Beirut; I love you. For sure. I love the streets, I love the vibes. I love the chaos and the highs and lows of this city. I love the people. I love th...
Beirut; I love you. For sure.
I love the streets, I love the vibes. I love the chaos and the highs and lows of this city.
I love the people. I love the streets. I love the weather.
I love the highlights of the news. Everyday.
Beirut: You are beautiful.
But a terribly beautiful city couldn’t make me feel beautiful.
Just another weekend in Beirut and nothing has changed.
Too many people yet I feel lonely.
Too many places to go yet am bored.
Just another weekend in Beirut, and one more time I will ask you:
Beirut: Where is love in this city? Why the people here don’t love? Aren’t you a fighter? Why didn’t you teach us to fight for love? Why didn’t you teach us that love is patient… and love, just like you, can be flawed.
Beirut: Did you run out of jobs? Because everyone now is a public figure. You know better than I do about the people here who crave the figure thing, power, status, and money. Yes, money… So many are so money here. The people here are SHOWY, They show you everything and anything but love.
I wanted to go out for lunch today, but, one more time, I would come home hungry and thirsty.
Then I thought of lighting a candle to celebrate the peace of my mind, then, once again, I was afraid to run out of candles at midnight.
But does peace exist when there is a bloody war between what you want and who you are?
Because I talk about everything in terms of the upbringing…
Beirut; you are the upbringing.
There is no love in this city. This is the “pretend” city.
Pretend to love, pretend to be happy, pretend to be okay.
What is worse than living in a pretend city?
Over the years, you have taught us to pretend.
With all the scars you have, you are happy, you are energetic, you are strong.
Just from above the skies. You look happy.
Only the ones who packed and left can still look at you from above and tell you: Beirut; you are a happy place.
The melancholy feeling. You know?
Beirut; you are terribly beautiful.
But why are they still writing about the wars and struggles?
I’m afraid that I’m just like you. We both can’t escape our past.
We are both fed up with insults, threats, and judgements.
We are both lost souls. We are both empty.
We are peaceful no matter how many battles we fight everyday.
We both hold the world yet many other times we can barely hold ourselves.
We both tell stories, but many other times we are the story.
Sometimes we rebel, but many other times we go back to reality.
I look like you Beirut.
But Beirut, you are ageless. And I’m an old woman at 25.