I miss it.
I can’t stand going there at times.
I love it.
I hate missing it.
It is home.
It is the place where I feel like a child, a stranger.
It is the Lebanon of my ancestors.
It is the Lebanon, the victim of those who oppress it.
Those I dislike, those who trade with its flesh and its future.
It is the land of my Lebanese family and dearest friends.
The skimpishly clad.
The not so proud, selling their homeland.
Those not worth mentioning, but then I do mention them and I get mad.
My Lebanon transcends all that is transient for it is immortal.
They come and go and get broken on its rocks like mindless waves.
Those that think they own it will eventually go.
It alone stays.
We will all go, and it will stay.
Some shots I have taken that remind me of what I miss. Everyday of my life.
[Here is our Fairuz singing about a disagreement having lasted more than anyone cared to admit – she’s lamenting the fact that two lovers were mad at each other for far too long, tried to forget each other but couldn’t. A la Lebanon and yours truly]