Weep silently.

I weep silently, just like a hungry new born who has it in him not make his selfish mother feel guilty for not feeding him.

I weep silently, just like a toddler who fell down the stairs and his silent cries were ignored.

I weep silently, just like a teenager who had his heart crushed for the very first time and no one noticed his pain.

I weep silently, just like the first time you left your parental cocoon and felt lonely.

I weep silently, just like when you finally realize that “for better or for worst” is not a lifetime warranty.

I weep silently, just like when you see the one person you love the most on his death bed, and you are the only one present.

But shed rivers of tears my Lebanese son; for soon you will find yourself without the 10452km2 your ancestors shed their blood in order to call this land a permanent home.

When push comes to shove you will have to decide, either to put your life at risk for the “cause” , or to convince yourself (like I did) that now is not the right time; use your trump card (your other inherited citizenship)and take the easy way out.

In both cases, I can assure you my son that you will shed oceans of tears; and this is the curse of being born Lebanese.

N.B: You know where my stash of weapons is.