Wlek fri2ouna bi ri7a taybeh !

Sick and tired of half backed local election speeches vulgarly delivered by erected dicks from all sides, pretending to have my country’s best interest at heart.
Like every father, I had dreams and hopes for my son. Such dreams included a happy childhood away from struggle and strife (civil unrest, let alone civil war), and a deep rooted sense of pride in the fact that he was Lebanese. I am fully aware that the “cocodi” has long been gone, the family trips to “Spinneys” by the airport road can no longer be undertaken, “Saint Simon” and “Accapulco” have now been replaced by “Tasli7 ashikmon”, that Christmas does no longer officially begin with the lights on Hamra street, and “Toyland” is no longer there. Many memories I would have liked to relive through Tarek (my son). Granted people evolve and things change, but a great part of local history has been wiped out and no one seems to care. None of those erected dicks (running for election) seem to give a damn about keeping this “life line” going. What we are left with today in this cursed country of mine are landmarks reflecting the hatred that has been brewing for years and suddenly exploded.
Today I took my son for a haircut and for a split second I was transported back in time, back to the days when my dad took me to the local barber shop (now we have “salon de coiffure”). It made me realize (although a normal evolution) that even the simplest of experiences I would have liked to share with Tarek is no longer possible; for the times have changed. If only they have changed for the best, I wouldn’t have minded. I came to realize that many of my childhood’s cherished memories I will never relive or share with him. He will never ride the bumper cars at the “Cocodi”, swim in the “Saint Simon”, go to Toyland or 2aisar 3amer, cinema Saroulla…. Etc.
At the “salon de coiffure” today I could smell talcum powder and Old Spice, but it was only in my head.
So to my dear leaders (all, with no exception) Wlek fri2ouna bi ri7ha taybeh, but be kind enough to pick any of the following, for it reminds me of days long gone but never forgotten.

The turn of a not so friendly card!

There is no reprieve from the stress of daily (Lebanese) life and from family ties which I thought I had severed a while back. The past month has been nothing but what I could easily compare to scenes from a B movie. Just when I thought “it was safe to get back into the water”, and having laid the dead to rest, Beelzebub raised it’s ugly (but familiar) head once more.
I started to let go of my family years ago, after many failed attempts to hold a middle ground. My separation was finally successful (or so I thought) when I was neck high in shit and was left alone to my own demise. To the dismay of many I am still here today alive and kicking and living my life free of them all.
But am I ?
Painful circumstances have brought me back to my grandfather’s house in our little village in the south, where I still have vivid memories of a very happy and innocent childhood away from family feuds. My son of twelve, until this past Sunday, never knew that he had so many, uncles, aunts, cousins, great uncles...etc, if it was not for the anticipation of yet another loss.
This past Sunday, most of my close relatives gathered in Selim’s (my grandfather) house in an attempt to bring joy to my uncle’s heavy heart (having lost a young son 3 weeks earlier).
Tarek (and all the other kids in my family) were nothing but a bundle of joy who brought back life into what once was a vibrant home at the very end of quiet and quaint piece of Lebanon we claimed our home.
There I also got reacquainted with my Godson, whom I haven’t seen for more than 9 years. When he first saw me and called me (Jokingly) Godfather, my heart crumbled. I remember how we rushed his mother to hospital his father and I when his was due to be born. I remember the look on his father’s face when his birth was announced. This joy I felt inside was somehow short lived when he told me that he couldn’t recollect much of the time we spent together in England (when I left he was not even 4 years of age); but my heart rejoiced when he made me feel that the bond we had is still stronger than ever.
My son last Sunday had the chance the experience a part of what I lived every summer when I was growing up. My son last Sunday witnessed firsthand that he is part of an extended family. My son last Sunday had the time of his life.
I wish for my son to nurture this new feeling of belonging, to uphold true family values; and not to fall victim to elderly misconstrued pride and vanity.
No matter whom holds the deed to my Grandfather’s house now, this house has always been, and will always remain a meeting place for all our kids, and their kids to come.
Jeddo Selim, your legacy will always live on, in my heart, and I know of others as well!