It's A Something Alright

This is what happens when you live in the Lebanese "culturally-modified" society.

Yes, it is a fact that Lebanese, at least most of them, know 2-3 languages and, well, tend to use them in everyday life. Whether in the form of tag words, complete sentence or even in advertising, this mutli-faceted "lingo" (probably a dialect by now) is affecting the view of life in general, as it is. 

To be clearer, all this came to my mind when i was driving one day on the road (as always, i do get those ideas when i drive, it's amazing right?). So, yes, as I was driving, i passed by a billboard that said in Arabic writing

 "?يا عيب الشوم! وين المشروم" (shame on you! where is the mushroom?)

Obviously, this is a mushroom Ad. However, the funny thing or rather the clever thing, maybe, is the use of a usual Lebanese word to mean shame, rhyming with mushroom to create this advertisement.

The idea behind this article is a kind of reply to all those who criticize us, Lebanese, of using many languages (usually English and French combined to Arabic) in one sentences such as "Hi! Kifak! Ca va?". It is because of this diverse ability to use multiple languages that we are able to better understand the world around us and probably this is the main reason behind which many artists succeed in the world. Either they are Lebanese or come of Lebanese origins. I may not have the specific examples to give right now (so if you have any, do share them please). But this isn't the issue for the time being. 

I am only trying to showcase an ingenuity and an authentic understanding of languages in general. Do tell me when has any foreign Ad used more than one language in its advertising campaigns? Yes, Only in Lebanon! and i do strongly hold on to that.

I may have be looking through some tainted glass. But for the time being, these glasses suit me greatly. As much as I have become tired of the many upsetting conditions in Lebanon, as much I am trying to see the other side of things.

On the long run, hate does generate love, respect and another side.

 (Yes, it does! i have experienced it :D)

THE SORORITY MEETING-TING-TING-TING

They were 5 women, middle aged but none over her 30s, of course.

Their whole idea of a cup of coffee is a get-together photo-shoot session.

With every passer by at their table, a new camera pops up and a lesson on how to trigger the button to catch their marked faces with smeared mascara and smudged red lipstick.

And boy wouldn’t I save words to describe their blank smiles to show off their white teeth. However, to be truly loyal to facts, some would give you the duck face position to show off their botox-ed lips.

As I follow them inside the coffee shop to order my bottle of water, I have to wait for them to decide which coffee to choose: cafe latte? American coffee?? oh no... wait EXpresso??? 

And the poor cashier rolls the eyes, puffs the air and takes a deep breath in preparation for the long stare at the screen, awaiting their minds to process their order.

It might seem a judgmental scene, but really, observing those little women makes you realize the void of society. Or is it really as such? Isn’t this the ontological condition of women in the Middle East, especially in Beirut, at ABC mall?

And I almost forgot the tiny slim cigarettes in their ringed fingers, barely able to stand still from the weight of their huge, glittery bedazzled jewelry.

And I wonder whether I am seeing them with tainted goggles or whether this blemished scene is the actual real one.

After all, this was one six-hour setting in ABC. Maybe a full day can bring better scenes? Maybe a week can get more degrading view of the society of Lebanese sororities.

- Dionysian Evolution -

When I was young, they used to teach us at school how to describe the city and the viallge. In our Lebanese educational system, city and village were stock themes in writing courses. The first was always the hectic, busy, noisy bee-hive and the village was the calm, serene lazy scenery and lifestyle.

But has anyone ever really observed those settings closely?

Has anyone sat on a bench or stood on a sidewalk and watch the city streets?

It may have seemed that the loud noises from the cars and traffic jams conveyed the busy theme. But really, it is not!

The city is lazy. People walk like zombies, hypnotized. They are eyes have blank stares, their backs are bent forward as if weighed down by a heavy block. Their walks are steady but weak.

And the village?

The village is just the opposite.

An early wake up is not the so long taught description of a serene, calm village where the birds singing in the morning wakes you up for a fresh cup of coffee... 

But let me tell you this (out of personal experience - of course !)

A usual weekday morning starts by waking up to the screams and shouting of the neighbors calling each other for coffee (fenjen ahweh) but this invitation  does not end here. It extends to a real meeting between balconies and women. You know the kind where each is on her balcony, in her robe, bent on the rail, asking about the day's menu (shu l ghada l yom?) And other trivial matters such as new marriages, funerals, who went where and why... The usual gossip but truly Lebanese it makes you want to hug it and cherish it till ever more. 

Dear reader, 

You might have sensed a change in tone from the beginning of the article till its end. 

It was not intended of course. I tried to edit it to make it conform to the norms of proper writing. But i remembered that I am Lebanese and jumping ropes is what we do best.

So in the hope that you have enjoyed some personal gossiping on my side, i leave you with the following to ponder upon:

Has the city really invaded our villages? Or have we crossed the frontier of evolution?

Copyrigths and Copylefts

"How can they deny the pleasure of my company? free of charge and blame? How can't they see the heart of me, that heart that lives to give and wants nothing more in return? Why should I stop being me and endulge in a collective oblivion of the self?" cried the homeless polished diamond gem, laying helplessly in that jewel box, surrounded with other precious stones, all shiny, all polished, all ornamental.

"What are you crying about?" replied a small glittery gem, rolled around a beautiful ring. "why so sad and gloomy? One day, the big master shall open this box and choose you to ornament her bosom and her neck, and then all eyes shall hail thee and all awes shall you get, once the master decides on you".

"That is not what i crave for... you don't understand... all i want to know is why are we confined here in rings and necklaces and earrings while we can be free out there, in the soil, underground"

"That is blasphemy my dear, the master dig us up for 6 days and 6 nights, and on the seventh day, the mine was excavated and we were saved from years of ignorance and darkness underneath. The master gave us a life. We got polished and cut. We got to become the chosen ones for fine Jewelry and decorations. We are the saved treasure"

When the master opened the box, later that night, the small gem shone with all its might, and glittered so finely that the eyes of the creator couldn't miss its wonder. It decided to become the thing it wasn't meant to be. Once out to the world, the gem continued to shine until the master closed the door of the mansion and drove away in the night to the party.

Together, they walked into a big ball. The little gem shone so brightly that eventually it became tired. By the end of the evening, where most were drunk and lights were dimmed, the Jewel let go of its shine and rested peacefully on the master's chest.

Once it was back in the jewel box, our dear friend sank to the bottom of the case, hiding itself beneath other stones. It was labelled by elder jewels of being too foolish and proud. They told her that this was her end. Now, that it had shown its pride, it must confess and go low profile if it wants to keep its life together.

The jewel was ashamed and felt guilty for the more the elders talked, the more she sank low and low, till one day the master discovered that it lost its glitter and sold it to the broker next door.

And there it lay, since forever and to all eternity: a forgotten jewel among so many others, a once beautiful gem that faded as soon as it got her head out of the box, a loner in her lonely world.

SkyLines and City Lights

Starry Night - Vincent Van Gogh  

Sky. An expanse of air over any given point on Earth.

Sky. The highest degree or level, also an expression to mean the limitless boundaries one is expected to reach or attain in personal and especially professional life.

They say the sky is the limit to a person’s creativity or ambitions in life. It is the boundary to one’s ideas, dreams, hopes and expectations. However, what happens when that supposedly blue and unattainable space becomes a grey concrete matter over one’s head?

Driving in the outskirts and suburbs of Beirut, I passed by Bourj Hammoud, the city under the bridge. It is not a romantic description of the place; it is the real identity of this city. It lies under the roads that lead from Dekweneh to Ashrafieh and other parts of Beirut.

And under that bridge is another life; life as most of us doesn’t know it.

We have seen closed-up buildings, wall-to-wall architectural constructions (or not!) but many of us haven’t lived there. We have experienced small narrow alleys where barely one car can drive through. Still many of us haven’t lived there.

There, in that narrowly packed space is where some people live. They wake up in the morning, have their Turkish coffee with the spouse, and go down the stairs and unto the streets. They walk to work under a nice grey sky of concrete where the smells and noises start compacting early in the morning, under the bridge.

Many are the moments where each of the members of this community might look up to try and breath or reach out for a blue, far-far away space. And, many are the times when these people are attacked by the grey concrete.

As I was driving through that city, I felt frustrated and confined by their sky. I couldn’t imagine living there, under the detention of the grey, the concrete and that reality so bold and so tangible. I became the voyeur, the rosy imaginative perception upon life, seeing it through the tainted glass of my comfortable car. But really, how rosy can life be?

Even contrasted, both lives are similar. The bold concrete grayness of their world and the unattainable blue-ish hue of ours are just two extremes. Moreover, both worlds are characterized by the colors they reflect, an illusion of sentiments and achievements. However, one must keep in mind that despite the contradiction between the light blue color and the sinister grey, both are only hues on the color spectrum.

Thus, no two worlds exist. There is no real contradiction between the city under the bridge and the city under the blue. There are no two lifestyles, but one shared existence, an animation of colors. Whatever shines might not necessarily be gold and whatever is opaque can be polished to shine.

The architecture of the city is but a mental masturbation, shape-shifting the little building blocks of our knowledge. Those who can de-construct the city become ferociously attracted to its lights at night and to its sky lines during the day.

Walking the city is no more an activity. It becomes a condition of the frontier and the economy of classes.