L’amertume maternelle.

No matter how hard I try to phrase it and paint a nearly perfect picture; my words will always fall short. The fact is, and still remains that Joseph’s mother passed away for her heart could no longer take the incertitude and the false promises. And by saying Joseph’s mother, I am referring to Joseph Sader who’s many of you chose to forget, including Ziad Baroud. Fayez Karam still makes the headlines on a regular basis, but the simple “Joe” I guess is not news worthy.
We are too busy trying to predict the outcome of the Syrian uprising and the effect it might have on the land of the Cedars. Some are even rejoicing in advance hoping that the change in our sisterly neighboring state will bring along change for the better; but no one has even considered, taken into account, or even thought about “the devil within”.
Local political analysts, bloggers, journalists; spew texts and articles on how this “newly” found trend of freedom is going to affect this Biblical land of ours, the establishment of “Wilayet al faqih” or even the Salafist (pipe)dream; comparing Egypt, Tunis, Bahrain,Syria, Yemen…Timbuktu; they all fail
Yes the tide is changing and all around us people are rebelling; and locally we are still drowning in our own cesspool of corruption and deceit. Lebanese raise their angry voices in protest for haphazardly arrests in Syria, but all fail to even mention or even hint to the fate of the thousands Lebanese still rotting in Syrian jails.
Even if I could understand such an omission, I cannot begin to understand how many fellow Lebanese are asking for the immediate release of “opinion” prisoners in our sisterly state whilst, locally, the whereabouts of Joseph Sader is still unknown.
Shame on a “nation” (and yes it is in between brackets) that cares more for the safety of the sons of our INVADERS, and turns a deaf ear to the fact that a Lebanese mother’s heart stopped beating because of her worry as to the status of her own LEBANESE son, which until this day remains unknown.
You wannabe protectors of freedom and truth, before you take on the plight of the people of Daraa start by cleaning house; maybe then your “freedom speech” might be taken seriously.
Enough empty talk and analysis from both sides of our political divide; many of MY people are still missing both locally and in Syria. It is about time that we retake our pioneering stand, and demand clear answers from our government (or lack of) first before some of us can paint themselves as THE protectors of freedom and human rights. Vindicate Joseph’s mother!
Wlek Tfeh!

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.

The MOTHERland.

Not such a simple word, but a word nevertheless; which many used and still uses, coupled with a feeling of warmth and belonging. A word that pops out in conversations between friends and strangers alike over tea, drinks, diner, or even multi million business deals; in referral to a place of birth. A word strong enough, that if squeezed properly into any conversation could open the door to many opportunities.
And what if your MOTHERland was Lebanon? How would you fare within a casual conversation, in comparison to those born in Armenia, Yugoslavia, Kurdistan,…etc, or even the “Jews”?
You might ague your way that your ancestors invented the 7arf, ourjouan,Gebran Khalil Gebran… and even the fact that your cedars were mentioned in the bible; but where do you stand today?
Your glory days have long gone and are almost forgotten; for your recent history has been forever tarnished.
Yet those ingrate siblings (to the MOTHERland) still feel superior to their fellow man; arguing achievements hardly remembered (if not only by a few remaining academics). I ask of you my fellow Lebanese: When did you last contribute to this world, and moreover what was your contribution? Was it your arrogance, you superiority complex, your hatred for one another, your recent lack of culture, your down town Beirut (more like an Arab brothel), your example of democracy, your respect for women’s rights, your educational system, or even the only true “resistance” movement?
This MOTHERland of ours (the few Lebanese remaining) has suffered the worst kind of labor giving birth to all her children; and through the years witnessed two thirds of them abandon her, seeking the warmth of some other surrogate mother.
And those who stayed, just like any teenager, rebelled.
As the years went by the MOTHERland was used and abused, in a way never documented before (once again we are pioneers). And there she stood lovingly silent waiting for the “recognition” phase. A simple “Mea culpa” would have sufficed, for all to be forgotten, and harmony (amongst her children) to reign again
But those words were never uttered!
Abuse led to more abuse. And some even took it further to call the MOTHERland a whore, citing the previous rapes she suffered in order to justify the venom they were throwing at her face. Little do they know that they are the fruit of such a barbaric rape, and that the MOTHERland nurtured them and gave them a safe haven against all those who thought it was best to opt for an abortion.
This MOTHERland I am writing about today is nothing short of every single mother who had to bite her lip (until it bled) in silence when one (if not all) of her children thought he knew best. This is the same mother who stayed awake waiting for her last child to come home in order to make sure that all her children were safe, and was the first one to awake and make breakfast. This is the same mother who never expected anything in return, but was “hoping” for some appreciation and a little (just a little) respect. But moreover this is the mother who loved all her children the same unequivocally.

I am writing about the mother who faced all the dangers that came her way and had just one worry, that no harm will fall upon her children, regardless of her own life. I am writing about a mother, OUR mother, OUR MOTHERland who is now dying at the hands of those she gave birth to and are now digging her grave.
So if your regard LEBANON as your MOTHERland (and even if it so happens that your mother is called Loubnan) just bow in respect , for you will never ever find a love as true and everlasting.


The Lebanese Jester

I've got the blues.

Q & A

Snap: I have !

This title has nothing to do with what took place in Ketermaya, but still it had an effect on me. It did add to my conviction that we are no longer worthy, not just as Lebanese; but as human beings. In comparison it made me realize how fragile we all are. This incident made me realize that I still have an iota of humanity still brewing within my tormented soul. Even my twisted faith which would have dictated to me some righteous act of preservation is no longer valid. I am filled with anger, much more than any human can take. I have in the past vented such anger in despicable ways; but tonight, I saw tears in your eyes. And all my ailments suddenly faded away, and YOU know they are too heavy to handle. Still I feel that I am misunderstood by many, but “many” do not count; for I never entered a popularity contest. What you have failed to realize is that, according to me, I have paid my dues ten times fold and long for some reprieve. I now just want to retire and live peacefully. And peacefully for me is with you.
So take me for what I am, my job, my addictions, my ever changing mood, my faults (which I admit to); the same way I take you for what you are and all your shortcomings. Yes too hard to handle, but bear in mind that you can never enter my psyche; I don’t even dare to go there anymore. Too many memories and way too many feelings suppressed waiting to surface that it even scares me.
Damaged goods, yes according to many, but in comparison I mended my ways, and here I am years later still paying the price. When will it all end I say,  I am only looking for piece of mind; but my past is still biting me up the arse.

Tiered and weary I have become in all aspects of life. I have been run dry, and the fighter in me is now ready to let it all go for the “eternal sleep” that for awhile I have been longing for. But tonight, your tears made me realize that my time has not come yet.
My love for you has given me the strength to live even if it was for just another day, to make sure that you were OK.
And then, and only then, I could lay my had to sleep !

Blessed I am

Blessed I am for I still enjoy the love of those who are dear to me. Those people who have put up with my mood swings, my very short and bad temper over the years; reminded me today how blessed I was.
below is the testimony of the one that counts the most.






Just in case you ask why he counts the most, here is one of many reasons.