To the Woman who Raised Me

This is to the woman who raised me.
The woman who made me sit on her laps all day long.
The woman who never left me and gave me nothing but love since the day I was born.
This is not about my mother, no.
This is about my neighbor.

This old lady I will never forget, with her silver hair and her pearl necklace.
A lot of you would describe her as Tante el Ashrafieh.
She would wake up every morning and spend hours fixing her make-up. She would never get out of her room without perfectly red lips,
She was the typical neighbor, getting us underwear for Christmas and baking us sfoufs for our birthday.

As I sat on the couch, that empty couch she would always fill with her smile and joy, I remembered how I spent my childhood in her living room, building house of cards and watching Chef Antoine cook a chicken in a thousand different ways.
She used to call him every once in a while and share her little secrets with him.
But I realized that I only had happy memories of that place. I realized that the people around me also only shared happy memories.

I saw her daughters silently cry in a corner.
I saw the men keeping their poker face and trying to open up random subjects.
I was sitting there, trying to hold my tears, pushing my toes against the ground as hard as I could, pinching myself and avoiding eye contact.
Men don't cry.

I have been laying in bed for 10 minutes, letting the tears I have been holding for too long stream down my face.
For some reason, keeping that in my diary did not seem enough. I had to share it somehow.

What an ironic date the 20th of April is.
It is the day my grandfather has been buried, it is the day my neighbor will be buried.
It is the day I was born.

But if you think about it, during this day you get to think about nothing but the happy memories.

A smiling face on a photograph, a flower on a tombstone.
A candle on a cake.

The happy memories.

17 Candles & A Birthday Wish.

I was 15 when I started this blog. I cannot start to describe how miserable my life was back then.
Almost two years later, one single thing has changed.
I am still scared, I am still weak. But I am honest. I am honest to myself and I am honest to my friends. I am honest to anyone that will listen to me.

I am happy.

Now my birthday is not until 3 days from now, but there is no guarantee I will be able to write a post any time soon.

I have been spending my days, and most of my vacation, at school.
The best part is that, on my birthday, I will be standing at a science fair booth from 10AM to 9PM.

Work, work & work. That is all that seems to matter. One more month, and then we are free.
Free you say?
I will barely have time to catch my breath before I start my college applications.
I am running away to the first American college that will take me.

Lebanon.
This country just seems too much for me to handle.
Will things get better in the US? I don't know. I don't think so.
I just need to get out of my routine. Out of this life I am living here...

Somehow, I always forget.

We are lucky. They are not.
We are free. They are not.

Those who cannot leave this country,
those who ignore what lies beyond these borders,
those who will never get out of their routine,
those who will die doing what they have always done,
those who are haunted with questions and will never get the opportunity to answer them,
those who never get the chance to read this and live thinking they are alone,
those who cannot read at all,
are they free?


But can you blame them?
When society puts them in a position where they have to live a life that's not theirs, question their identity rather than the society's cruelty, what choice do they have?
When they have no way of finding answers to basic questions like who they are, what they are, what are these feelings they are experiencing, what choice do they have?


They are trapped between their lies and their secrets. Why? Because they cannot afford freedom.
Yes, freedom has a price. I, for one, believe it lies in education.
It is sad to see that money can be a boundary between freedom and captivity.
I owe my freedom to the internet, the movies I have watched, the inspirational people I have seen.
How can a man who has no access to all that know that he is not freak of nature? How can he learn about LGBT rights?

So, 3 days from now, while blowing the candles on the cupcake my friends smuggled into the university, I will thinking about ignorance and wish for its eradication, once and for all. 

Israel, Palestine and the things I don't get.

I know Israel is the enemy.
I know it is their bombs that woke me up in the middle of the night, their bombs that made my mother cry. 
I remember our history teacher stressing on the fact that the country south of Lebanon was "فلسطين المحتلة" (occupied Palestine). 
I watch the news, see the murders, listen to the women screaming and crying. 


Why do we hate them? Because they stole our land. Because they stole our ressources. Because they took what was ours. 


I know that some people are not going to the Red Hot Chili Pepper concert because they are performing in Tel Aviv right after coming to Lebanon 

Red Hot Chili Pepper is an American band. 

I know that Americans love their precious Israel. 

So I do not see why this show is considered outrageous. 

And even if it is, I do not see why it should stop me from enjoying the concert I have been looking forward since I was 8 years old. 

I know I do not give a rodent's behind about this. 

I realize I might not see what is obvious for some of you who are older and wiser. 

I accept the fact that this is just something that I might not understand. 

The ticket has been bought.

I am looking forward to screaming my lungs out and crying of joy every time Flea does something epic. 

Young the Giant

I always say that Glee makes almost every original version of a song they perform sound lame.
I always say how perfect Blaine is and how I would never ever say no to a Blaine performance. He is just so adorable and sexy and his voice makes me melt.

But of course, there are some exceptions.
When I heard Cough Syrup for the first time, I rushed to check the original version because I fell in love with the song.

And well, in addition to the awesome music video, the glitter, the paint and everything, the vocalist is adorable! I don't know where he is from, but his accent killed me. Literally.

So, of course, I downloaded their whole album, which is amazing.
And I got obsessed with another one of their song: My Body.

- So, this post is dedicated to E because apparently, he loves the music I share on this blog. ;-) So, there you go!