ago, I would have said to myself "I will take any road, clear the fog and the mud, summon the sun from behind the hills, and wherever my feet will take me, I will build a tower with the rocks and the stones covering my path, climb to the top of the tower, and grab the entire universe with my scorched hand". I would have wanted to show the world that my history is my making, that my future is what I choose to make of it, that my life, if not completely my own, is not worth living at all.
But today, here I am, living but barely, empty-handed and empty-souled, waiting to just disappear.
Monday, March 07, 2005
To the Lebanese Bloggers Forum
It feels very good to be part of a body of people driven by the quest for a unified country and a true uncontested identity. Having spent all of my childhood and most of my adult years passively witnessing my country torn to pieces and my freedom taken away, it greatly saddens me to sit here, somewhere in America, and watch my brothers and friends carve with their bare bleeding young hands the new story of a land long plagued by indifference and neglect.
It saddens me greatly that all I have been doing was to sit behind a lifeless screen, or a lifeless piece of paper, and paste thoughts about nations and liberties, while all I seem to be concerned about is the realization of my own ambitions and dreams. It saddens me that the one time I can actually do something, I am truly not doing much of anything, at all.
But maybe this isn't true anymore. Maybe thanks to you, we can all join hands and make a difference, if not sleeping on the asphalt that bears the indelible blood stain of true lebanese leaders, then opening our eyes and chasing away the sleep of servitude and dismay;
if not carrying banners and flags on the streets, then carrying our voice as far as the cables of technology can take it; if not by taking a bullet in the side or the butt of a rifle in the face, then by bleeding ink on papers and screens, until the entire world can only see the flaming blaze of our pounding hearts, clenched fists and sparkling angry eyes.
Maybe then, we will feel worthy of our identity and heritage.
Maybe then, Lebanon will be truly ours, and will remain ours, for good.