lebanon is where my roots are. it’s where my mother grew up, where she gracefully dodged shrapnel in her sleep, and where she drank homemade arak. lebanon is where she wept, where she laughed, where she loved, where she learned how to roll grape leaves and learned how to read. lebanon is where my mother dreamt of a different life, without militias, half-assed thugs, and religious fanaticism. lebanon is where she hated.
lebanon is where my roots are. it’s the place from which my father’s family fled and where my tata yearned to return, a place my jiddou never spoke about but always loved. lebanon is the place my father never really knew, the place where my great-grandmother was meant to stay, and the place where i know i belong…sort of.
you can call me ignorant, but my nickname for my current home away from home is “the root.” initially, i chose the name out of convenience; for some reason, i found “root” much easier than “beirut.” if this doesn’t make sense, please don’t be alarmed. i don’t think i fully understand my rationale either.
anyways, after thinking about it more, i have actually developed an affinity for the term “root.” i realized that one simple word articulates my complicated feelings for beirut (or, as i like to write it, bay-root) better than a whole paragraph of words. however, because i can’t expect you to read my thoughts, i’m forced to write the following:
lebanon is the root of my identity crisis, pulling me away from my comfortable midwest lifestyle towards something a little less…comfortable. having found myself stuck somewhere between arab and american, lebanon demands that i exchange fully-functional stoplights for chaotic streets filled with old mercedes-benzes, hustling children, and bored soldiers. lebanon demands that i forfeit late-nite taco bell trips for decadent fruit cocktails, dr. dre’s chronic for nasrallah’s hash, and my sense of stability for a strong dose of reality.
bay-root is the root of the arab world’s crises, a place where sectarianism and nationalism fucked and birthed a nightmare, the place where thousands shed their blood for nothing, the place where massacres happened at the hands of heartless men driven by fear, desperation, and hate.
but, bay-root is also the home of revolutionaries, the place where anonymous women became valiant martyrs, the place that helped give birth to the Resistance, and the place that comforted the aching hearts of widows, widowers, and orphans.
the root transcends nationalism, fictitious borders, and schizophrenic sectarian identities. as a new generation of arab revolutionaries continue to push forward against seemingly insurmountable odds, the root is a source of pride, inspiration, and hope, like its sister cities haifa and alexandria. i look forward to the day when we collectively free ourselves from the chains of national borders, occupation, colonization, and political despotism, and are able to simply enjoy our roots.
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Andrew Dalack; the super fly blogger behind Which Lebanon? and a variety of both ridiculous and ingenious articles which can be found at Kabobfest…and apparently he likes pedicured toes.
March 24th, 2011 → 3:09 PM
[...] post was first published on Out of Academia, a dope blog started by one of my closest partners in crime, [...]
March 25th, 2011 → 1:42 PM
[...] post was first published on Out of Academia, a dope blog started by one of my closest partners in crime, [...]