Day NinetyOne

Going through the day

as if I'm not leaving.

My roots have grown so deep

that I feel unmoved

and well grounded.

The day is a pleasant rush

as we go to Shatila for our last 

English class 

and fitness class.

It's the last time for all of us

and it's quite emotional.

Victor has come along with his camera,

Heyly's here and Basem has come along too.

We share a class with Jenny

as Hanna and Alex 

take up the other two classes.

The class runs smoothly.

And I admire Jenny's kindness with kids.

Amazing communication ways.

So innocent and bright.

The kids respond

and I catch myself watching.

The next class is my favourite.

The time comes and we enter.

We draw and write in textbooks

and half way through

as is common,

the kids get impatient and want something more entertaining.

We sind if you're happy and you know it.

I'm a lot more physical today

with hugs and kisses

I drown them.

Their Arabic speaking teacher Rawan walks in

and I ask her to translate to them

that I'm leaving today.

Going [so called] home.

She translates it..

'Mis Alina rooha al beit'.

I wait for a response.

A meh one.

The kids go loud

'£&#+£('

What are they saying!

I ask.

They're asking for me to stay.

I have no response.

Rawan signals for them to sing a song for us.

They sing it.

It sounds sad and my eyes water.

I look at Jenny and we're both holding it in.

I ask what it means.

She says it's a goodbye song.

It sounded so

so

sincere.

My god.

-

Fitness class and the girls walk in.

An hour of handstands doesn't seem long enough

and the time comes when we say

'one more and then halas ok?'

ten times.

We don't want to stop

as much as they want to continue.

We are all aware 

that it's Hanna, Alex and my last time here.

We say our goodbyes 

in a more positive than anything tone.

Thankful for the days we shared,

grateful,

and most of all hopeful

that this class continues to evolve

with Mallory

and whoever

comes along

or comes back.

Girl power goodbyes.

--

And finally,

rushing back to the hostel

to pack

and leave.

Who wants to do that?

I do that old task

of packing

and rush down

for more personable goodbye rituals.

Ed, Jen, Julia and Mals

have come along.

Greg, Han, Alex

and Kaloua

gather around.

I wonder if they're all here for me.

I feel special

and warmed in the lovely circle we have created.

Puns intended as we 

henna my hand with Arabic letters of silence 

and seen.

All is complete;

the circle takes it's last curve

and our goodbye 

seems like a welcome.

We meet where we begun;

where there wasn't a beginning

or an end.

Day Ninety

General Security

The day I thought I was gonna be denied exit from Lebanon

and wished it happened.

I waited three months for the day my visa expires

and a day before it did

I was wishing it just did.

That way

I wouldn't have to exit the country.

Yet I booked a flight and now 

had to

go to General Security 

for that exit stamp.

Crazy thing to do on a rainy day like this one.

Not even God wanted me to go.

[Cypriot translated & paraphrased way to say

God is crying with me/for this]

I sit in the corridor,

waiting,

for my faith to be decided by the all-male staff 

in army uniforms.

I'm very smily today

and happy.

I look around and it hits me;

how much I'm gonna miss this

disorganised

layed-back

unpredictable

setting.

'Elin

fadale'.

He gives me my stamped passport.

Now I have to go.

They're closing anyway.

--

Last night 

and the grand Hummozapiens

are out.

I'm on my way there

but Mals and I take a detour.

We go to another bar

where I tell the barman guy that I'm leaving tomorrow.

Next to that bar,

another barman friend tells me his mind trips

as I say I'm leaving.

God is still crying about this

and the old bar owner agrees with me.

Jimmy,

an awesome man.

It feels weird to go to

what has become 

your neighbourhood

and say you're leaving.

To where yeane?

Day EightyNine

Rap Night.

The night I thought would never come.

Though we visit Monday Rap Nights at Radio Beirut 

more often than not

tonight was different.

I meet up with Maryam,

which is also a thing that doesn't happen often

and we decide to go to Radio Beirut

after catching up in the warmest way at her home space.

We play tauli and 31 cards

as the rap night starts.

The rest of the Hummozapien gang said they would come

so I occasionally peak over to see a familiar face.

Our games end and I feel 

that I know Maryam as ever before.

She shares a secret with me

and I feel special to have been there at that moment.

The feeling of gratitude and love

are unreal

and I wonder when I'll see 

her pure face again.

We smile and walk to the bar.

The gang is sitting in the far corner

and everyone's got their 

rattitude 

on.

The Arabic rap battle

amuses new and old visitors

and the crowd's cheerings makes me wonder what they said.

I ask Maryam.

She says they're swearing.

A ok,

still finding it cool.

I look at Zeed

and suddenly we're all begging him to go on stage and rap.

He says 

'Yo yo don't pressure it. It has to come naturally.'

What I heard was,

it's not happening today-

though I still kept my eyes puppied to Allah

to make this the day we see Zeed rapping.

And indeed Allah didn't disappoint.

Just like that,

as if I didn't wait every Monday

for three months

for this moment,

Zeed appears on stage.

Such a gangster this guy

grabs the mic and starts rapping 

in Dutch.

Finishes.

Drops the mic.

Walks off.

Gangsta.

PS: thank you Allah.

Day EightyEight

Asherafie Street Party

the talk of the town

as the streets deny entrance to cars and a crafts market is set out instead.

Chadya, Julia, Alex and I set off to check it out.

We get there in a layed back stroll

and start observing colours and textures.

Alex sees an interesting bracelet,

one with an anchor on it

and it's the one Jay was thinking to get back in February

before he found the perfect bracelet.

I wonder if he still wears it.

We head to where the music is louder 

and our energy is hyped.

I tell Alex over loud outdoor music

'WE SHOULD HAVE A DANCE FOR THIS!'

since we already have a little hip hop rutine for other beats.

She heard 

'WE SHOULD DANCE TO THIS'

and nodds to me repeatedly.

She waves 'come'

so we stand next to each other

and dance it off 

like an international flash mob.

We look left and right and next thing you know

we are surrounded by people following our steps.

The music is so loud we can't even hear our laughter

but the beat goes on

and so does the mob.

We give a smooth finale as the song ends and

proceed to look at scarfs on the next stall.

Casually. Rockstars.

The market seems boring

after a while,

and we get hungry.

We pick up some wraps and sit opposite the stall.

With Julia we discuss 'alternative' and 'underground' 

scenes of Beirut compared to Cypriot and German scenes.

Last night was a bit of a disappointment so we wonder where the scenes are at.

We move on to afternoon outdoor partying

and we come across a taste of that scene.

A female dj

playing house electro

behind broken walls

within policed spaces

on the streets

of Beirut.

Quite alternative I'd say.

And at that moment I was so content

for experiencing all this

in such scary settings

yet feeling so free.

Again and again,

what is it about Beirut.

I guess it's not having much to lose

cz everything has been lost already.

And so

we celebrate life.

Walla.

Day EightySeven

Big Saturday night.

Big bartying

as everyone is feeling the end coming closer.

We gather at Rosy's rooftop 

where the bbq is on

and the worries are off.

The setting is wonderful

and the setting sun sweetens the mood.

We chill

in a very inclusive yet free way.

We pass around 

smiles and drinks

and the dusk finds us

in the middle of Beirut,

moving to HB terrace for predrinks

and then to big bartying at chosen club.

Yalla barty.

Day EightyFive

Last Thursday in Berut.

And I know that cz my visa expires

on the Wednesday.

Haven't booked a ticket

feeling moody

not caring

not giving a single fuck.

Wanna stay

then I wanna go

then I don't wanna go to Cyprus

then I wanna go Dubai

then I'm rushing it

then I know I have to go anyway

then I'm not ready.

And so

I don't fuvking book my flight.

Halas.

Ain't nobody got time for this stress.

We're out at a bar

with the Hummozapiens

and they're asking me when I'm leaving

so we can arrange a goodbye barty. 

I say arrange the barty

and I'll leave after that.

They love me

they're so caring.

They wanna see me good

weather I stay

whether I go.

So I book the flight later.

    

Day FiftyTwo

Hangover Day.

Though I didn't go out last night, I'm being a compassionate dorm-mate

and hanging around and hanging over with the rest of the 

sleepless

intoxicated

tired 

mates of the hostel.

One (vibe) for all

and

All (vibes) for one.

Midday discussions over beer

 include peanut butter (Mallory's favourite)

and vegemite

(Joel's favourite- yup we got an Australian in the house),

and both seem to be desired heavily

on the sunny terrace.

We decide to go out for lunch and we set a time.

The time comes

and goes over

and over a bit more

as we are gathered in what has become the 'gossip/girlie dorm'

to prepare hair, styles, ethos'

and an appetite.

We're all ready and the girl gang meets Australian guy for the long desired lunch.

We reach an Armenian restaurant in Burj-Hamoud 

and order things we don't know the look or taste of.

They arrive.

We dive in.

And the sensation of having a meal hasn't felt that good before.

#exaggeration

The guys keep having beers and I just grab a 7up.

I'm hanging big time;

til I remember I didn't go out last night.

Day FourtyTwo

Ama walks in at breakfast o'clock and with a bright energy asks where the toilet is.

She looks older than Duce and I start asking myself what it is about the place that attracts so much mature female energy and feminine wisdom.

The hostel is anyway based on female energy with Sarah, Maryam and myself around most of the time so the female energy becomes a lot more intensely present with women who are simultaneously,

travelling

    teaching 

        learning.

We sit on the terrace at sunset o'clock and share our stories and paths as it gets darker.

Our shares become deeper

and it appears that we have experienced very similar recent pasts. Her as a mother; and me as a daughter. We share our perspectives from our viewpoint at the time

and our more retrospective viewpoints from now.

I see a 53 year old woman I just met cry on the terrace;

About the hardship of having being a divorced, depressed mother.

A situation I so easily judged and was frustrated at in my own.

And I explained the viewpoint of the hurt and disappointed

daughter and child.

And we come to terms with that under the moonlight.

On a terrace.

At a hostel.

In Beirut.

Day TwentySeven

My dad always has this happy tone of voice on his birthday.

He answers the phone with delight; 

almost knowing what you're about to wish 

him but still anticipating with ignorant bliss.

A child on xmas eve-

                                            unsure if Santa's come around.

And I realised this year. That he's been consistent with receiving calls from us, his kids- from near and far. And this can only mean one thing; that we never woke up in the same house on his birthday and that my wishes have always been through the phone.

It makes me sad.

And funnily enough I clicked it's his birthday today

through a Facebook status I'd shared in 

2013 saying 

'A big happy birthday

to the man who has shown me

unconditional love and who

will basically never see this

cz he hasn't got a Facebook account.

Happy Birthday Daddyx'

Maybe I'll share it again

or the like

now that he has facebook 

but never checks it anyway.

Or maybe I'll go have a shower 

and visit The Cornish

with ma hostel buds.

Day TwentyThree

The illness has gone,

So has my voice.

But,

I was out for the day.

Painting a very very belayed hostel sign.

So yeh,

It was nice to be out of the hostel.

PUN INTENDED MOTHERFUCKERSSSSSSSS!!!

Day TwentyTwo

Same sheets, different day.

Jokes, sheets are never the same in a hostel.

Although I can imagine Alex, our Frenchie saying 'ah it was sheet' and meaning shit.

Today I feel like old skul Snow White and new skul The Nanny Diaries.

I had watched the Nanny Diaries before coming here and I could really see myself changing sheets and tutoring a child.

My current scene is quite similar only I'm tutoring myself.

I explain to myself that people have different moods each day,

some need their space

some have no perception of concept of space.

Some know you work there

some have no perception of concept of shift.

Some are friendly

some have no perception of concept of boundaries.

And I really love quiet days

with things to do.

And evening returns.

And my friends across the world

messaging me 

to see if 

I'm ok

when in fact I was ill and wanted to tell someone.

Different sheets, different day.