FAQs -- First Edition

Good evening Americans, I am coming to you live from rainy Beirut. Unless you're reading this after I post it, in which case it is pre-typed. Hope you're all doing well and surviving your own rainy weather.

I finally got tired of avoiding the rain and ventured out to the mall today. I took a taxi from the mall back home and the bearded yet balding driver took one look at me and said in broken English, “Where are you from?” I've taken dozens of taxis at this point and there has not been one taxi driver that hasn't asked me this question.

I said in Arabic, “How do you know I'm not Lebanese?” He chuckled, which apparently was an appropriate response. The silence continued until I finally said, “America. How did you know that?”

“Your face.”

“My face? My face is American? Both my parents are Lebanese, how is my face not Lebanese?”

He said, “It's just different.”

A few moments of silence while I pondered this new information. Apparently if you raise a child in a different country their face will be from that country, even though genetically they are not. What does an American face look like, I wonder? Fat? Is my face fat?

“Ah, America!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I lived there for a few years. In Michigan! Where are you from?”

“California.”

“Ah! We're neighbors!”

Whatever, just get me where I want to go neighbor. I then wished to revisit my purchases and make sure that I got the correct change, although it's silly to do it in the taxi on the way home because what would I do if they didn't give me the correct change? It's a self-satisfaction sort of thing, I guess. So I stopped talking to him. And he started fidgeting with his own front seat objects so I assumed he didn't want to talk to me anymore either. Wrong.

“See! Look!” He pulled out his Michigan driver's license and began to flail it around the back seat while still attempting to skirt around cars driving too slow.

“Oh, wow. Michigan, that's great!” I said. “Lots of Lebanese in Michigan.” Dear God please stop swerving this car, how in the hell did they issue that license to you anyway?

“Yeah, you say hello to anyone and they greet you with 'Marhaba!'” To which he again chuckled wholeheartedly. It was now that I noticed he was missing a tooth and I couldn't believe anyone could fit the stereotype of an Arab taxi driver more than he until he said the following.

“What are you doing in Lebanon?”

“Oh, just getting to know the family.”

“Oh, yeah? How old are you?”

“22.”

“Oh, so are you getting to know your family or are you looking for a husband?”

Did I just hear correctly? What is this country where a woman over the age of twenty is strange when her immediate life goals do not include a man, a child, or an apron?

“Getting to know my family.” I said.

“No husband?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm too young.”

He scoffed this time. Well, aren't you a treat Mr. Taxi Man. He then said, “Surely, you want to get married.”

I almost said, “No, and don't call me Shirley,” but I don't think he would have laughed and that would have annoyed me more than I was already annoyed so I just settled with, “No, I really don't.”

“Doesn't your family want you to get married?”

“Yep, they do.”

“I think you will.”

“Okay, thanks, you can drop me off here.”

When he pulled over he gave me a big toothless smile and said, “Whenever you want to go anywhere you give me a call, I will take you anywhere because you are American and you are my neighbor.” And then he drove off without giving me his name or number. I stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out if that really just happened until I realized it was still pouring and my American face was freezing.

It almost frustrates me that I'm not being recognized as Lebanese. When I arrived here and the airport official looked at my Lebanese card and asked me, "Are you Lebanese?" I was so confused. Wasn't he looking at proof that I was? It's frustrating because I wanted to come get the experience of what it is like to live in Lebanon but I feel like I'm getting special treatment. Is this the fate of an Arab American? Never regarded as a full American but never treated as an Arab?

This is off topic but I would like to share a conversation happening this very moment between my grandmother and the maid, Rikka, who is not acting crazy anymore and stayed with us. She is trying to learn Arabic by asking my grandmother to translate phrases in English.

Rikka: I'm hungry.
Teta: You are hungry? Go eat.
Rikka: No, no. Arabic. I'm hungry.
Teta: You're angry?
Rikka: No! Hungry!
Teta: Oh, jaani.
Rikka. Jaani.
Teta: Go eat!

If you've ever wondered what Abbot and Costello would say if they were Arab then there you go.

Anyway, I have been getting a lot of similar questions from my friends about my experience so I decided to include a FAQs (frequently asked questions) entry because that is just how generous I am.

Q: Are you married yet?
A: No. But my grandmother whispers on the phone quite frequently about who was very impressed by me and who was asking about me and who was actually there just to meet me and I didn't know and don't dare tell me. She actually believes I don't realize what is going on here? (You hear that Mom and Dad and Aunt Layla? I know what she says when she's talking to you.) I'm not the type of girl who thinks that all the boys are after me but when you change seats three times and the same 32-year-old man sits next to you and asks you questions like, “So, what do you do? Where did you go to school? Isn't Los Angeles a desert?” then you can sort of figure it out. But I quickly channeled Elizabeth Bennet and spoke to him with detached class. Actually, I ran away whenever I saw him, so I think he got the point. Maybe he can spread the rumor that I'm a snobby and picky American who thinks she's too good to marry anyone, which I really wouldn't mind at all.

Q: How are women treated there?
A: I have not felt like I couldn't do something or go somewhere because of my gender, and for the most part, no man has made me feel uncomfortable or demeaned. Actually, the men here are quite respectful, especially when they can tell you aren't from Lebanon, which is apparently obvious in my case. Don't get me wrong, there is still a long way to go for gender equality. One of the bigger issues is domestic abuse. If a husband hits his wife it is not considered a crime. So basically a man can do whatever he pleases in his own home and there really wouldn't be anyone to tell him otherwise. And there are still hardly any women in government or religious roles. But I'm not a sociologist or gender expert so I'm not going to start analyzing that. I can just talk about my own experience, which is that the people who make me most uncomfortable about me being an independent woman are women. I have heard the phrase “she acts like a man” more times than I can count from my older female relatives, the television, even sometimes peers my age. And we already know how people react when I dare to say I don't want to get married. I'm sure they're talking about me behind my back, but I really don't care. When your family is Lebanese then someone will always be talking about you. But they'll talk about you less if you follow these rules:

1. Always have your hair and nails done. Do not put your hair up in a ponytail, this is messy. And do not step outside without make up on, people will think you don't care about yourself.
2. Make sure your eyebrows are always shaped. Try to get them tattooed, the more unnatural they look the more Lebanese your face will seem to taxi drivers. And remember, men don't want to marry a woman with a mustache.
3. Avoid the following masculine activities: hiking, camping, anything to do with nature that could possibly upset your hair or make up. The bare elements will bring out your bare elements, and Allah forbid anyone see your lips do not really have a dark red lining. (You can get that tattooed as well.)
4. Do not tempt men with too much thigh or cleavage. But also do not wear plain clothing that doesn't show off your body in a tasteful way. We're not in the stone ages, after all.
5. Don't be fat. But don't be skinny. Strive to be as beautiful as the images you see on television. But have a healthy body image!
6. Don't smoke, drink, or stay out too late. Don't let the neighbors see you come home late, especially if a man is dropping you off. After all it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single Arab man in possession of a mediocre fortune must be in want of a virgin.

Q: Is it diverse in Lebanon?
A: The first thing I noticed when I got here was that there sure are a lot of Arabs. So, no, not really. There are a few hip, young white people strolling about either studying abroad or traveling, mostly European. Most of the diversity comes from the working class who as I have already said come from South Asia and the Philippines.

Q: Do they speak English?
A: The Lebanese people have an unbelievable talent for languages. Most can speak Arabic, French and English. But I have never seen a country with such an identity crisis. They sing Happy Birthday first in English, then in Arabic, and then in French. And the poor kid just wants to make his wish and eat the cake already. Sorry kid, you can't have your gateau and eat it too. When they answer the phone they say, “Bonjour,” when you do them a favor they say, “Merci,” when they hang up the phone they say, “Bye.” There are a lot of complicated reasons for a lack of a Lebanese identity, which in my opinion is the root of all of Lebanon's problems. Maybe that is their identity, that they are Western and Arab all in one and that they are separated and united all in one. And I use the word “united” loosely. But that does not have to do with speaking English. Yes, they speak English.

Q: What's the hardest thing to get used to?
A: Well, I have quickly come to realize that Lebanese people are the same everywhere and that if you are raised in a Lebanese household you will not be shocked by the characteristics that could make Lebanese people a little bit, um, shocking. I am not afraid when someone who went to school with my grandmother's brother's middle son's cousin's neighbor's wife kisses me on the cheeks and hugs me too close to their old man armpits. I am not afraid when I see a table full of food and a chunky widow coming at me with a spoonful of tabbouleh. Quite the contrary. But they can be really frank about things that Lebanese Americans don't say because they have come to understand American faux paus. Such as they will call you fat, say your clothes don't look good, ask who you voted for, ask how much money you make, what your religion is, how much your house costs, why you're not married, if you're interested in a nose job, etc. etc. They're not trying to be rude, these things just aren't considered private matters here. Luckily most of the above has not been directed towards me because I think my family and friends are literally afraid of scaring me off. Except the nose job. That one was from my grandmother. What I simply can't get used to though is their lack of structure. They're really flaky. Again, they don't mean to be rude. Their way of life is, “Relax. No problem.” Which can explain why there are a lot of problems.

Q: How do Lebanese people feel about Americans?
A: As mentioned in a previous entry and which I'm sure you have memorized as you should everything I say, my grandmother is famous for remembering birthdays. Once she was rattling off every family member who had a birthday in December and she proudly said, “I'm pretty good at birthdays.” Her sister said, “Pretty good? Sister, I'm sure you know Bush's birthday.” In short, they don't like Bush. Sr. and Jr. And other than that I can't possibly tell you because Lebanese people are so divided in their opinions that I'm not even sure I can tell you how they feel about Lebanon. From what I've deciphered, they are generally positive about President Obama although they think he can be more daring when it comes to the Middle East. They think Americans are capitalists whose lives revolve around making money, and I'm not sure how wrong they are about that one. This apparently explains why I want to work and not get married. They like Baskin Robbins. They also love the movie 2012. Like really, really love it.

This entry is becoming extremely long so I will call this the first edition of FAQs and when I receive more questions I will update it. Although I'm sure this has all been so thorough that you could not possibly have any more doubts as to what Lebanon is really about. Why does everyone say summarizing the Middle East is so complicated?

Anyway, I start my job February 1st and I am quite excited! I go in on Monday for a “preliminary briefing”, which makes it sound like I'm the President and that is awesome. Finally, getting a little responsibility around here. I thought my American face and capitalist need for money would have gotten me a job sooner than this.

I've had a really homesick past few weeks and I miss you all so much. Please avoid tornadoes as I hear they may come visit you in Southern California and please also have an amazing rest of your week.

Yay!

Pending satisfactory references and a three-month trial period, I am now employed! The publishing company I mentioned in the last entry wishes to try me out as an editorial and marketing assistant. I so professionally and composedly say--YAY!

The money isn't anything to write home about, but I guess I am writing home right now so maybe it is something to write home about? Anyway, I didn't come to Lebanon to strike it rich but to gain an invaluable experience I can take with me back to the States, and I'm very excited to say that helping Lebanese writers would really be a challenging and unforgettable opportunity. Also, Turning Point shares their floors with film distributors from Paramount and NBC and the employees are all very close. I'm sure those contacts will come in very handy as well as be awesome people to talk to in general. In the end, money is money, and, as Teta would say, "You can't take it with you!" I start February 1st, which is very exciting. My Lebanese life is rolling along at full speed and I am loving it.

Exploring the neighborhoods of Beirut is exciting since this Yelp-less, directory-less land is sort of like uncharted territories. I am Columbus and this is India, I am Ponce de Leon and this is the Caribbean, I am Sir Frances Drake and this is the world.

Wow, that took a lot of googling.

Anyway, I am excited as well because a few friends of mine are planning on visiting towards the summertime. I am so happy to be spreading the beauty of Lebanon to people who may not otherwise find it on their own. If you have been reading this blog and have fallen in love with this land through the beauty and glory emanating from the words of gold I present you (and let's face it, how can you not?), then you are more than welcome to come visit as well. We can be explorers together!

Another quick update: there has been quite the Bangladeshi-maid drama here at home. I try to be compassionate because she left her family to work for their wages and lives in a country where she has no cultural or familial connection. My grandma and I try to treat her like a member of the family and make her feel at home. But this b is crazy! She starts muttering prolonged and repeated phrases, almost like she's chanting, and then she gets a phone call and explodes in screams and tears. I'm sure she has not left out any Bangladeshi curse word in her screams at my grandma, who has treated her with the utmost kindness and respect. Anger exudes from her eyeballs and burns a hole through my stomach to where I'm sure she can see the shawarma I ate for lunch jumping back up my throat at her look. I keep asking her why she's mad to which she responds by sending me laserbeam glares.

She's leaving on Sunday because my grandma is actually starting to feel a little threatened. I have to keep reminding myself of her unfortunate position, but I think she put a curse on me, every time I leave my room I trip on nothing. This may make me a horrible person, but I'd rather be a horrible person than maybe end up murdered, so I'm okay with that.

Finally:

Dear NBC,

Are you crazy?

Love,

Team Conan, Lebanon Chapter


A very non-yay edit: my heart and thoughts are with the people of Haiti. You can help in the relief effort by texting "HAITI" to 90999 to donate just $10 to Red Cross relief efforts. If you'd prefer to donate online or by mail, here are some other ways to help:

Red Cross
Doctors Without Borders
Mercy Corps

Happy new year!

I know I'm a little late, but you'll have to forgive me. You see—Lebanese people are always late. But happy new year nonetheless and I hope that the first week of 2010 has brought you all good things. I haven't updated in a while because I haven't had internet access, but today I am officially connected (JOY TO THE WORLD!). So expect more frequent updates from your Arab-influenced friend.

A lot has happened to me and although I would like to take you on a detailed and thorough adventure through the past few weeks, I know that you, unlike me, may actually have a job and somewhere to be. Or you probably don't really care. So I'll give you a brief summary.

Mountain life, although filled with funny anecdotes about the electricity and the cold, quickly turned limiting as I realized I was seeing the same pair of 80-year-old women every day. Don't get me wrong, these women are feisty and fun, and I definitely put the jabal in the “horizon broadening experience” category, but when the heater stopped working in my room I quickly turned to my grandmother and said, “Please get me out of here.” She finally agreed to move into this apartment in Beirut a few days earlier than planned when she realized she was seeing the same 22-year-old every day and unlike herself, this 22-year-old was neither feisty nor fun.

As we were getting ready to move, we made a trip up to a nearby city to pick up a few things. In true mountain fashion, it started to pour. The road back was literally rocky and curvy, and with the rain it was even harder to navigate. But my grandma had been handing me the keys lately so that I could practice driving. I was so proud of myself, driving in Lebanon! If you can drive in Lebanon, you can drive anywhere!, they say. Well, I guess I can't drive anywhere, because I came around a bend and suddenly the wheels wouldn't turn, and the car wouldn't stop. I felt the car sliding in the water, towards the edge of the road. Naturally I did what any competent and adept driver would do and rammed into the monster tires of an 18-wheel truck. After the initial impact, I turned in shock to my grandmother in the passenger seat. I was blubbering, “Are you okay?” and she was blabbering “Are you okay?” so in short we were both okay. I turned around to check on my mother's sister-in-law and saw her sprawled across the backseat. I had a mini-heart attack, but when she sat up, her glasses diagonal on her face, and said “I bumped my toe”, I nearly passed out in relief. Everyone is fine, and we are really lucky. I know this kind of accident could happen anywhere, but I'm playing the newcomer card and just taking taxis from now on.

The new year was spent in my cousin's house turned nightclub where my mom's cousin kept serving me cranberry vodkas much to the displeasure of my grandmother who thought it was straight whiskey and kept feeding me bread-based foods. We waited for the countdown and then 5 minutes before midnight I guess all the old people got tired and said “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and the hugging commenced, the confetti dropped, and then everyone left. I said, “What?”, shrugged, and sipped my cranberry vodka.

A few days later we moved to Downtown Beirut, which is an amazing location. There are remnant's of Beirut and Lebanon's past all over the city but there is a spirit of life here that I can't describe, tainted but positive, sectarian but helpful. Each neighborhood really deserves its own entry, so I'll keep this short and just say that it's phenomenal and I love Beirut already.

A few days ago, I interviewed with a great English publishing house here in Beirut for an editorial assistant position. If I get the job I would be helping them with a few projects and then pick up and develop projects on my own. I would also get the opportunity to travel with them to international book fairs as well as other Middle Eastern countries! Helping Lebanese and Arab authors get their words read and their voices heard is a very personal dream come true, so I was very excited when they called me yesterday for a second interview. Here's hoping! I'm also still looking to get involved in the film scene here but I think for now I'll see what opportunities present themselves in the field. There's really no industry here so to find an actual position is pretty difficult. And I'd rather work in publishing, which I also love, than work in television, which I don't plan to pursue and really don't have too high of an interest in at this point. So hopefully this progress will continue, but until then I've really been just trying to enjoy my time with my family and get to know the city, which is a person to get to know itself.

That's pretty much it from this side of the world. The news here keeps saying that Israel is planning to attack Lebanon in May, to which I respond by saying, “Crap.” Cool it Middle East, I'm here now. But other than that possibility I'm seeing a very bright and amazing 2010 up ahead.

For you that is. I'm just trying to stay out of war.

Hope you're all doing well! And again, happy new year!

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas everyone! I’m thinking of you all as I celebrate with my family here and I hope that the holiday season is bringing you all the wonderful things you deserve! This year Santa kindly brought me extra 8 pounds. And he got lazy because he put them all on my stomach. New Year's Resolution #1: Ease up on the pita bread?

Or do what every other Lebanese woman has done and eat to my heart’s content, wait until I gain more weight, and get liposuction! Also botox, a nose job, and breast implants. Yes, yes, much better.

Anyway, I’ve been doing very well since the last time we updated. We recently moved into my uncle’s empty apartment in Beirut. I walk to the beautiful downtown shopping and restaurant area, I can walk to the water, and of course we all know that this is the best part, I can walk to all the best Beirut bars and night clubs. Now all I need to do is make friends to go out with and I’m set. (How do I do that again?)

I’m in the mountains right now, which at first I really found to be a challenge. But as of last week I am an official jabal (mountain) girl. Well I would argue I’m really a Beirut girl, but what I mean to say is that I am also a cardholding member of the jabal club.

I suppose I should tell you what happened last week to initiate me into said club, but before I begin, let me explain that when I say I am staying in the mountains, I don't mean the Himalayas or the Rockies. Mount Lebanon is mild in comparison and the villages are relatively developed. Let me also explain that when I say developed, I don't mean buildings and malls, I mean two gas stations, a grocery store, a hair salon run by a middle-aged man, and sixty-three toy shops.

I'm sorry to ruin the romantic image of me rolled up in a sleeping bag counting the Lebanese stars, exhausted from my daytime hike to fetch water, but aside from freezing temperatures and the lack of anything remotely fun to do other than watching horrible Christina Ricci movies on the two English TV channels, my grandmother's house is probably pretty similar to your grandmother's house. Unless your grandmother lives in a small village in, I don't know, Alaska, and likes to stuff you with various baked goods, and doesn't have the internet, in which case it is exactly like your grandmother's house.

A note on the freezing temperature: it's not. It's actually no colder than 45ºF. But it will get colder and actually snow, at which point I am hoping to either be in Beirut or have jumped off a Lebanese cliff. At times I can see my breath in my bedroom. In the movies (half of the basis of all my knowledge), when you see a character's breath, you're supposed to say, “Whoa, it must be damn cold.” So by this logic, it must be damn cold here. But not to worry, my grandmother has provided me with a gastank-powered behemoth of a heater that instantly warms the entire room with the strength of a raging fire. It's not my fault I need this, it's really evolution that has adapted me to a land of sunshine and warmth. It's debatable science, people, look it up. Also, please look up what happens when you inhale too much gas.

Anyway, the way I became an official jabal girl is based on my own misconceptions of my parents' childhood. My mother and father both grew up on this very mountain, in this very village of Btekhnay. Actually, if we're going to be technical, my father grew up in Btekhnay and my mother grew up on the border of Btekhnay and Hamana, but their houses are about four minutes apart, so in my head they were neighbors who grew up unaware of each other and years later fell in love and produced one of the most amazing women to ever live. And also my sister.

My parents have told me stories of how, during the actual freezing winters, they would sit in a small living room and study by candlelight. Thus making them contemporaries with Abraham Lincoln, who I believe also did the same. Mom, Dad, and Abe I'm sure, would sit in these rooms which, translated into English, are called “winter rooms”, or “only room in the house with a heater.” My mother would pour coffee for Abe, much at the displeasure of my grandfather who was of course trying to hook her up with my dad. But then Abe said, “I'm sorry, I must travel to the colonies and one day free the slaves.” She of course understood and let him go. But even to this day there isn't a $5 bill that passes through her hands without a tear dropping on it.

Now, although Lebanon is trying to enter modern times with its highway billboards and shopping malls, much like Abe himself it still has yet to escape the past. A good example of this is that homes, whether in the city or the mountains, still do not receive electricity 24 hours a day. If you can afford it, you can subscribe to a company which will provide backup power while the electricity is rationed to some other part of the village or city. This is of course a separate bill, but it's automatic and you usually only have to wait about 30 seconds or so for the power to kick in.

So this hasn't been too big of an inconvenience for me, except for a moment or two. Our water heater, for instance, can't run on the backup power. So if you want to take a shower and the water wasn't heated on the electricity, you're out of luck. And just because it was heated doesn't mean it will stay that way. In about 2 seconds, you can go from singing in a steaming shower to screaming in water so cold that you fully understand the Titanic finale. Whether you're Jack or Rose really depends on if you can slosh out of the shower fast enough to survive.

And the second moment was yesterday, when I felt a connection with my parents for a few hours. It was about 8pm or so, which in mountain time is about midnight because it gets dark around 4 and there is literally nothing to do except change into your pajamas and read until you fall asleep. Which is what I was doing when the electricity went out. “Hardy har, Lebanon you rascal,” I thought as I sat in the dark waiting for the backup power to kick in so I can continue The Ridiculous Race. If you like hilarious travel literature, which you obviously do because you're reading the over-the-top hilarity that is this blog, then you'll love this book by Steve Hely and Vali Chandrasekaran. (Dear Henry Holt and Co.: you may email me regarding my payment, thank you.)

A dark minute went by and I thought, “Hm. Weird. Usually I'd be reading again by now.” But, as usual, I got distracted. “Wow, it's pitch black in here. Really, I have never been in a room this dark.”

Then I got to thinking about how in cartoons (the second half of the basis of all my knowledge), when a character is in a dark room and blinks, his eyes are white circles on the black screen. Well, what if this wasn't just a characteristic of drawn rabbits or ducks but really a natural trait of all human beings? How would we know otherwise? We obviously need to be in a pitch black room to see if, like cartoon characters, our eyes appeared in the dark. But has anyone put themselves in this situation? And because we cannot see our eyes, we do not actually know if they indeed glow. Were cartoonists actually scientists ahead of their time and forced into the underground where they could only serve progress by their Looney Tunes? Was I, Nasrin Aboulhosn, many-a-time-scoffed-at literature and writing major, on the brink of a revolutionary biological discovery?

Clearly.

I turned to where I thought the mirror stood and began to open and close my eyes slowly. Nothing. Maybe I'm not doing it fast enough. Yeah, a quick spot of white may catch my attention. Hmm, nope. Maybe that's not actually where the mirror is; let me try a bit to the right. Hm, to the left?

Then I saw a flicker of light and thought, “My God, I was half joking.” Not entirely joking, though, because there is still some part of me that wishes that I lived in a cartoon, and this part still plays a very active role in how I see the world. I excitedly began to blink rapidly, trying to think about what I should say when I accept my Nobel Prize (it's really easy to get it nowadays). That’s when my grandmother said, “What's wrong with you?” and I realized the flicker of light was a candle and she was holding it.

A note on my grandmother: she is literally the most selfless person alive. Also: she likes to make dirty jokes, calculate how long it takes to get from Point A to Point B, and thoroughly explain how each passerby is related to the other as well as to me. She is famous for remembering birthdays and phone numbers. She has no formal education but speaks five languages and knows more than I will ever learn. She is quite possibly the coolest person in my life and if all I get out of this trip is a closer relationship with her then it was more than worth it.

The soft candlelight instantly transported me into a different room, nay, a different time. It lit up but a small corner of the room but it was beautiful in a days of yore sort of way. I said, “I thank thee for thy gift, grandmamma. I bid you goodnight.” But she pretended not to hear me.

The candle was indeed beautiful. For about ten seconds. Then it was boring. What was I supposed to do now? That's when I remembered my parents crowding around the heater and the candle practicing their letters. Okay, fine, for all I know, they could have sat under fluorescent sky lights learning about 20th century technology as it relates to contemporary history, but for the sake of my story, get over it.

I think on those simpler days fondly, so I decided to join my parents and Abe in their ye olde tyme memories. I curled up near the candle and continued to read about Steve and Vali's adventures. I tried to ignore that I had to angle the book nearly parallel to the floor to read it and that every ten minutes I had to change positions to follow the light. I tried not to notice that both my legs were asleep because of my curl in the corner. I was even successful in not caring about the small hint of gas still wafting around the room. I was trying to appreciate the romance of a world not powered by technology.

For about ten seconds. “Screw this,” I thought, blew out the candle, and practiced glowing in the dark again.

Thus the life of the jabal girl. I’m glad we moved to Beirut because I've run out of mountain jokes. I can't keep saying, “Is she coming round the mountain when she comes?” every time my grandma says someone is coming to visit. It's simply not funny.

No job yet, but I'm glad I got this time to spend with my family and explore both the city and the mountains a bit. Not to say that I'm not desperate for something productive to fill my time other than pretending to be able to read Harry Botter and writing in my blog. I have a few ideas brewing, I'm working on it.

Again, Merry Christmas and I’ll hopefully update before then but I’m wishing you all a Happy New Year!

Proof of how delicious Lebanon truly is.

You can find pictures here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2464916&id=3314693&l=07380bc319