Hey guys, I'm feeling a bit homesick, and I cant help but miss Beirut like crazy today. I got a request from someone to post a personal blog...actually a memoir of Beirut is what they asked me for. My love of writing memoirs has been exposed....THANKS Charbel. Ummm I wrote this memoir a year and a half ago for a class. The story is very true, lol and umm very me, very corny. So I decided to share it with you. Don't try and plagiarize it, ill rip you into shreds hehe.. JUST KIDDING. But seriously don't, I handed this in for a university course, and if you try and use it, the scanner the universities use, will definitely pick it up. So here it is my memoir part 1 (ill post part 2 next week, you'll like the end) P.s. You'll understand the picture later on in my memoir! Ill also search online for wall-paper to show off that was like the one I had back there. Plus when i handed this in, i did the first sentence from the first sentence of Fairouz's song "Li Beirut" and the last sentence of my memoir was fromt he last sentence in the song. hehe i got a 98%. Enjoy:
Li Beirut min qalbi salamoun li Beirut, li sakhraten ka2ennaha wajho ba77aren qadeemi. I can still feel its humidity, the feeling of my very light clothes sticking onto me and my extremely warm skin. The sun was starting to come up and the outside temperature was already 25 degrees Celsius and the sounds from the streets blasting into my room from the balcony's open doors. I remember the neighbors on their balcony above mine speaking in quick Armenian, the music blasting from the music store at the end of the street, the group of women picking lentils from a tray for the day's dinner while reading each other's fortunes from tipped over coffee cups, and the church bells starting to ring all across the neighborhood so beautifully intertwined with the sound of the Mosque's muezzin. I was still shocked that I was up so early, when I had only fallen asleep 2 hours earlier. I loved the night, I still do. Beirut was my heaven, it was somewhere I could be myself, roam the streets pointlessly, watch the thousands of different people walk up and down the streets, and party until the sun comes up. That day was different, I didn't get up at 4 pm but instead at 9 am, like I said only 2 hours after getting home. I remember not being able to fall asleep, there was so much going on around me, I did not want to miss a single bit of it. I think it was the voice of Fairouz blasting from every apartment, car, store, and balcony that really made me want to get up. Ya Mina el Habayeb. Ahhh yes, that was the song.
I recall sitting up, looking around, all tiredness gone from my evidently red eyes, and the hangover not settling in yet. I was still in jeans and my Prada sandals still on my feet... it obviously was a wild night. I quickly jumped into a cold shower, not wanting to wait for the water to heat up in the 'azan/or electric water heater if you will. I got dressed and put on my very punk-rock style hat, and t-shirt when I noticed my phone was not charged at all. I quickly grabbed my charger and wallet. I would later charge it in a small bistro called Paul's in Ashrafieh. What am I going to do? I thought over and over... for sure my partners in crime are all in bed, and wont be up for another 6 hours. I decided to walk and cab, leaving my car behind. Staying in Ashrafieh I felt like I was in an old quarter of Paris, the French, the croissants, the laughing, Chaps Elysees blasting from an old cafe, the shy yet curious girls, and most importantly the amazingly stylish and may i add lavish lifestyle. Beirut had gone through a war summer prior, and I couldn't even tell. It was just as lively. I guess Beirut could never die.
I roamed the streets, buying pointless things, eating and browsing around the alleys and streets nobody goes to. I wanted to discover them, I felt like I was alive, something pulled me further and deeper into the city. I didn't want to miss a thing. I took pictures of every street, sign, cafe, church or mosque that i came across. I was like a lost Canadian tourist, but still nothing scared me. After having enough,physically not mentally may I add, i decided it was about time I woke up the party goers I am so infatuated with. I took a taxi to Hamra, and there I would find Lina and Adham for sure...the infamous brother and sister duo who grew to be my brother and sister with time. Walking into their building and onto their floor I could feel the cool air from the air conditioned apartments. I rang the bell, and Taunt Rosette opens the door, she was a short and stubby woman, not like Charbel's tall and extremely young looking mother, but oh could Taunt Rosette cook! I went inside and sat in the living room, after three months I felt quite at home may I add. Their home was not like the one I stayed in back in Eastern Beirut. Theirs was a typical classical French era furniture type, very polished, and formal home. Mine however was something out of a 1940's black and white film. It had the simple bed with all the white sheets and covers (which were pointless as they were thrown on the floor, as it was too warm to use them anyways....besides I usually passed out on the sofas). The walls in my apartment were composed of yellow and white striped wall paper...it sounds weird but it was amazing. My bed was by the balcony, and the living area actually opened up to a balcony of it's own. In simplicity...my apartment was Bohemian....oh sweet Bohemia. Taunt Rosette had told me the two were still sleeping, so I took the liberty of jumping on their beds until they got up. Adham's "kufriyeit" and very loud cussing obviously meant he wasn't very happy with it...but he was up nonetheless. After a quick shower from each of them, Taunt Rosette made the finest of all dishes... yummy farouj (roasted chicken) and garlic dip. After thanking her, and a couple of violent kisses on my cheek, she let us depart. She knew better than saying no, I think she grew accustomed to her children, the rest of us included, not coming home until the sun comes up. She worried a lot... so caring. We had one more stop, and two more people to get. Luckily Fares and Charbel lived in the same building, a building I remember from my first visit to Beirut. We decided to split up... I would convince Fares's dad, who was a much harder person to convince that his son should be out, instead of at the architecture company he owned, while Lina and Adham would grab Charbel , whose parents probably spent just as much time as we did roaming Beirut at night. It was still 6 pm and Fares and Charbel had only been up for an hour or so. We loved to argue. We loved the night. We loved each other. We left so the later two can get a bite to eat.
Charbel was the jokester. I remember him on the corniche tickling and poking the street vendors and laughing until he could not breath anymore every time one of them would cuss at him violently. Lina would giggle and skip alongside him. It rained that day, right then and there. Something so rare in Beirut during the summer. Jumping onto my back and screaming for me to run somwhere dry, Lina bent closer into my ear and whispered to me. She said "it's raning, id3eh la Allah (make a wish) and it'll come true". I looked to the side so i could get a glimpse of her head, as she was still piggy-backing and she had that large, sweet, and innocent smile. I was lost and shrugged it off. Then she said it again, this time explaining in Lebanese tradition that when it rains, you make a wish to the Lord. And thats when I did it. Right there, dashing through the puddles, I screamed out my one and only wish... "God please keep this city". Taking shelter from the rain there on Barbar's facing the Raouche and drinking my freshly squeezed orange juice, and bracing myself for the long night ahead of us, I realized that my soul would forever be attached and lost in this city. My four best friends would each have a piece, as I knew deep down they would never let go of it, or trade it for anything in the world, every street and alley I had passed that day would have a piece of it, the church's bells, and the mosque's minarets would also have a piece. A piece would go to Fairouz for her beautiful and energetic voice, and the other parts of it would be lost forever, floating around in the city, feeling with it, living with it, crying when it does, laughing when it does, hurting with every bomb, and recovering with every tractor. Then I realized...I haven't lost my soul in Beirut, in fact Beirut had BECOME my soul. It took me over, and I didn't care. The strong, beautiful, wise, majestic and sarcastically problematic woman Beirut was, had won me over. I would love no other, I would die for no other...Beirut the woman who had stolen my heart, and shaped my soul would be there forever. With a punch from Charbel and a giggle from Lina following close behind, I was knocked out of my deep thought. I got up, and walked into the now dry street and into the sun with my best friends, only to wake up late in the afternoon the next day, and repeat the process. Anti Beirut li... Anti li... Ah 3aneeqeeni.
By TheOtherLebanon - In dedication to the city of love, the city of passion, the city of smiles, tears, and beauty...to Beirut.
This made me cry....beautifully written!
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