Beautiful beautiful Beirut.
Simultaneously superficial and shallow, yet cultural and deep, this city embodies a hypocritical enigma.
And after just a few meager hours in the city, I feel like an hypocritical enigma; Who am I? Where am I? And where the fuck are my toes?
My experience with Beirut has had its highs and its lows. In 1998, after an 18 year absence from Lebanon, my Mother decided we would go to Beirut for the summer. Up until then, summer vacations had been either with grandparents in California or grandparents in Lausanne. To me, a family outing meant 12 - 15 people on a busy day. In Beirut, we always had some sort of 'family' stay over, and there was no less than 15 people crashing in the 5 bedroom flat on a daily basis. Whereas North American and European holidays had meant bedtime at midnight, Beirut meant bedtime at sunrise - and this at the age of 12. For lack of a better word, I was fascinated.
It took three more years before I spent another summer in Beirut. This time around, I wanted to kill myself. At 15, life in Beirut meant beach, movies, karaoke, and as simple and beautiful as that may sound, it was not the Disneyland or the shopping or even the companionship I had known from Cali, Switzerland or even Amman, which I had just visited for the first time. Granted, I was also 15 and a teenage pain in the ass. Sorry Mama.
And then, right after that dreadful summer, something happened. Everything changed. Beirut and I embraced...and what an embrace it was. From then on, I looked forward to summers and winters in this Pearl of the Orient. Like a selfish lover, I would tease myself with sporadic short trips, bursting with life and action, and never stayed long enough to get bored. This way, I always managed to miss Beirut before I ever left her.
But like any unhealthy, dishonest relationship built on deceptions and games, it was too good to be true. Winter 2009. How I hate you. How I hate you for taking a source of simple, pure familial joy and nationalistic pride, and throwing it back in my face as a distorted, seductive, sadistic satisfaction.
To Beirut I quote, 'I feel like a hero, and you are my heroine' - Boys Like Girls
Just like any good ol' fashioned destructive abusive relationship, I cannot get my fill. Just like any good ol' fashioned destructive abusive relationship, I can no longer differentiate the good from the bad from the ugly. From the very very ugly. Because after all, this is Beirut, and if it's ugly, there is a procedure to fix it, and nobody really cares if it's good or bad.
The last trip (3 days? 4 days? I don't know) plays out like a continuous reel in my head. Actually scratch that. It plays out like a disambiguated record that keeps skipping - I feel like I'm losing it, have lost it. Not my mind, but rather track of time. I should shut this blog down, pack it up and leave.
But just like Alice, after spending 3/4/however many days in the rabbit hole, I have emerged with a brand new perspective. I've been back for almost a week (side note: this morning I woke up at 8:30am thinking, 'Wow, exactly one week ago I was getting ready to go to bed!') and the perspective remains. Which tells me, this time around it might just be real deal.
I'm not blaming Beirut for my bad habits. She's just doing what she does best; placing me under a magnifying glass, scrutinizing all my faults and misgivings, but it's for my own good really. So I'm not vowing you off. I'm taking a break from you (God knows how long it will last this time) but in the meantime I plan to fix my flaws.
The true test of time will be returning to your lap, and bracing myself for the image you will then choose to magnify. I would love to yell out and say 'Make it Beautiful, Beirut', but instead I beseech myself, and whisper 'Be Beautiful, D, and Beirut will follow'.
Dear Queen D,
ReplyDeleteBeirut has brought nothing more than the liberation of the self, but like any liberated self there is the perilous fruit that bring out the bad the ugly and gluttony. In the Middle East's garden of Eden, lies not only, as you mentioned a city saturated in culture and history (most of which we spend no time absorbing given that we are absorbing everything but the historical landscape) but a snake in the name of "Palais" "Cassino" "Sky Bar" to name a few, fully saturated with Tequila, Vodka and other toxins. There is no doubt in both our minds why Beirut was dubbed #1 party city in the world, because it offers intoxicating nights filled with whimsical decision and marked with haphazard conversations. In most cases you either end up vaguely remembering the night or taking care of the person who is going to wake up the next morning with the biggest headache (hangover effect and remorse may be?)Beirut is an eccentric city, and we feel the need to act just as eccentrically to keep up with its enigma (as you so called it) and instead of finding the silver lining we get caught up in the misty cloud that eventually leads us to Falamanky.
But D, where Beirut has taken you in the past three trips (Dec,March and March again)is on a journey of self discovery. By losing grip of reality you have regained conscience of yourself. You are a strong woman D, and only those who can so openly (for usually such an emotionally esoteric women as yourself) and publicly state what you have just stated means that this little sabbatical from the craziness of B-City has come from a place of ownership, not blame... But D don't deny me from you in that city, I need you with me. After all Sky Bar is due to open in the coming month! :)
I love you!