Day Hundred Sixteen

While everyone's posting

wishes

for Mother's Day

in this

geographical region

of the world,

I have one thought

at the end 

of the night.

.

I wish my children

don't talk to me

if I'm 

doing them harm.

Not to punish me 

but more so 

to save themselves

.

The aspiring healthy mother

in me.

Day SeventyEight

- Home To Many -

That is, my heart.

After struggling to define stability and its elements;

after trying to locate it and picture it 

and after shifting it from land to land

I find it here within me.

And its elements are the feelings of comfort

its picture includes friendly faces

and what I carry is the other end of the bond created.

It strengthens me; though I thought it would weaken me.

It creates me; though I thought it would destroy me.

It is home

when I thought I was homeless.

Alex said the other day,

'Home is where the notes are'

in an honest joke

of how we have made each other home

and have done so through notes.

Then again,

Kyr, whose art I am a great fan of

and who so delicately expresses herself in colours

messaged me just now to say how Home To Many

inspires her

and that with the way I see the world 

through mind and heart

I am able to 

change someone for the better.

I got goosebumps.

Who, me I can inspire?

I have readers?

Of course I do.

And it's the fear of sounding arrogant that would make me doubt that I do.

Because of course I write for people to read.

Of course I write to inspire.

And I'm glad it gets expanded

even through 'hard' times.

And then I told Kyr,

<<It's been a hard road to get here and it still is hard to be able to keep the light shining..>>

and she told me to write about it.

And really,

I don't know what to focus on;

that it seems so unpleasant to the self when it's happening

or that the self comes out confident and bright

like nothing happened.

How can I be writing about emotional and psychological struggles

in a flourishing garden?

I think I made it yo,

I think I'm happy!

by Kyr.

#firetoinspire

Day SeventyOne

When life gives you puppy

love and caress and protect it.

This puppy entered the hostel in Basem's arms

wrapped in a towel like a new born gift

from the universe to our low,

panicked mood 

of the week.

Chadya and I 

had been going through the crazies

after I, slightly depressed 

and with intense withdrawal symptoms,

frustration and unhealthy increase of smoking

was unable and unwilling to get involved in any sort of social activity

and after Chadya,

understanding, mature and fun-loving

had lost faith in what had become an attempt to

fight all negatives and survive them with clear conscience.

I instantly focus on doggy-dog

who obviously needs attention more than us in this instance,

and try to prioritise 'neglected female dog'

over 'neglected female friends'.

It works out,

we needed the attention as much as each other.

We decide to go for a walk

and after days of low energy

and inactivity

we set doggy-dog free

for a fun.

She runs

and laughs

and Chadya runs in front of it

and I stroll behind them

as we crack out laughing

at the cuteness of the moment.

We decide to call her 

Nila

from (Nicole + Lila),

our sisters' names.

Day FiftyThree

A day in the sun

On the floor 

In the living room

Swinging legs 

left and right

Roll downs

to the floor

Back rolls

to the side

and 

Splits on the wall

and through the

window frame.

On a song that Chadya played

and gave me rhythm

to dance.

Contemporary.

Day Fifty

Golden Anniversary

for 50 days of blogging,

seeing that it might not reach

the 50 year anniversary.

If it does though, 

I really do hope I remember to link this blog post to that!

...Blogging is something so flexible yet so insightful;

you can choose what to write

yet you write it the way -you- see it

it gets delivered in your own package

and the reader received whatever has been packed.

People who have experienced the same day

will give a completely 

different 

collection of events and feelings.

And that's pretty amazing;

pretty much like real life,

where you see one thing

and the other sees an other.

So this blog post is dedicated to perceptions

and how the blog

intensifies them;

brings them to life;

or sugar-coats them.

A blog will also ask for 

reflection.

It has helped me over the past 50 days

to look back in the day and

remember,

relive,

and appreciate

the sweet gestures,

snappy replies,

honest looks,

and 

warm hugs.

And it is now teaching me to take 

none 

too seriously.

For they are all

expressions 

of the moment.

And whatever you give focus to

grows.

So I'm glad

whatever needs to grow more will;

and whatever needs to die will;

inshallah.

Day FourtyThree

Strange how a place that feels like home can be an empty home at times.

We go to the coast area and find a calm spot on the rocks to sit, and write, 

and reload, and refresh.

Sarah brought her note book and I brought mine.

I have no intention of writing but carry it with me just in case the inspiration comes.

I lie down on the rocks

at a spot that seems carved like a sofa

and I let the sun rays

and salty particles in the air

sit on me.

I close my eyes and feel whole.

In my body, in my mind 

and in connection 

to others.

It was nice to feel comfortable in just being around someone again.

There is so much expectation and movement at the hostel some times that you forget the kind of form you take around few.

I think of going,

I think of staying

I think of options 

then I think of the only one choice

.to live.

I open my eyes just in time.

Sarah has completed her passage and I sit up,

take my nuts from my bag and listen to her story.

I come across a very green pistachio and I take a picture while she's still reading

while I'm still listening

while I'm still living.

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 ThirtyEight

A lone day.

I wake up in a light, good mood, walk upstairs, have some breakfast and head off to nowhere in particular.

I realise I haven't been out alone like a tourist or even like a local during my time here. I'm always with people I know or with people I meet. 
I get to the main street and walk around.

I wonder, noticing new graffiti as I come across a patisserie. I go inside and pick a chocolate piece. The man asks me if I would like to have it here and I say yes please. He serves it to me in a plate and invites me to grab a chair. I say it's ok and head outside.

I sit on the sidewalk by the doorstep having this butter-filled delight as I people watch and observe the architecture of the buildings across the street. And it feels good. To be out exploring the city from my take. After being here for so many, days. I enjoy it and I'm so totally in the now.

My day continues with this feeling of knowing what is good for me and going for it.

My evening starts off with a citrus & cinnamon drink to prevent the cold I think is coming and is followed by a trip to the theatre.

I haven't been to the theatre in a long time and I usually go alone so this was the perfect way to complete my loneness.

'Things I'm Not'.

This is a contemporary dance piece of two people going through the ups and downs of what it takes to meet. Somewhere. Somehow.

And everything it takes to stay close, without destroying each other.

To co-exist. With an other and with your demons. 

And which one wins, or wins you over each time.

It was lovely.

More so because I felt less lonely than ever.

Day ThirtyThree

Five-Day-Family

Jay was right. The hostel/traveler lifestyle is formed of five-day-families.

People you share showers, rooms, breakfasts and shots with.

People you take advice from without defenses;

and people who 

are able to become more of a family to you than your family ever was.

They see the current version of you and the way you have developed.

They don't see; or are not concerned with 

the spots you had on your face when you were growing from the black sheep to the princess feminist you are today.

They don't see; or are not concerned with

the double chin you think you always have when lying awkwardly on the couches.

They don't see; or are not concerned with

the unloving and unloved aggressive teenager.

Because they see

the single chin loving princess

you are today.

Jay stayed ten days.

Five-Day-Family x 2

Day TwentyEight

Sometimes it's hard to post a blog piece every day.

Reasons include not having enough time to collect yourself and thoughts, or, not being decisive on the blog's context since all days seem to be extremely rich, or, even, 

what I'm experiencing today;

that the self is so overwhelmed by feelings that it lacks mental capacity.

The hostel life is fast;

and I like to take my time,

so,

this lifestyle is making me adapt 

to a faster digestion

of events

or alternatively 

gives me indigestion.

-

Today I went to Shatila.

Shatila for me is like a fix.

Can't stay far for too long and it fixes me when I'm there.

Reasons being the extreme realness of a community that only has itself.

People who only have each other.

And whether I have been fully accepted as a presence there

or not

becomes irrelevant to the amounts of love I receive from 

everyone who I do come in contact.

Linguistic communication is scarce -

with the teachers at the organisation, with the children, 

and with the teenage girls.

It all happens with the eyes.

It's through Abdullah's eyes that I know he's fully in love with me and that he knows I'm fully in love with him. He tries to be naughty by leaving his desk or by bothering other kids but the moment I look at him he returns to writing down the numbers. The fact that I'm giving him this attention; the fact that there is care and not demand in my look is what motivates him to go all the way through the lesson.

Zahra's the 8-year old version of me.

Dark brown features and growing to potentially look like Eva Mendez.

The class finishes and all three classes meet in the hallway. We start dancing and singing to Arabic and English children's songs. Zahra's at the other side of the big circle and she looks at me each time we are at an angle facing each other from the distance.

Then we all move to the dance hall and she's one of the few kids who make it to the stage 

(via random selection cz all of them wanted to be on stage).

And I observe her being so charming and full of universal awareness. 

A bright child.

She dances with charm and humbleness.

She's not doing it to be seen. She's doing it cz she feels like it.

The song ends and she runs and lands next to me on the hall carpet.

She leans on my crossed legs and makes my space hers.

She starts singing the next Arabic song and occasionally looks at me.

I look back and keep my eyes on her

a bit longer.

My eyes water and I'm not wishing for anything.

I just try to remember what happened 

between

me being her then and me being me now.

And I try to merge the two together; not having realised that I have been giving myself a lot less credits than I ever deserved.

'Al beitttttt' [home time!]

the teacher shouts.

She gets up, gives me a hug and runs out with the rest of the screaming kids.

Day TwentyFive

This friendly looking white man opens the door to our dorm at late o'clock and looks in without saying anything.

Four Mississippi seconds pass 

and I eventually say,

'...are you looking for something?'

Dumb question coming from someone working 

at the hostel, but I was off duty at the time.

'I booked a room but the note has the wrong name!?'

'Ok... what's your name?'

'Alexander'

'Oh ok, you're upstairs'

(Thank god I'm such a proactive worker man, I even know the late arrivals' names)

'How do you get there?'

(The awkwardness continues)

'You just walk up the stairs...!..?'

'Ok, thank you...'

He closes the dorm door and heads up the stairs.

The morning comes and I recognise newbie Alex at breakfast.

'Hello Alex,' I say with a cheeky provocative tone

'Did you find your room?'

We laugh as the ice breaks.

We move to the couches and have a lovely morning chat. He tells me he's from Canada and builds bridges in mountains as a job.

I say I'm from Cyprus and he says that's where I'm coming from!

Fastest comfort zone entry 

of the week!

Nice one Alex.

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.

Day TwentyOne

Beoble Barty.

It feels like a real party when the celebrity walks in and makes everything right.

He puts people's worries at ease and with the comfort he creates he can put up a barty.

That's Sammy.

He's the one person who can walk in and facilitate in beoble bartying.

He makes you forget what you were worried about; 

making you wonder if your worries

were an illusion.

He's loving, supportive, yet completely control of situations.

He wants to mean the world to you and then he plays humble.

He plays and teases for the sake of reaction and emotion.

He might be the berfect bart to our hostel dynamics whis is currently missing.

Our female energy and sisterhood got a bit drowned in emotion these days- 

and,

as much as I would like to blame the moon,

it's true;

we miss Sammy.

p.s.: in Lebanese Arabic the letter 'p' does not exist so it is replaced by 'b'.

Barty Beoble.

Day Nineteen

As Sammy would say,

'Its all about the balance.'

And though he would mock me for putting so much emphasis on the importance of balance, 

it remains a universal truth.

It's all about balance.

But how do you find this balance when

your inner child is wounded

your flatmates don't wash the dishes

your service providers don't give official receipts

your couscous was watery

your eyebrows aren't shaped to perfection

your dorm mate talks too much

your mum is disappointed you haven't met your essay deadline

you're going to Larnaca and not Nicosia

you're anorexic

you're French

you're a Taurus

you're in need of some sleep but still go out.

Yeane, how?

Day Sixteen

Cedars.

Lebanese cedar is a popular and precious tree growing in Lebanon.

This is also the tree featured on the Lebanese flag.

Cedars are common for other regional countries yet they are all specific of location. For instance, cedars grow in Cyprus, Troodos mountain as well as Turkey, Taurus mountain

but they each have their own unique characteristics.

I get inspired and look into it a bit more.

It looks like before this flag Lebanon had the Persian flag which was also common for Cyprus and Turkey.

I start imagining how it must have been for all to be under Persian rule

 and I figure that migration, race mix and same culture are a few of the elements that have connected this region.

Although politically a lot has changed, I find my Cypriot self and half Persian girl friend completely grounded in the land between our own.

We met in Lebanon,

on a coincidental or otherwise magnetic draw

to our current home.

The past has brought us together

through familiarity of

migration

race mix

and

same culture

and we are now standing together;

growing like 

cedars

and

exchanging seeds.