I dream of a lebanese morning, when as soon as i get out of bed, i smell the turkish coffee prepared by my mother and hear the cacophony of the neighbors and friends, telling stories about "bento la abou tony" "daugher of ..."  w "marto lal leham" "and wife of..."  and then adding "bass bala zoghra kweysé marto lal leham" "but she's a good person at the end " and during their conversation they disfigured and told and retold stories about these people...

And then i go and take a tour in the neighborhood and like a charming muse her smell attracts me and dazzles me and although i promised myself "khalas bala 3ajin" "no more carbs" I fall again and ask "3ammo abou tarek" for a mankouché ... You can ask any Lebanese they well tell you, "mankouché atyab men adkham plat b mat3am 5 étoiles" "a mankouché is better than any dish in a five stars restaurants"  and especially with a Bonjus, mmm, this kind of chemical filled juice, but what the heck, we only live once. 

And then i go back home and all the crowd moved to the kitchen  trying to cook with my mom and complementing each other dishes..."ah ya samira ya maliket el beymé " " Oh Samira, You are the queen of the bemyé*"  and copying from the master, ziad el rahbany: "mahiyé el bemyé bass tkoun zabta, bet tayer el 3a2el. "

Instead i wake up alone, wait for the bus alone, jump on the bus and try to squeeze myself between 40 other people, eat a stupid croissant from the kiosk, go to my class and start hearing the beautiful intonations of DEUTSCH, followed by a pre-cooked meal for lunch...

Ironic, isn't it ?

*bemyé: Okra.  

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for posting in English too. It really helps. Loved this post as all of us who have been away have felt the same. Great going guys! :-)


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