Voila ce que j'ai compris

Eh oui, it takes 21 days to form a habit.
Donc ça se lance. Je lis! et ç'est pas dire que je comprends tout ce que je lis mais bon c'est parti.

-Ce livre devrait me permettre de résoudre le conflit au Proche-Orient, d'avoir mon diplôme et de trouver une femme. 
Sylvain Mazas

Of Malcolm Kerr or the Symbol of Resilience

Malcolm Kerr, a highly respected American Arabist, stayed on as president, keeping alive a small flame of optimism for the future of AUB and his beloved Lebanon.
On January 18, Kerr left the president's house and walked across the quiet, tree-shaded campus, passing under the old stone archway bearing the inscription "That They May Have Life and Have It More Abundantly". He entered College Hall and went to his office on the second floor. Outside the door, two young men stepped out of an adjacent hall, raised their pistols, and fired. Kerr died instantly.

-Lebanon, Susan Mackey

Of living by proxy or the state of the Lebanese woman

The Global Gender Gap Report 2014 has been published, ranking Lebanon at 135 out of 142 countries. The study shows that women's educational attainment is high, however women have yet to enter the political world and obtain the right to speak and make a difference.
How can a paternalistic society move forward when highly educated women cannot participate in drafting and implementing legislation?
Should we wait for our country men to protect us and give us our rights?
Who decides if I can give the citizenship to my unborn children?
Who decides if I am protected against abuse?
Who decides what the definition of abuse is?
To live by proxy. Or the state of the Lebanese woman.

Of change

The one constant you can always rely on.
Everybody leaves one day...

Of Art and 7ake

In love with the Art 7ake shop!

Of Beirut or Fate

Somewhere it's been written.
Somewhere it's been decided.
I was born in war.
War is my fate.
I have never known Beirut without war.
I have never known Beirut without injustice.
I have never known Beirut without fear.
I have never known...
Will I die in my country?
Will I die in war?
Will I ever know?

I look at Beirut. She looks back. Envious.
Envious of freedom. Of opportunities. Of what if.
Envious of unspeakable possibilities.
And all I want is to go back.
To her chaos and ugliness.
To her carelessness.
To realize an unrealistic dream.
To give back the love she deserves.

Is love most romantic when it's unfulfilled?
Do I love you because you don't truly exist?
Will you fade away when I come closer?
Are you truly Beirut?
Or the concealed unattainable in my psyche?
Are you a dream? An illusion?
Hope? Is that you?

Ello or work in progress

got my Ello invite a couple of days ago.
Still not sure what to do with it.
Somewhat excited to work it out as it goes.

Of Amal or Hope

Yasmine is an inspiring young woman who is raising awareness about a very important cause in Lebanon. Domestic Violence.

Domestic violence is still taboo in Lebanon and even worse it is seen as permissible. The woman gets beaten up, she goes to her parents' house, they tell her to go back to her husband and the vicious cycle continues. Partly to spare the family from a "Fadiha" or scandal, partly because well what do you do? where do you go from here? How do you empower yourself?

You are somebody's daughter and now somebody's wife. But you never had the chance to be somebody yourself. Most often than not you do not have a steady source of income and even if you do, you probably have young kids to protect. And it goes on and on in a dizzying spiral.

I am not giving this subject enough justice. But solutions come with education, awareness, pressure to change and make new legislation, and social support and resources to women in need.

We all know it's there, we all know a Leila or Amal or Claude or Roula or Manal.

Help spread the word in an effort to stop domestic violence in Lebanon. Learn more about Kafa, a prominent non profit organization about women rights in Lebanon. And support Yasmine, a young and wonderful woman who I had the chance to meet in Boston and who is taking a chance to make this world a better place.
To fund "Amal" Yasmine's new project, please click here

Of Acorn and Perseverance

An ongoing tradition is to collect souvenirs from museum shops wherever I go.

The acorn which only appears on a fully mature oak represents the symbol of patience and perseverance in order to attain one's goals.

Growing Home

The Air Force Memorial

These things happened. They were glorious and they changed the world... and then we fucked up the end game.
- Charlie Wilson

Of Escapism...

I yearn to come back.
I yearn to escape.
I yearn to abandon my name.
I yearn to renounce that brand social media has invented.
I yearn to speak and not be judged.
I yearn to be anonymous again.

...نعترف امام الله الواحد نعترف
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

Lady Lazarus- By Sylvia Plath
23-29 October 1962

A toi

Beyrouth. Cette passion fixe.
Tes images me brulent la retine.
et je marche... je marche...
la gorge nouée.
le pas lourd.
Je marche...
Tu me retiens.
Laisse moi!
Le coeur gonflé.
Laisse moi. Quitte moi.
Tu tires encore.
Quelques pas a reculons et je tombe...
Je me retourne. Je dois fuir.
Mais comment fuir?
Je ferme les yeux et tes images euphoriques peuplent mon inconscient.
Tu es partout. Tu habites mon corps fatigué.
Tu me rappelles sans cesse que je n'appartiens nulle part.
Tu laisses des cicatrices partout.
Une passion fixe...
Moi je t'aime.
Et toi tu craches, tu cries.
Alors je marche...
La gorge nouée.
Le pas lourd.
Leve toi Beyrouth. Ravale tes sanglots et leve toi.
Je t'aime.

Se retourner. Ultime erreur. Je vois Beyrouth. Comme elle est belle. Alors je comprends tout. Ma seule maison, c'est ma tête.

in the pursuit of happiness.
Enough.
Enough looking for that happiness.
Enough!

The ER Diaries

The power of medicine
This moment when you are talking casually to a patient and he suddenly arrests in front of you. Yes he dies. You find yourself alone in a closed room. You and a dead patient.

Not the kind they wake you up at night for in order to do a flat ECG.
Not the kind you expected to pass away and you now lay at rest.

No this one is young enough to die on you without any warning.
This one is talking to you, telling you how he just dropped his daughter off at AUB and he decided to pass by the ER for mild discomfort.
And there he goes. Sudden arrhythmia throws him into the tunnel. And you start pumping. Because that is what you do best.
10 seconds later the rest of the team arrives with a defibrillator and the patient is saved.

10 seconds of medicine. Real medicine. Automatism and adrenaline.
And he survives.
Endorphins storm.

30 minutes later you glance into the room to find his daughter kissing him, crying. She doesn't know that he arrested.
She doesn't know that had she been 5 minutes late in the morning her father would most probably have died in his car.
She knows she's hugging him again.
And she loves him...

On Setting Sail...

And the priest and priestesses said unto him:
Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

--The Prophet, by Gebran Khalil Gebran.

et l'on revient toujours...

Une absence
~ par etatdecorps le juillet 14, 2010.

Des fois j’ai l’impression d’être comme une ville. Avec des étrangers qui arpentent mes rues. Solitaires. Je voudrais ressembler à Beyrouth. Système chaotique. Que rien ne soit vraiment à sa place. Le sang coulerait dans ma colonne vertébrale, inondant mes nerfs de cette folie ambiante. Agressif.

La synovie suinterait difficilement aux carrefours. Embouteillages. Avec des fauves aux yeux farouches qui attendent le pied sur l’accélérateur. Que la ville gronde. Que la victoire approche. Celle d’être le premier des cons à foncer dans le tas. Je voudrais un soleil de plomb à la place du cœur. Comme ça la chaleur calmerait le temps et les intentions. Tension.

Alvéoles gonflées à bloc. De pollution. Mes artères bloquées par les racines des bougainvilliers, mes veines par le jasmin. Et parfois au détour d’un chemin, comme une lourdeur. Coin d’immeuble ombragé où dormirait un concierge. Vieux chien oublié depuis des années dans ce ventre qui court mais ne gagne jamais. Et puis caché derrière un trou dans le béton, le regard fixant la petite chose qu’on appelle l’âme, une absence.


et moi en cet instant. rien ne peut m'exprimer mieux...

New York for the 5 Senses

On a journey to experience New York with everything it has to offer. Back to the city that took my heart and my senses away. This time a bit more mature, and a lot more intrigued. And so I decided to undertake a small venture into food for thought. I am on a 10 day schedule to experience a new wine everyday paired with different cuisines. And by God! I am in heaven if there was ever any! Enjoying every sip. Exploring it intently, as it tickles my every sense.
And yes more details to come.

--Indian Food. Color, aroma, texture, taste, on sitar background