Reading Between the Lines

2010-03-20T21:23:00.003+02:00

I just randomly read two articles that facebook friends had posted on their walls.

The first article was a satirical ranting (well, I'll assume it was satire) by a woman who wishes she were a boy because boys are better at everything, like sports and Maths. Man, talk about stereotyping. It's one thing when a guy stereotypes us women, but when a woman knowingly does it to her own gender... wow, that's just pathetic. Anyway, I say the article was a satire because the author spends the last half of her article talking about how all genocide in history was committed by men, with men as their right-hand-guys.

Then, I read the second article. This was written for some blog that endorses Darwin and the like. It reported the results of recent research reiterating already known facts about female animals that have multiple sexual partners being more likely to carry on the male chromosome. The article's tone was such that this fact about female animals should be generalized to the human race, that women with multiple sexual partners will be more likely to help carry on the human race, specifically men.

Does anyone else see the connection here? My only thought after diagonally reading the two articles was: "If men are the brains behind genocide, then wouldn't it stand to reason that women should refrain from multiple sexual partners?"

Just a Saturday night thought...

2010-01-30T16:31:00.003+02:00

It was October 9th when I last posted something on my blog. Has it really been that long?

Yesterday was the day of my thesis proposal defense. Many peopl have looked at me with surprise when I tell them I must defend not only my thesis but als the proposal. "Why?" they ask. How should I know? All I know is, if I want to graduate, I must do this. I discovered yesterday exactly how appropriate the word 'defense' is in this situation.

I had been told not to worry since I would simply be sharing about my work. I sat at the table in the seminar room, Jesup Hall room 107 - a room i have grown to know so well, having taken four of my graduate courses there over the past year and a half.

On my left sat my thesis advisor (maybe one day I will be as confident in this subject as he). The other two members of my thesis committee sat on my right. I presented my experiment with a little bit of theoretical background within 15 minutes, using MS PowerPoint. And then, I picked up my sword and shield. I sat through 45 minutes of grueling questions, albeit significant and necessary, and delivered in the most polite manner. Then I waited outside for another 50 minutes, while the committee discussed my proposal. (I think it was more a case of my advisor giving an additional tutorial on Self-Categorization Theory, levels of inclusiveness of identity, and F. Traboulsi's expertise in Lebanese history).

50 minutes later, when I felt that my stomach had fallen to my toes, I was called back into the interrogation room. I don't think I realized the momentous words when my advisor said, "First of all, we would like to congratulate you on the success of your proposal defense..." Twenty minutes later, I was done. Save for a few amendments and clarifications, including an improved design - moving from a repeated measures design to a mixed model experiment, so exciting - I have defended and been approved.

Now if only the Institutional Review Board of Ethics could be so quick...

2009-10-09T19:36:00.003+03:00

In the year 3010:

"Once upon a time, long ago, there arose a rumour that a certain nation - one of the world's great powers - had at some point in history attempted to wipe out an entire people group in what would have been called the first genocide of its century. The supposed ethnic cleansing had not worked, and the victims tried relentlessly to get the power empire to 'fess up'. They entreated the support of other superpowers in the world, but were unsuccessful with the most dominant ones. You see, politics was very much a part of the whole situation. The victim nation had no oil, nothing to render it valuable enough to the world to make defending it worthwhile.

Eventually, irrespective of the victims scattered throughout the world as a supposed result of the ethnic cleansing process, the victim nation made peace with the powerful nation, regardless of the rumours and truth. This put an end, once and for all, to the question of the Armenian Genocide, and the return of certain lands that had been captured by Turkey before World War I. After some time, near-complete assimilation occurred in the world, as the Armenians in the diaspora gave up. They became as other people groups who have been forcefully moved to other lands centuries ago - African Americans, Jews, Kurds. They are, in essence, no more."

This is what will happen to us, now that the Armenian government has succumbed to its greedy belly and signed a 'peace treaty' with Turkey. The father of the house has sold his daughter into prostitution.

2009-09-22T10:09:00.001+03:00

I was tagged in a note by my friend on facebook, and this time I actually filled it out. I was supposed to list 17 books that I've read and that have made enough impact on me that I feel these books will always stick with me. So, here they are, in no specific order (I wonder how different the list will look in five years... people change, you know):
1. Black Dog of Fate
2. Merlin
3. The Divine Conspiracy
4. Red Moon Rising
5. Pity the Nation
6. Prayer
7. Multiple Social Categorization
8. Lord of the Rings (3 count as 1)
9. Shakespeare's Hamlet
10. The Bible
11. DSM-IV
12. To Kill a Mockingbird
13. Jesus Freaks
14. Velvet Elvis
15. Blackwell Handbook of Social Psychology: Intergroup Processes
16. This is Namibia
17. Poems of Pablo Neruda

2009-09-19T20:40:00.001+03:00

It happens every time. You cross the invisible threshold from the international, Western, individualistic culture of the airport into the wing designated to the Beirut-bound flight, and culture shock hits you. It doesn't matter which airport it is - Heathrow, Frankfurt, Charles de Gaule - the same thing happens every time.

Personal space shrinks to an almost non-existent bubble; the general volume increases, as do the gestures in conversations; there is always at least one infant out to prove the strength of his lungs; and no matter how assimilated some of the passengers are in the West (those who have immigrated there, that is), they inevitably forget those acquired 'Western' mannerisms the moment they cross the invisible threshold.

It's as if the Middle East wants to remind me - and anyone else traveling in that direction - that she is alive and thriving, and refuses to become as placid and 'proper' as the West, even as she fraternizes with the business, arts, and politics of it.

But honestly, can anyone ever forget the Middle East once they have come in contact with her? More importantly, would anyone want to?

2009-08-06T07:06:00.001+03:00

I'm on my way to Northern Ireland... to Broughshane, Ballymena, to be exact. So, I'll see you there for the next month. No more posts about sun and heat. I hope you've missed the rain.

2009-08-06T06:58:00.003+03:00

Would you there is an obsession here? We joke that the defining feature of Vicken's and my dad's friendship is their common love for Macs. Don't you think that warrants freebies from the Mac lab? And what does it mean when the daughters of the Mac-lovers follow in their fathers' footsteps?

I can't help it. I love my Mac!

From L to R: Vicken on his iPone, Thia on her iBook G4 (I know, the antique!), Narineh on her dad's Powerbook, John on his MacbookPro.

2009-06-27T09:17:00.002+03:00

The neighbours in the building across the street have replaced the parquet floor on their roof garden with fresh new wood paneling. As a result, they've had to find a way to rid themselves of the old wood. Their solution? Burn it all. For a few nights in a row now, they've filled a barrel with the discarded parquet and burnt it. They've filled the night air with the sweet scent of forest and charcoal, a tribute to summer campfires and BBQs.

The photo above is very primitive, but one can make out the wood ablaze in the barrel, the neighbour responsible for the charred wood, and the plants in the glow of the green lights of the roof garden. I suspect their summer roof parties will commence very soon.

2009-06-24T20:05:00.004+03:00

Summer in Lebanon has come swiftly and strongly. It descended on us like a pelican diving for fish in the ocean. Daily temperatures at 30℃ or higher, coupled with intense humidity, leave one glistening with sweat. Not very appetizing to the eye. Not appetizing to the glistening one either. I often get home, dripping, with no thought except to lie down and not move again till the sun has long set over the Mediterranean.

But in the midst of this humid and hot weather, I've found that the Lebanese truly revel in the summer season. It's almost like they say, "Summer, right! Who cares about the economy, politics, and rising petrol prices? Let's hit the beach!" And they do. Either that or they drive east and north into the mountains, to their family villages, and spend the day eating luscious Lebanese fruit and sharing the narguileh.

So, although I hate driving to the American university in the heat, I love watching everyone else going past me with summer smiles etched across their faces. It's enough to remind me that regardless of the conflict here, people like to enjoy themselves, and will always find a way to do so.

Soon, I hope, I'll be joining them.

2009-06-19T09:10:00.002+03:00

Part of the Music Team at my church... Our team has dealt with a lot of goodbyes over the past few years. Every six months or so, we say farewell to another member. It feels like the whole structure of the Music Team is undergoing major change. This week we say goodbye to Lucile, and to her dad as well, who have given of their time and talent many a Sunday. As they return to France after 14 years in Lebanon, I find myself looking around, wondering who else will join, only to leave within a few years.

Such welcomes and farewells are common at my church, as common as the tide's movements. They are part of the burden of living on Earth. The bittersweet moments of parting with friends cut to the heart if not viewed through the eyes of hope - hope of heaven, hope of a world that grows smaller with each passing day, and even hope of advanced technology.

2009-06-05T20:35:00.005+03:00

Scenes of Lebanon - two are typical, the third is not so ordinary.

2009-05-26T23:29:00.002+03:00

Yesterday morning, they found Auntie Lydia's body. After three weeks of looking for her, we now know that she is at perfect rest, free of pain and suffering, where there is love, laughter, and joy. It was a horrible tragedy, but I'm thankful for the life that she lived.

2009-05-12T06:48:00.002+03:00

My great aunt has gone missing. This is my paternal grandmother's youngest sister, the little old lady who married a Cypriot Armenian and lived her whole married life in Larnaca, Cyprus. Last week, her daughters put her in a nursing home in the capital city of Cyprus, and everything seemed to be alright... until Wednesday. Auntie Lydia walked out of the home, and hasn't been seen or heard from since then.

No one knows where this 80-something-year-old woman is. It seems the Cypriot police are not being aggressive enough in looking for her either. Perhaps they figure she's not that important, since it's the last days of her life anyway.

My gran is worried sick. She's probably imagining how she would feel if she were lost on the streets of a city, especially scary for Auntie Lydia, who shows early signs of dementia.

Where could she be?

2009-04-26T07:59:00.000+03:00

Symbolic and realistic threats contribute to greater ingroup bias. I am living that right now.

Centuries of oppression on my people have left us clenching our identity, tight-fisted and stubborn – refusing to die. A thousand attacks on my people’s land, homes, welfare, and existence have forced us to will ourselves beyond the imaginable.

They shot us down, drove us out, pulled out our insides, and tore at our skin, and we walked on. Silently, at first, but with a growing cry of thunder, “We will not be damned”.

And now, with a few loose handshakes and an imminent contract into the EU on the margin, we are on the verge of losing what little is left. And I can’t stand to see it.

This cannot be the end. Not another massacre. Not another genocide to be denied for another century.

2009-02-11T11:03:00.003+02:00

I was given the latest Snow Patrol album, "A Hundred Million Suns", for Christmas. I can't get enough of it. It might even be the band's best one yet. The music is addictive. Each song is unique in its own way, with the notes creatively put together. My favourite song is Lifeboats. The change in rhythm from verse to chorus is just amazing. The coda is what really hooked me to this song, though. I love how the bass continues on after everything else is done. One would think that the song is getting ready to go into another section, with the bass line as the link, but then suddenly the bass stops and there's silence.

If it can be possible, Snow Patrol has managed to write even more poetic lyrics this time than for the last album. The words roll over my mind, like a platter of hor doeuvres, each bite deliciously different from the previous one.

I listen to the album, and find that I've opened a box of surprises each time I do so.

2009-01-07T09:05:00.002+02:00

I have one thing to say about what is happening in the Gaza now. It's atrocious. There is no better word to describe it. And it must be stopped. It doesn't matter why, what political reasons are involved. It must end as soon as possible. I can't believe that there are actually nations and governments that are backing the attacks.

Today is the Muslim holiday known as Ashoura. With what is happening in the Gaza, I expect those remembering Ashoura will be fired up. I expect the day to turn into serious demonstrations, be they planned or impromptu.

2009-01-01T10:33:00.003+02:00

Generally, we don't follow Armenian tradition at home when it comes to holiday food, with a few exceptions. Dad always stocks our Christmas tins with dried fruit and nuts - never forgetting to include black walnuts, grape paper (the original fruit roll-ups), and sujukh (hardened grape-paste filled with walnuts). But the rice with raisins, the winter wheat broth, and the meat in pomegranate sauce are rarities that we usually hear about from other homes.

While at our good friends' home for dinner a few days ago, we enjoyed our traditional get-together fish dinner, but my friend's mum had also prepared something nicely traditional - raw meatballs, or 'chi-kefteh'. I do my best to stay away from raw meat, but this was a special occasion. The photo above is of my friend enjoying a moment of mirth at my expense, when in my excitement over 'chi-kefteh', I said, "Wow, I haven't had this in years!" and then proceeded to roll off a total of one meatball onto my plate.

Conclusion? The meal was every bit as delightful as the company.

2008-12-24T22:42:00.005+02:00

I’ve never heard ‘Deck the Halls’ sung in Arabic before. But as I stepped through the blue metal door and into the small school courtyard, I could hear children’s exuberant voices echoing out of dark classrooms. No electricity. 30 children between the ages of 8 and 12 sat in two classrooms, practicing the holiday songs that they were about to sing for Santa Claus. Catherine, the headmistress and co-director of Al-Tahaddi organization, led us into the teachers’ lounge. “I realized this morning that the only Santa suit I have is actually for a woman,” she laughed. We got Garo into the Mrs. Santa suit – a red skirt over his blue jeans and a unisex red pullover. He pulled on a Santa hat over his head and allowed Catherine and another teacher to make a beard for his face out cotton, construction paper, and rubber bands. I handed him the largest of bags holding our gift bags and he grabbed the bell with his free hand. The only male teacher there pretended to call Santa on his mobile phone, asking him to bring gifts to the children. The energy and excitement of the children pounded through the open doors. Garo started ringing his bell, and the shouts of the children increased a few decibels.
Santa Claus walked to each open classroom door and called for the children to come out. He then stood in the courtyard and met some of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. The children rushed out beaming at him. They were all talking at once, excitedly pointing at his outfit and the big bag over his shoulder. The teachers led the boys and girls in their translated Arabic Christmas songs, complete with rhyming words. After they had sung, Catherine asked them what Santa was holding over his shoulder. “A bag!” the children shouted.
“What’s inside the bag?” she asked them.
“Gifts!” their exuberance grew.
“Gifts? For whom?” Catherine feigned ignorance.
“They’re for us!” the children’s smiles took up most of their faces.
Catherine had the children line up – boys and girls – while Santa and I handed out their gift bags, one for each child. For the next 15 minutes, the children oohed and aahed over the contents of the bags, sharing their excitement with each other and with their teachers. I heard no complaints, only “shukran”, as the children walked around to Santa, Koko our photographer, and me, shaking our hands and thanking us. It didn’t matter that they knew that Santa Claus was not real; for a few minutes they loved being in the middle of a fantasy world.
After some photos and more smiles, each child left for his home carrying his school bag, his gift bag, and a plate of homemade Christmas cookies that the students had made in school a few days beforehand. For a little while, those children felt special, walking down the muddy streets towards their shanty-houses – parading their Christmas prizes before the rest of the shantytown. Once they reached home, the only personal items would be their school bags. Catherine said that some of the children put locks on their school bags for safekeeping.
Catherine took us through the shantytown. We walked the muddy and rubbish-strewn streets, past shops with Chinese junk for sale and men with very little to do, till we got to the real shantytown, where most of the students live. No more asphalted roads. Only mud and water, various bits of garbage, and rubble. The shanties were made of bricks placed on top of each other – no cement or stucco. The roofs were plastic sheets and old tarp, held in place with discarded tires. No lights shone from inside the shanties, although the day was dark with rain clouds. Many people greeted Catherine pleasantly. Some of the women kissed her and wished her happy holidays – 5 coming up with Christian and Muslim days combined.
Some of the children playing outside their homes had no shoes on; others were in short sleeves. One 3-year-old stepped out from behind the wall wearing only his diaper and tshirt. He was playing barelegged in the mudhole with an old broom.
We climbed the garbage hill, past some shanties and the lot that had been a shanty till it burned down during the short war in May 2008. Eventually we got to the clinic, the other part of Tahaddi. The receptionist at the desk was a huge jolly woman, her little son seated in front of her eating a baguette that was half his size. She was probably the richest woman in that neighbourhood. The nurse was there too – a European lady due with her child in a month. She apparently makes the drive up from Nabatyeh, 3 hours south, twice a week. Dr. Agnes had already gone home for the day, so we didn’t stay long there.
Catherine took us through asphalted streets back to the school, where two of the girls guided us back to my car on the airport road. As we walked, Suad, the talkative one, asked me if ‘Papa Wal” would be returning next year with more gifts, and if so, what time would he arrive. She wanted to be sure to be there when he arrived. Catherine had told me that each year they buy Christmas presents for the students, but a sad budget this year had not allowed them to do that. Our gift bags from the Oasis teens came at the perfect time.
A gift by definition is something given to another, with no expectations of any kind of return. We went to the shantytown to distribute humble gifts to children who have nothing. Their genuine pleasure upon receiving the gifts and their automatic responses of heartfelt gratitude epitomized the perfect gift-giving process.
It is Christmas Eve, and there’s a lot more to come in this holiday season, but I think my visit to the children at the Tahaddi school will be remain the highlight of my Christmas this year.

2008-11-29T11:50:00.002+02:00

I woke up this morning - a Saturday morning - and wondered what had happened to the world. There was no sound, not even the usual moped on its way to a weekend job. It was eerie, and I almost felt like I wasn't in the city anymore... almost.
My professor and colleague says that urban sounds can be considered comforting to some people. I would have agreed with this statement had it been made 2-3 years ago. Not anymore. I love the silence of nature. I love the silence of the ocean waves breaking on rocks and shore. The sound is gentle and inviting in its wildness. It speaks to my heart.

2008-11-28T21:16:00.003+02:00

One of my closest friends lives in St. Petersburg. After travelling the world, living in a different place almost every year - sometimes every 6 months - for 8 years, this vagabond has finally settled in St. Petersburg to her heart's content, at least for now. Annika is studying ballet choreography in St. Petersburg, and loving every minute of it.

My story about Annika tonight characterizes her. She decided to go to the opera one night, at the renowned Mariinsky theatre. She was free for the evening and had heard it was good. Standing in the discount line for students, she realized she'd never get in on time, since so many others were ahead of her hoping for the leftover cheap tickets. Suddenly, an older man approached her, asking if she'd like to buy his extra ticket for an equivalence of 40 euros. Annika declined due to the price, even when he knocked off a few more rubles. In the end, he thrust the ticket at her and said, "Take it for free". Annika couldn't believe it, but after his pushing, she graciously accepted the gift and stepped out of the line.

The final bell before the start of the show had already sounded, and Annika quickly made her way to her seat - in the third row, one of the best! The man then came and sat beside her. "I knew you really wanted it; that's why I gave it you," he said. Imagine his joy at discovering that she was a ballet student, and his amazement at finding out that she wasn't Russian at all.

Needless to say, this is not the first time Annika has been given a free ticket to a beautiful art show. Once in China, she was given a free seat to a ballet show by a Japanese lady who enjoyed her company. Only Annika... And for him who gives her the gift, the pleasure is immense: Annika enjoys the gift to such an extent as to make it worth the giving above and beyond.

2008-10-06T22:54:00.002+03:00

There's a woman who lives in my neighbourhood that I see walking up and down the road from time to time. She must be in her 70's, yet she seems to be an avid walker. Let me re-phrase that: she seems to walk to her destinations most of the time. I removed avid because her steps are short and slow, not because she's elderly, but because she wears the highest heels i've seen on a woman her age. This lady exudes eccentricity. She wears bright colours - kelly green, parakeet yellow, Cerulean blue, ruby red. She mixes stripes and polka dots together in her ensembles, and wooly leggings with clunky high-heeled sandals. She clips big, bulky bows atop her head, like a mound of whipped cream on an ice cream sundae, always in matching colour to whatever she's wearing that day.

Her eyeglasses are huge, covering most of her face, and her purses are as brightly coloured as her choice of attire. Her hair is badly dyed, sort of a rusty brown, with the grey straggly hairs shooting out from underneath. She can be seen inching her way slowly down the road, one tiny step at a time.

What intrigues me most is how well put together her outfits are. She obviously puts a lot of thought into them. I've seen her standing on the road at times, chatting to some neighbours on their balcony.

It's sort of nice to drive down the street, knowing that I might get a glimpse of this eccentric lady's choice of colour for the day.

2008-10-04T22:49:00.000+03:00

When you do something with only half your heart, it doesn't matter too much if you fail at it. But when you put your back into it, and work as hard as you possibly can, there can be no room for mistakes. At least, that's how you feel. Making a mistake is the hardest thing to live with. It's humbling because it reminds you that you're not perfect and certainly not invincible. But it's also humiliating, because your weaknesses are evident to all for the length of time that everyone takes notes of your shortcomings.

The healthiest thing is to accept it, look at what you can learn from it, and move on. Hopefully, you will get a second chance to prove that you've learned from it.

2008-07-22T21:07:00.000+03:00

My left-handed, crazy, witty, funloving cousin who is exactly one week younger than me, got married to a beautiful, left-handed, fun, compassionate Australian Armenian on Sunday. I am blessed to have been a part of their wedding. I am thankful to be a part of their lives.

2008-07-01T18:53:00.000+03:00

"Don't feel entitled to anything you didn't sweat and struggle for."
Marian Wright Edelman, lawyer, educator, and activist

2008-06-24T09:39:00.000+03:00

Is it possible to will yourself to live? I think so. I've heard of stories about cancer patients surviving and being cured simply because of their positive attitude towards life and themselves.

But what if you're caught in an emergency situation, where death is imminent within the next five milliseconds? You know, the kind where your life flashes before your own eyes. Can you will yourself to somehow survive that situation - to avoid all forms of inevitable disaster - and come out victorious in the end?

I think that happened to me today. When it was over - "it" having lasted 2 seconds - I wondered at how I was still alive. I came to the conclusion that the only way I was still alive and in one piece was because I had willed myself to live. I remember thinking determinedly, "I'm not going to fall into this disaster."

2008-05-15T20:57:00.000+03:00

Certain things have made this academic year at the school where I work very special. Certain people have made it a year to remember. Two of these people are Sarah and Elie, graduating students. During the second half of the year, they became my daily visitors, dropping by my office to say "hi" or to ask a question about life, relationships, God, love, whatever. I will miss their daily intrusions, the best kind of interruptions.

In this picture, they're posing in front of my car, Gustav, which has yet to give them a ride... perhaps on their last day of school.

2008-05-14T11:05:00.000+03:00

There's always room for one more at the table of life. 'Lebanon is sitting on a barrel of gun powder'. That's what I heard yesterday, and I couldn't agree more. We stand on the brink of more disaster. Who am i kidding? We are in the very heart of it. Schools decide on a daily basis whether to have classes the next day or not. Some businesses are on hold. Places of worship are moved elsewhere temporarily.

Temporary. That's the word that keeps us going. "It will be settled eventually. Things won't always be like this. Just wait for a few days and things will be back to normal." Normal. That word has a definition all its own in Lebanon. So, we sit on this temporary time bomb and hope to survive its explosion. Then we will return work, study, and play, until the next time bomb.

I believe that God holds this country in His hands and that we are in the process of the work He is carrying out. Sometimes healing hurts before it reaches completion. I know God doesn't condone what is happening, but I am convinced that He is using the finite and, at times, stupid plans of men to answer the faithful prayers of those who love Him.

2008-05-03T09:09:00.000+03:00

I sat at my desk, typing in boring numbers pertaining to university fares. The click of the keys on my laptop created a lulling effect on me. I looked up for a moment to gaze out my window. The usual scenery of pine-covered hillside was obstructed by something much more mundane – my tree of clean laundry, hung out to dry. In a strange moment of time coming to a standstill, I was filled with a warmth that reminded me of chocolate chip cookies, my mothers hugs, scraped knees, and school lunches. Home. Is it possible that an image of home would have such an effect on me? Forever chasing the clouds as they drift from one land to the next, I do not desire the home life. I follow the birds with my eyes and my heart.

The mundane. The unearthly. The unprecedented and unexpected. The regular, low-life man, traveling the streets of the city he lives in. He wishes for more. He hopes to wake up tomorrow and find that he is on a trip to the far ends of the earth, in a strange turn of events, headed towards roads never trodden before.

There is this man in each of us.

2008-04-19T11:02:00.000+03:00

A few weeks ago, I discovered that I have family in Australia. It was a comfort to know that my family - immediate and extended - is literally spread to the four corners of the earth. I have family in Europe, the Americas (north and south), Asia, and now Australia. That leaves Africa. I guess it's up to me to get there.

So, my third cousin on my paternal grandmother's side contacted us and asked to meet us. We met at Starbucks in CityMall, where he showed up laden with a diagram of the family tree, pictures of his wife and children, and stories to fill in some of the missing pieces of our own history puzzle.

2008-02-10T09:30:00.000+02:00

Is it worth fighting for that which you believe in most ardently, even if it means you may lose your job and present livelihood? Not only that, but how do you go about fighting for the truth in the most effective way - one that would lead to right change and the salvation of precious lives?

2008-02-06T15:54:00.000+02:00

"If a picture is worth a thousand words, how many books may well be written on bodies?"

2007-12-22T09:44:00.000+02:00

I went with Karen to see the Russian National Ballet perform excerpts from Swan Lake (my favorite ballet) and The Nutcracker last night. It was Karen's Christmas/birthday gift to me, and I loved it. The dancers were very good, although I soon realized that the RNB is actually a school, since most of the dancers looked about 16.

They had good turn-out, beautiful lines, long legs, perfect balance (except for when Clara fell after a series of pique-tours ending with a jetee en tournale), and nice pirouettes. Their smiles were bright and the costumes exquisite, save for the yellow and black polka dotted costumes of the Spanish dancers in The Nutcracker (what?). The backdrops and the Christmas tree were done up so nicely they would have made Annie proud. And the Swan... wow, she was the epitome of magical slavery. Her arms swayed so as to give the impression of wings desiring flight, and her head tilted ever so slightly as she danced, just as a swan would.

As Karen said, God created beauty like this for us to enjoy. We really did enjoy it. Now, I feel like going to a good 3-hour ballet class. Sigh.

2007-12-16T21:26:00.001+02:00

So Sandra thought she'd discovered gold when she found my most ticklish spot. It gave us all a good laugh. Sometimes people come unexpectedly into my life and firmly leave their print there. If you look closely enough, you'll see how some of those prints have melted into my skin and become a part of it.

2007-11-27T00:06:00.000+02:00

Change... it's hard to deal with. Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel like I've already addressed this issue on my blog before. If I have, then I apologize. As it is, change is so prevalent in our lives that it would only seem natural to have it come up every so often.

I once took this self-test (one of my psych tests that I have on hand in my counselling office) on my affinity for change. I've always known I like change, but I never expected to rank so high on the scale. It turns out that I love change. I get tired of routine and monotony. I get tired of sitting for a ong time. Sometimes I think I have a tendency towards ADHD, but that I'd kept it on hold all through my school years and then let loose with it once I started uni. So now I need constant change and stimulation. I know, it makes no sense whatsoever. But it's an interesting thought, no?

So, yes, I like change, but it's still hard. Like change of pace in life, whilst moving from holiday back to regular work hours. Or change in number of people living at home with you. Or change of the presence and proximity of those you love. It's an adjustment. It requires effort and energy. Too many changes can leave one feeling that he's been riding a roller coaster way too long.

I've been thinking lately that I need to get off the roller coaster and go for a walk instead. It's just that the roller coaster has such cool and unexpected loops and corkscrews. So, maybe I won't get off just yet...

2007-11-09T10:08:00.000+02:00

2007-11-06T09:05:00.000+02:00

On our way up Mt. Hermon, we stopped to take a photo. Mary couldn't stop laughing at Alistair, though. So we just gave up and took the photo anyway. Sandra was the craziest one there, in my opinion. All of us old farts trudged up the mountain, breathing heavily and complaining of pain in our feet and legs. But not Sandra. She ran up the mountain, then back down to us, then in circles around us... singing!

2007-11-06T08:58:00.000+02:00

Gooey brownies for Mary.

2007-11-05T22:18:00.000+02:00

The moon at 5:45am

2007-11-01T00:45:00.000+02:00

So, I decided to name my car. I named my car and the one I'm driving at the moment, which is my mum's car. My mum's car - a red Gol 1.8 - is now called Paulo. I think it fits. As for my beloved Bohemian 505 Peugeot, I have now dubbed it Gustav. It definitely fits.

The names seem to have given the cars personality. One might wonder what I'm doing naming cars. Don't I have anything better to do? Stress release, I suppose. :^)

2007-10-23T17:33:00.000+03:00

The light is fading. Over my right shoulder pastel colors of pink, blue, and lavender kiss the sky. The heat of pollution slowly edges itself out of the vicinity.
Oh for a rainshower right now. We'd be covered in mud and slime, slipping and sliding down the soapy muddy streets.
But afterwards... ah, after the rain the world would be doused in a perfume of clean earth and wet leaves. The streets would gleam with the reflection of carlights on the asphalt.
Just as the air about me is in need of refreshment, so is my mind in dire need of rest... rest from my thoughts which never seem to stop; rest from my worries which armwrestle their way into my head; rest from my insecurities which always win late at night when I'm most heavily thought-provoked.

2007-10-01T00:36:00.000+03:00

Tonight I'm thinking about Anaïs Nin. I'm thinking specifically about her quote about friends. In it she talks about how each friend opens up a new world for you, and how without that friend that specific world would never have existed. And that is true. There is such a richness in my life just because of the people I meet, and especially because of the friends I make.

2007-09-20T00:00:00.000+03:00

Wow, I didn't realize that it had been this long since I last blogged. For better or worse, it's been a journey for me since coming back from Europe. I came back floating on this cloud of European tidiness and privacy, full of good memories with some of my closest friends, and landed in a heap on the humid Lebanese soil. I spent a good amount of time with friends in Lebanon, and helped out at YFC's Youth Alpha, catching onto their train of excitement from camp. That part was really good.

But as the days wore on, I found myself getting down more and more. For me, being back home meant going back to work, and I wasn't ready for that... not yet anyway. But there wasn't much I could do, and so I instead chose to focus on what I knew was up ahead for the fall and winter of this year. Exciting things. A second part-time job, my original job which I actually love, YFC and Oasis, friends, my parents eventually coming back from their trip, Hundred Percent and gigs, etc.

Last week, I had the privilege of being in a place full of the presence of God. It was this same place where I was reminded of why I'm here: God wants me here for the time being, because it's part of His plan, and seeing as how I've chosen to be a part of His plan, letting Him lead me is a major step in it. And if His plan is even remotely similar to what I experienced deep in the recesses of my spirit last week, then I want to be a part of it every day for the rest of my life.

2007-09-01T09:36:00.000+03:00

Top Ten Worst Drivers in Lebanon:
10) stuck-up mami-papy boys in their Dads' Lexus-like cars
9) student drivers
8) anyone over 75... should they even have a license?
7) businessmen on their mobiles, with a cigarette in one hand and a sandwich in the other
6) Syrian/Gulf drivers
5) Cab company drivers
4) moped guys
3) rental car drivers
2) posh women in Mercedes Benz or BMW's
1) taxicab "service" drivers

2007-08-22T22:48:00.000+03:00

It was extremely hard for me to leave Europe - for more reasons than one. Travel flows through my veins. Although I get tired of living out of a suitcase, I think I could easily do it for a year, moving form city to the next, in search of new things. Leaving Europe meant that I was returning to the mundane once again. Lebanon is anything but mundane, but for me, who has lived in the ancient land for most of my life, it has become almost ordinary. It's good to get away every once in awhile - it helps me appreciate Lebanon.

But I am not ready to return to the life of the settled. Neither do I feel ready to leave the land of faeries, strange tales, Celts, Goths, Vikings, and other such things that have slipped silently into legend and children's stories. I can hardly wait to go back, which is funny to me since I hope for my next adventure to take place on a different continent.

Finally, I was and am not ready to leave my dear childhood friends, whom I've remained very close to all thse years. What would I do without them in my life? Dear Annika... distance and time has not separated us. In our own worlds and lives, we continue to choose the same things - we were meant to be best friends. Anneli... how can I ever forget her energy and creativity? She was part of the inspiration that pushed me to keep dreaming and striving for more. And now Peter has become a part of that, in an unexpected and beautiful way.

In times of reflection like this, I sit and dream of what has happened and what could happen next. There are no limits to where the inklings of my mind go. I am ready for more.

2007-08-11T00:30:00.000+03:00

I watched the film "Marie Antoinette" the other day. Kirsten Dunst plays the part of the Austrain-born queen of France, notorious for her heartless line "Let them eat cake", and does so superbly. Apparently, that line is a rumour. Perhaps she said it and perhaps she didn't. Will we ever know? She's long gone now anyway.

The film shows her more innocent, young, teenage-girl side. It portrays her as someone who was thrown into a position of great responsiblity at a very young age.

After the film, Annika did something very characteristic of her. She pulled up some info on Marie Antoinette off the net and read it out to her mum and me. Annie listened and then continued reading on her own. "So, a lot of it wasn't her fault... she was blamed for everything she did... the French never liked her" were her comments.

Annika's quick reply was, "Next you'll feel sorry for Paris Hilton".

My best friend and her mum have an interesting way of bringing light to the repetition of history in the present day.

2007-08-11T00:17:00.000+03:00

There we were - Annie, Annika, and I - walking down the streets of Stockholm, past shops and boutiques housing designer clothes and unusual furniture, when I noticed something quite curious. A woman walked past me up the street, with a leash trailing behind her. My eyes followed the leash down to the tiny dog that strutted behind her... and fell not on a dog, but on a baby pig. Yes! A piglet! Unbelievable. At first, I tried to look unobtrusively, so as not to cause embarrassment to her by staring at the woman's strange choice of pet. But then I noticed other pedestrians. Each and every one did a double-take, then pointed at the piglet and let out a small giggle.

The miniature pink thing covered in a thin layer in white hair did its best to keep up with its mistress. She had to turn and slather it with words of encouragement now and then.

Pigs for pets... must be the influence of "Charlotte's Web".

2007-08-05T20:39:00.000+03:00

After two weeks on the Ile de Groix off the coast of Brittany, 4 glorious days in Paris, 24 hours on trains through France-Germany-Belgium-Denmark, I'm now in Stockholm. On the island, I spent days with the Sanders family, so comfortable and so happy. I walked around in a land of the Celts, where white beaches meet up with wild cliffs on which the sea waves break.

Then I walked around Paris with Andrea, immersed the land of the French music and art... and tourists.

Now, I'm in Stockholm, with my dear friend Annika. Two weeks here, watching DVDs, taking walks in the Elf forest behind the house, walking around downtown Stockholm, going to museums and art shows... relaxing and refreshing.

This whole month is what I have needed to unwind in my own way. And I've had some interesting epiphanies along the way so far... I wonder what these last two weeks will bring.

2007-07-17T00:16:00.000+03:00

My mind and heart are tired. Sometimes, I feel that I will fall under the very weight of all the troubles of those around me who come to share with me. Don't get me wrong. I am humbled and honored that they share with me. In the case of the students at the school - just because it's my job doesn't mean that students will automatically be programed to open their hearts in my office. And with others, well, I gladly open myself to them. But, now it has come to a point where I need a break from everything, especially this country. Lebanon is an amazing place to live, but it can get exhausting.

So, tomorrow, I will step on the plane and fly to Paris. After an overnight in the Charles de Gaul airport, I will catch the train heading west towards Brittany, where I will take the ferry over to the Ils de Groix. There, I will spend two weeks with my missionary friends, the Sanders. After also spending a few days in Paris, I'll take the Eurail up to Stockholm to visit my best friend Annika, whom I haven't seen since last summer when she sneaked into Lebanon in the middle of the war.

No mobile, no laptop... I will be away from such technology, except for when I can sit down at my friend's computer to check my mail and update my blog. It will be wonderful. Can't wait...

2007-07-16T08:25:00.000+03:00

About 5 months ago, my dear friends Hrag and Fabia got married. Over the weekend some other very dear friends married. Hrag's sister Sirag got married to Datev. I can hardly remember the last time I had such fun on a Saturday night. Ok, Ij ust realized how lame that makes me seem. But it was such a beautiful time.

We spent the afternoon at Sirag's home helping her get ready and taking pictures. As more and more relatives and close friends arrived, it got more crowded and more wild. They of course had to do the Armenian-Aleppo tradition of celebrating the bride - a chant heralded by one of the men and chorused by the rest of the group, then ending in a high-pitched whoop!

The wedding itself was dignified and beautiful. Scott surprised Sirag with a song for the couple. Palig and Shahan played Pachelbel's Canon as Sirag came down the aisle, led by her father.

The dinner afterwards was outdoors, at Kchag. We ate lovely food and spent special hours with good friends. Then the Armenian music came on, and Vahe, Pauline, Shant, and Serop did not stop dancing for the next 2 hours! We also joined in, trying deperately to keep up with them.

What was most important for me, was to see that Datev and Sirag were enjoying themselves and having fun. What a blessing!

2007-07-08T17:14:00.000+03:00

Social psychologists have found that when a person smiles, it inevitably affects the mood of that person. So, if you're down, one of the things that will help bring your mood up again is smiling - even if you don't feel like it.

One of the hardest things is to find the good in the worst situations. Harder still, is choosing to smile in the midst of those situations. Yet the Apostle Paul says "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say: rejoice!" My initial reaction to that kind of statement is "yeah, whatever, just try living in my place", but Paul went through a sort of hell on earth. Many of his words of the sort just quoted were written in a prison cell. So, I guess he deserves an ear from me.

I think I have a long way to go before I can smile on my darkest days. But I will get there one day, and when I do I will know that I have found a way to climb higher than that which tries to pull me down almost every day.

2007-07-07T15:06:00.000+03:00

Excerpt:

"A question lingers in my mind. Are we dancing around the truth, trying to pretend it's not there? Just less than 100km northwards, rounds and rounds of rockets hit the Palestinian camps. Children have been forced from their homes in the face of imminent death...The questions linger, and I cut through my cinnamon roll, right down the middle, instead of eating the concentric circles like usual. I'm tired of routine. The slight chaos of my eating habit reflects the undertones of the city this morning.

The people move on with life. They are proud of their ability to do so, thinking it a sign of strength and immunity. In reality, it is a sign of denial, of ignoring the truth because facing it is too damn hard.

The locals speak of the summer as if a war has been scheduled. 'Let's go to the beach this week - before the war starts.' They end such statements with a grossly shallow laugh, as if they've just heard a good joke."

2007-07-02T23:41:00.000+03:00

The bomb in Glasgow last weekend, plus the ones they discovered in London, show me that immunity is redundant these days. Globalization has brought with it easy access to terrorism. What strikes me as most amusing is that no one can agree on who the enemy is. Akh, I'm not in the mood to philosophize. We're dancing around the truth...

2007-06-28T10:05:00.000+03:00

Last night I did something totally fun and childish, in a sweet sort of way. I was invited to some friends' home for dinner. We were 6 adults, plus 2 children (well, a child and a preteen... no offense John). After enjoying a nice meal together, the children pulled out this game and somehow convinced us to play it. Ever heard of iToy? It's this computer game involving a camera and TV. You follow the music and instructions on TV as a camera automatically projects you onto the screen. The games include simulated concert conducting, aerobics, army courses, etc. It's a great workout, actually. But for anyone watching just the participant, without viewing the TV, it's the most hilarious thing you'd ever see. And for a bunch of 20-somethings - jumping, punching the air, running in place like mad - it suggests the need for serious mental health.

2007-06-24T15:47:00.000+03:00

Survival guide to living in Lebanon these days:

1) Hang out in the area where the last bomb exploded. Chances are it's a lightning concept - there won't be another bomb in that area, at least not for a few years.
2) Don't cancel things out of fear of bombs, only out of respect for those that have been killed - either in a recnt bomb or in the fighting in the north.
3) Tell loved ones of your rough schedule for the day, just in case there is a bomb - you won't be able to call them once it happens because all mobiles go down right away.
4) Whatever you do, DON'T go to Tripoli for a day of fun.
5) When you get stopped at a checkpoint... STOP. And don't give them a guilty look.
6) When at the checkpoint, call the soldier "Watan" and thank him for his work. The army is doing its best.
7) Pray for peace.

2007-06-23T08:00:00.000+03:00

Water... is it wrong for my students of grade 7 to have this exceptionally fun water fight at the end of school while children in other countries die of thirst? What about the children up in the north of Lebanon who have not had a proper end to the school year because of the daily shelling and rounds of fire in and out of the Palestinian camp Nahr el-Bared?

I struggle with such thoughts. The 7th graders had such a lovely time yesterday, but I feel challenged to get their heads turning towards others who are less privileged. Next year...

But for me, what can I do to make a change now? This will be my theme song this weekend.

2007-06-21T21:17:00.000+03:00

It is the first day of summer. I sit in my room this evening - having not gone out for a change - with my windows open and the fan going at full speed. No mosquitoes bother me yet, but the sounds of the city suburb reach my ears: cars returning their masters home for the night; the occasional water truck delivering water to neighboring buildings; music from the TVs of various homes.

Someone is have a barbeque tonight. I can smell the roasting meat through the humid air.

A light breeze drifts through my open window. Things seems peaceful here tonight. I wonder what' happening up in the north. Two more soildiers were killed yesterday. Jets flew over the city today as well.

But life seems mundane here tonight. I, who long for continuous excitement and adventure, am content with the ordinary this evening.

2007-06-20T23:09:00.000+03:00

My friend Sevag shared this poem with me and I wanted it to post it here for all to read. He wrote it years ago while at university. It is in memory of the Armenian Genocide that took place from 1914-1916.

As I watched its course,
The ferocious wind blew majestically over the sand.
It revealed a secret never told…
A letter written with bones

A pile of old cracked skulls.
Started roaring and crying
As the wind sprinkled through them
I was frozen as an iceberg under the scorching sun
As death appeared in its white garments
The noise suddenly gained a meaning
Justice! Justice!

They had marched on these sands
On the dark pathway to their doom
Never stopping, never looking back
Enormous numbers dying one at a time.

As the sun became stronger
The bones reflected horrifying shadows over the sand…
They were magnified!

The guilty of this crime did not know that
They had written their condemnation
By their own hands-with bones-
On the black page of humanity

Proving that man can be,
Higher than the angels
And
Lower than the animals.

Sevag Trashian

2007-06-16T18:43:00.000+03:00

What's the dumbest thing you ever did? I've done quite a few in my life, but one of the dumber things I did recently was to completely misunderstand something my mum said. Now this doesn't sound dumb per se, but in context... well, you'd think I was born yesterday.

My mum was speaking about various things to do with the family, catching me up on stuff (since I'm always the last to know, it seems). She said something like, "Your dad bla bla bla", and I responded with,

"Who's Hector?"

Then my mum stopped, turned around, and looked at me incredulously, "Hector?!"

I had honestly thought she had talked about a guy named Hector. The dumbest part of this story is that we don't know anyone by that name.

Hector lives on now. The other night my mum apparently turned to my dad and said, "Good night, Hector". Dad had no idea what she talking about.

2007-06-13T22:46:00.000+03:00

We had to change some of the school dates because of the situation in Lebanon. It escalates in the north, with the Army doing its best to hold down the fort. The navy patrols the seas and they have blocked the passageway through to the Bekaa valley where Fatah el-Islam could escape to. Bombs are placed in and around everywhere in the city. This evening - Walid Eido - another member of parliament was killed with a car bomb.

I guess it's really good then that the last day of classes for the high school was today. I wonder what will happen next.

2007-06-10T08:05:00.000+03:00

Who ARE these guys? Band members, old and new... sometimes I think we have more fun just laughing and joking than actually playing music!

2007-06-07T23:01:00.001+03:00

I hate goodbyes. This week has been hard for me. I just now realized that. Too many people are leaving Lebanon - good people. I will miss them.

This evening, as I sat on the balcony of some friends, overlooking the airport and Beirut from an angle I'd never seen before, I considered how precious people are in our lives. I wanted to taste the moment forever - sitting and talking about life, the past, God, the future, dreams and hopes. I wanted to be able to wake up in two years' time and still be able to feel the breeze on my skin, still be able to taste the Swedish cheesecake and European coffee, still be able to see the change in everyone's eyes as we got word of yet another bomb in the city.

Tonight I will try to put these loads of thoughts and emotions onto paper, forever etched with carbon and ink. I will try not to think about how much I will miss certain individuals who were just beginning to become special to me. I will try not to feel hopeless. Instead, I will try to hope for what is to come - reunion and joy and more good surprises to come.

2007-06-05T23:06:00.000+03:00

If you 've been reading my entries over the past weeks and even months, you will have noted that under my book list Fermat's Last Theorem has been there for a really long time. Guess what? I finally finished it! It took me a long time - partly because I can never stay on one book at a time, but also because the content was such that my artistic mind sometimes needed a break from the numbers and logic. ;-)

Anyway, I'll just say that I enjoyed the book immensely, especially when I finally got to the part where Andrew Wiles solved the riddle of Fermat. I learned a lot of little bits of info about the Maths world, and I was reminded of why I actually do like Maths.

2007-06-04T08:36:00.000+03:00

There are scenes that remain in my mindas snapshots from a part of my life. I want to share two of them from the ballet show on Saturday night.

1) Backstage. The dim lights don't help much for makeup, but I try my best. First, I draw a beard the young guy who will play the role of the Pasha. Then I turn to the girl who will act as the pirate's friend. I make her face dirty and give her a moustache. As I do this artistic improvisation, young girls run around - some laughing, some shouting with glee, some looking for a random part of their costume that has gone missing. I turn and look to see Rebecca and Jennifer applying last-minute makeup and preparing their costumes for later scenes. Some of the boys - our beloved actors - sit with us, chatting and munching on chips. No privacy, no boundaries. They are oblivious to our needs for concentration on what's ahead. Oh well, at least they will make the evening interesting. Then I see Lucille. Young Nayla has gone to her in a small panic. "Please do my hair!" So Lucille, patiently and meticulously applies gel to the thick locks of hair and pulls them up into a tight bun. Perfect. She then proceeds to pin the hair in place, and finally adds a ring of silk flowers to the bun. Nayla has officially become a ballerina now. That picture - Lucille lovingly and calmly working on Nayla's hair, in the midst of the chaotic backstage - will remain with me for some time. It is like a window into the life of the stage for me; a window that awakens in me a needs to reminisce.

2) This was told to me, so the picture is secondhand. A friend who sat on the side of the theatre could see into the wings as we danced. She said that every time one of the older girls - like Lucile and me - was on stage dancing, the little girls in the wings would carefully try to copy us right where they standing. So we had our own miniature shadows as we danced. Those who didn't copy us sat on the floor, faces in their hands, and watched us with intrigue and rapture.

2007-06-03T06:31:00.000+03:00

We're done! Le Corsaire went on stage in Lebanon for the first time ever last night. I enjoyed dancing immensely, and would love to do it again. I couldn't sleep last night with all thr adrenaline still running through me. Oh well.

There's something very exciting about the stage. The lights, the music, the sweat and costumes, the resin for our shoes so we don't slip while dancing, the piles of makeup and hair gel, hair pins lying all over the place, and the panic you feel as you quickly change for the next dance - all of it keeps me coming back again and again. Then going on stage and dancing till you drop.. there's nothing left to think of except the movement and the music.

I'm so thankful that God created dance.

2007-06-02T07:45:00.000+03:00

This is the big day. "Le Corsaire" will go on stage. We will perform once, in Theatre Rosaire, Mansourieh. My teacher has informed the Municipality of Beit Mery and of Mansourieh, and the Army. We will definitely be protected.

I've hardly slept this week. My nerves wouldn't allow it. I haven't been able to eat much either. But today I awoke excited and ready to dance. After writing this, I will finish preparing my costumes.

2007-06-01T08:10:00.000+03:00

Something happened that i never thought would happen to me - at least, not this soon. I wasn't bothered by it. In fact, it was a good experience for me, and it gave me the chance to really appreciate those who seek to protect me in spite of the chains around their bodies.

Last night, I was driving Mary, Koko, and Arek home. Jay had joined us for the ride. I asked him to come along. I don't think it was all that hard to oblige me and ride with best friends. We were all in a silly mood. Three tall and broad-shouldered guys squished in the back, because Mary was smart enough to shout "Shotgun" on time. We managed to calm down our crazy behavior in time to drop Mary off at her home. Then I made my up to Ashrafieh to take the boys home.

As we headed into the area where the first bomb of the recent upheavels exploded, we met up with a checkpoint. No problem - we're used to it now. It has become customary to enter a shopping center and opwn the boot of one's car, as well as one's purse for checking. What I thought was funny was that the soldier didn't even look into the car. He saw the three guys in the car with me and immediately pointed to the side, so I pulled over. We got out and opened the back of the car. I wonder the soldiers thought when they saw my bag of smelly ballet clothes. The one guy checked my car license and ID, and my purse. The guys were frisked, of course. Eventually, they let us back in and we continued on our way.

After dropping off the guys, jay and I made our towards Bourj Hammoud, on the way home. We were pulled over again, but it was less serious.

I want to support the Lebanese Army, to stand by them at this time. They are doing the best job they can. I know that when I show respect for them, they become all the more faithful. Calling them "patriot" to their faces makes them soar. With tied hands, they still do the best job they can, and i am thankful for their presence.

2007-05-30T20:45:00.000+03:00

I picked up a great book the other day. Unfortunately, I could only read a part of it, since it belonged to a friend who was just passing through. It is a rendition of the quirks of social psychology; more about the quirks of humans themselves and how strange we actually are. It's worth reading, although you might be embarrassed to walk down the street after reading it. Don't worry, though. We are all essentially the same. Or so it seems psychology has set out to prove.

2007-05-30T20:08:00.000+03:00

We have now resigned to curfews. It is a good thing, though. Safety is more important. The attack in the north, when the members of the terrorist group killed the Lebanese soldiers in their beds at night, has escalated. Nothing is stable. People are scared, shaky. They don't know if they should plan anything for the week.

And yet, our ballet show will go on, even if only 4 people show up in the audience. We will dance to our heart's content.

Tonight, all sorts of things can happen. We might end up waking to a full out war once again. Or we will wake up and go to work as usual. Things will continue on their roller coaster ride, and someday, a decision will be made.

Tonight, I dream of what could be.

2007-05-27T08:03:00.000+03:00

The past week was emotional, to say the least.

Pains shoots through my foot almost every time I step on it, and I'm supposed to dance in the ballet show this Saturday. It has turned green and purple now.

Every night we wait to see where the next bomb could be placed, while the rebel group in the north "Fatah el- Islam" retaliate against the Lebanese Army. Who invited those guys to this country anyway?

I was robbed from my office this week. I just hope that the student that took my money really needed it.

At work, I said goodbye to the grade 12 students, who now begin their month-long study at home, in preparation for the official exams. I have grown to love some of them especially, as we walked through the past two years together, dealing with all things psychological, emotional, and spiritual. It was really hard on Thursday to keep from crying.

These are but 3 events in the week that took their toll on me. However, I am thankful as always to be in Beirut, close to family and friends, watching and waiting to see where God takes me next (and I don't necessarily mean physically).

Grade 12 of LES: my office is always open to you.

2007-05-20T16:47:00.000+03:00

Summer is just around the corner. That means fun, festivals, outdoor events, the beach, sun and sunscreen! Last night we started with one of the first outdoor events of the summer. Berimbau, the Brazilian band that has been touring the local schools for 2 weeks, performed their final show. Local band Hundred Percent opened for them. It was great fun singing outdoors, depsite my bad foot after my fall in ballet class that very morning. Anyway, here's hoping for more gigs...

2007-05-15T23:04:00.001+03:00

Two extremely random bits of information that will greatly enhance you life:
1) Sheep snore.
2) Lemon juice and salt take out rust stains on clothes. Don't rub, just pour the partial salad ingredients on the stain and leave the item of clothing in the sun to dry. Then wash as normal.

2007-05-09T23:18:00.000+03:00

Every time we watch a movie together, Jay falls asleep. Arek's always getting on him about it. This time, though, we were watching "Robin Hood, Men in Tights". Surely the boysa would stay awake for that. But it was not to be. Not only did Jay zonk out, but Koko joined him this time. Shaghig titled the photo "To Sleep or not to Sleep".

2007-05-08T23:05:00.000+03:00

I discovered a new flavour of ice cream recently. At the school cafeteria where I work, Dimi, our beloved chef, has a huge ice cream freezer. These days it always needs to be replenished, since we feel that we ourselves have turned into ice cream cones and melt away the hours. Anyway, one of the choice flavours is an ice lolly that supposedly tastes like kiwi. When I discovered this, my first thought was "Cool! I love kiwi!" Indeed, it is the exact strange green colour as the kiwi fruit. But it doesn't taste like kiwi at all! Actually, it's just sweet ice on a stick. But the color is really funky, so it's worth it, especially on a hot day like today.

2007-05-01T22:17:00.001+03:00

I have discovered two painters whose style I greatly admire, at least for the time being. I wouldn't be surprised if, as i get know more artists in the world, my taste will vary and expand to embrace various favorites. But for now, my preferred painters are: Amadeo Modigliani and Hovannes Ayvasovsky. Here are samples of their work.

2007-04-28T23:58:00.000+03:00

My thoughts are consumed with much these days. One of those thoughts revolves around the kidnapping and murder of the two young men this past week. I don't want to get political because I'm sick to the point of vomit of politics. I don't want to get emotional, but what else will drive me if not my emotions?

Another thought rests on the rememberance of the Armenian Genocide, having just commemorated it last week.

So, death marks my week. The slaughter of those unarmed and unable to defend themselves.

I stand, therefore, at the edge, looking on history repeating itself. Yes, the picture is not a carbon copy, but it smells very familiar.

Wash away the stains of blood...

2007-04-17T12:01:00.000+03:00

Back in Beirut, and back to work. This re-entry into 'regular' life is not going so well for me. I forgot to put on my belt today, so my jeans are sagging - no, it's not supposed to be a fashion statement. I also forgot my trainers for the dance class I'm teaching this afternoon. Fortunately, I have my ballet shoes which will be an acceptable substitute.

Sometime this week I'll get around to uploading my photos of Jordan from last week. It was a great adventure, fun in more ways than I would have imagined from the start. But for now, have a good week everyone!

Question: What is your favorite way of drinking coffee?

2007-04-09T15:49:00.000+03:00

My adventures continue, only this time I'm in Jordan. By the end of this week, I'll have enough information to write my own guide book. "Enjoy Jordan Bohemian Style: What NOT to Do". The hostel we're staying in is hosted by the female counterpart of a gay couple. He's very polite and made us feel right at home after our long and strange journey from Beirut. More about that later...

But for now, let me leave off by saying that one word to describe Amman would be 'stairs'. There are stairs everywhere because the city is all hills and mountains. It's extremely fitting that the ancient city castle sits on a mountain in the center of the city and is called the Castle of the Mountain.

Tomorrow Sareen and I are off to Petra. I can't wait!

2007-04-07T20:04:00.000+03:00

2007-04-07T19:57:00.000+03:00

I hope that Easter has more meaning for you than last. Here are two verses that I woke up with in my mind yesterday:
"God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." 2 Corinthians 5:21

and

"Therefore, there is now no cndemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Romans 8:1

And this is the blessing given to us:
"To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy - to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, pwoer and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen." Jude 24-25

I am alive because of Jesus. That is reason to hold my head up in great joy and walk the steps of one who is full of hope.

2007-04-03T23:40:00.000+03:00

Have you ever had prayer answered in such a strange but obvious way that you're not sure if it's real? I think God really has a sense of humor. He never fails to surprise me and make me laugh.

Actually, I've been noticing a few strange things lately. Today I was sitting in my makeshift counselor's office in the junior school while my 2nd grader used the toilet. Young children were running around the corridor, shrieking with glee and laughter. Suddenly, I heard a teacher come in and shout at them: "You are not allowed to shout! If you want to play, you do it quietly!" She was the only one shouting by this time.

Another weird thing: I was at the library looking for a book to read. I noticed a section on habits and life. There were numerous books titled "When Life Gets Too Fast" or "How To Slow Down" or "Taking Life Simply" or "Cutting Back" or "Finding the Time for Everything". You can imagine the type and what is inside. I thought it ironic that such books exist. Wouldn't somone who has the time to read this book not need it anyway because his schedule would be slow enough to allow for reading time?

So, I guess I should title this entry Curious Things, Part 2

2007-03-27T13:42:00.000+03:00

My very close friends Hrag and Fabia finally got married on Sunday. After waiting patiently for many months, and then another 8 months after the war suspended their wedding last summer, they joined hands in holy matrimony on March 25th, 2007. I am so happy for them. Hrag and Fabia, all my love to you!

2007-03-24T19:43:00.000+02:00

Spring is upon us and the weather has decided to make itself known. When I got home at 2am last night, I couldn't believe how strong the wind was. I felt like it was about to lift my room off its place and send it flying. At 3am I was still awake, wondering if I'd ever get to sleep.

Here's a question: "What is important for you?" Depending on who you ask, you get an insightful look at what that person is like.

2007-03-16T08:47:00.000+02:00

My favorite band these days is Snow Patrol. I love their music and I listen to their latest album about once a day. I'm not kidding. I especially like Set Fire to the Third Bar. I remember first being introduced to Snow Patrol when I heard Jay listening to Run. It was so haunting that it caught me right away.

All of Snow Patrol's music is haunting, their lyrics as well. Something about the songs makes me travel beneath grey storm clouds looking for the secret in their songs.

www.snowpatrol.com

2007-03-10T09:19:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I drove Jay and his friends east into the Bekaa Valley. We headed towards Baalbek, the 2000+ year old city of Roman temples set up for Jupiter, Bacchus, and Venus. We spent the day driving through the fertile land, walking around the ancient ruins, and enjoying the sun. I made friends with an 11-year-old boy trying to sell me gum. Sarah rode a camel. Malcolm tried the Arguileh (the water pipe). We all tried it too.

I got a flat tire which bent the rim of the wheel, and I've never seen Jay change a tire so fast. He must have been hungry. Lunch, at 5pm, was so good.

Here was the curious sight of the day: we kept pointing out Bedouin homes to the group. Jay said, "They are sort of like the gypsies of this area. See, those are their homes of plastic and burlap, those are their outhouses, and... they have a satellite dish! We don't even have a satellite dish at home!"

2007-03-05T09:59:00.000+02:00

These days, my apartment reminds me of what it was commonly like at home a few years ago: a hotel. We have three of Jay's friends staying with us from his time in N Ireland last year - two American girls and a Scottish guy. Needless to say, there is very little silence at home now, and things are always on the move. It's a nice change. The four of them are busy catching up on each other and remembering the days when they lived on pasta and ketchup. I joined them when they watched some old home videos they had made last year. They certainly are some of the funniest people I've met. I think the synergy of the four of them together is where the funny part comes out.

Yesterday, one of them told us how she once had three bees caught in her hair. Amidst the oputburst of laughter at this hilarious statement, Sarah proceeded to tell us how one day she told her mum, "I hear buzzing near my head". Her mum then looked around her daughter's head and the hair, which was tied up in a bun. Suddenly she screamed bloody murder as she realized that there were bees caught in her daughter's hair. Her first instinct - after screaming, of course - was to grab a stick and come at Sarah's head with it. Her panic made Sarah panic, until eventually the bees flew out. Sarah's head, fortunately, was still in one piece.

Such stories are common these days with Jay, Sarah, Lisa, and Malcolm at home.

2007-02-21T16:33:00.000+02:00

It's hard for me to sit through a two-hour film most of the time. I rarely go to the cinema, and this is one of the reasons why. So, at home, if I watch a film, I sit for about 20 minutes, then get up and do soemthing else. i may come back to the film later on that day, or the next day.

But last week I watched a film (in two parts, of course). It's one of those artistic types - the kind my brother wouldn't be caught dead watching. It's titled "The Tango Lesson". For the lovers of tango, it is perfect, especially if you're the type who aspires to learn and perhaps dance the tango with a partner at some club over in Argentina. Ok, I'm getting carried away, right?

Anyway, the film follows the life of an English filmmaker who aspires to learn the tango (oh really?). She takes lessons from a famous tango dancer, with whom she also develops a friendship and shaky, unclear love affair. The film takes us through her journey of learning to dance. It has been set up as a book of chapters, only each chapter is numbered as lessons: The First Lesson, The Second Lesson, and so on.

Completely in black and white, except for the scenes from her mind as she writes films, one gets to experience the full body of the dance as it develops in this small-statured woman who, although being older than him, finds in the Argentinean dancer not only a sense of challenge at the intellectual/artistic level, but also a companion for her lonely heart.

It's a great film to see. Sally Potter does a superb job of acting in her own work. I realize I've made this sound like some film critique. That wasn't my intention. In any case, these strange films are what I like to see. I should go down to Club Sociale again and see if they any more documentaries Sunday evenings. Anyway, I'm itching for more salsa dancing as it is.

2007-02-20T22:38:00.000+02:00

I just read the coolest blog! It's titled crazytopics. Make sure you look through it if you get a chance. It was one of the Blogs of Note, so Crazytopics, here's my salute to you. C'est tres bon! (is a blog masculin or feminine?)

2007-02-17T14:48:00.000+02:00

Off the top of my head, three things I wish to do before I die:

#1 Raise a child (son or daughter, of my blood or adopted, doesn't matter)
#2 Take a road trip through Africa and/or Europe
#3 Do something no one else thinks I can accomplish

2007-02-13T13:53:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day in the rest of the world. But for Lebanon, it has come to be known as that fateful day when former Prime Minister Hariri was assassinated in 2005, in a car bomb big enough to kill a small village. Now, the Valentine cards come and go on the 13th, or on the weekend before. I wonder what will happen tomorrow, with two groups of people who stand opposed to each other. Knowing that each side has bombs and weapons hidden under its belt scares me to death (no pun intended). Already, 3 citizens have been murdered in a village consisting mostly of those who stand with the Government. Is this to scare people from convening downtown tomorrow?

And where do I stand in all this? What am I to do? Hope is all we have to hold on to, and that it the best thing, isn't it? Hope breathes of peace, and peace is where life can take form.

2007-02-08T12:36:00.000+02:00

When you can actually tear your mind away from the daily routines and to-do's, you will find a number of curious things around you. On my way to work each morning, I pass by a curious tiny event:

There is a father who takes his two young children to school each morning, but in order to get to their car, they must cross a busy road and climb an iron ladder - that sits over a stream of rainwater in the gulley - to the carpark facing their home. So, each morning, the father has his children stand close together in front of their home, all bundled up in coats and hats. He, meanwhile, takes their school bags across the streat and up the ladder to place in the car. He then climbs back down the ladder, crosses the streat, and shuttles his children protectively to the iron ladder. He helps them up, using his large fatherly body as a wall against the passing traffic. Its a beautiful picture, really, of the relationship of a father with his children.

Curious pictures of life... snapshots of day-to-day activities that make up a life.

2007-02-05T13:25:00.000+02:00

OK, it's time for a new favorite.. This time I'm doing a list of favorites... favorites scents, that is. Have you ever done this? Have you ever thought of your preferred smells or sounds (hmm, another blog entry?)? In a country where the sense of smell is constantly heightened by various odors - some lovely and some... disgusting - I find myself looking for those scents that agree with my nose. Here they are, in random order:
- the ground after a good rainshower
- freshly cut grass
- incense
- olive wood
- freshly baked bread
- roasted coffee beans
- fresh mango
- sandalwood
- crayons in a box

This is what I came up with for now. I'll probably think of more later on today.

2007-01-31T22:30:00.000+02:00

Imagine that your home consisted of small individual rooms situated atop the roof of an apartment building. Imagine that the walls of these rooms were made of aluminium and burlap. Imagine that the bathroom consisted of a toilet out in the open, surrounded by a blanket on only three sides for a bit of privacy (note: no ceiling; only the sky). Imagine that because this was not a proper apartment, there was no running water, no proper plumbing, and no electricity, so you had to haul water up five flights of stairs every day and borrow an electric line from the neighbor for two lightbulbs. If you were able to imagine even a bit of this, then you have pictured the humble home of an Armenian family living in one of the suburbs of Beirut.

When I met the mother with her two children (the husband was at work), they had been given a new home, complete with stone walls and glass windows. The toilet had a roof, and there was running water in the taps.

These are photos of their previous abode. When I met them, the joy was evident on the faces of the children, who have lived a hard life so far. It has been months since I last saw them, but I was reminded of them recently, and I wanted to share this with you.

2007-01-29T18:22:00.000+02:00

I've been thinking about the Armenian aspect of heritage lately. I think it has come about ever since I started reading the book called Addressing Cultural Complexes in Practice: A Framework for Clinicians and Counselors. It's made me think about the different aspects of culture that I belong to and live in. Yesterday I had to pick up a book from a friend. We planned to meet at her church before she went in to teach Sunday School. Her church happens to be the main Armenian Orthodox church in Lebanon - the sister church of Echmiadzin in Armenia. I arrived early, and walked in to the courtyard. The courtyard is quite large, surrounded by a high wall on all sides. The wall secludes the church and monastery from the traffic of the highway and the buildings all around behind it. Standing in the courtyard, I could feel the sea breeze coming at over the wall from the west. The tall palm trees swayed in the morning mist. A sweet scent greeted my nose from the church - candles and incense. The service was already in session, and churchgoers walked up the steps and into the church hall. Sounds of chants wafted out through the door. I've only been in there on one occasion - for the funeral of an old friend's father.

Passing by the church I moved on towards the stone benches situated under some trees. Next to the church itself stands a small shrine dedicated to the victims of the Armenian Genocide in 1915. I did not enter it this time. I remembered well what was inside: glassed in skulls and bones of victims from that atrocious time. They collected the bones from the Der Zor desert, where another shrine stands. Many died in the desert from Turkey down through Syria.

All around the courtyard stand various structures - chapels, meeting halls, dormitories for the preists and students in the priesthood. It was quiet there. It brought on the feeling of wanting to sit and stay there for awhile. I sat down and waited for my friend. I thought of how at one time the Armenian church was the only stable system to hold the Armenian heritage in the face of the enemy trying to murder it. That's why there is such a strong link between the church and the Armenian language and history. So complex.

There are days where I feel a very strong attachment to this aspect of my culture, even though I don't have the mentality of the Armenian. It is something I'm still discovering and trying to understand.

2007-01-27T23:04:00.000+02:00

Hrant Dink: fast becoming one of my heroes. He stood for what he believed in, and what he believed in was worth it. He crafted thoughts with words, awakening concepts and ideas in his readers. His words offended those above him, and they killed him. He goes down in history as yet another Armenian to be silenced. Silence... every time an Armenian is 'silenced', his voice grows louder in death than it was in life. Hrant Dink joins the others gone before him. His memory will continue to ring with the words he wrote in life.

www.BBC%20NEWS%20%7C%20Europe%20%7C%20Hrant%20Dink's%20final%20article.webarchive

2007-01-26T08:50:00.000+02:00

Let her be courtesan, scholar, or saint,
a peninsula of din, of color, and of gold,
a hub of rose sailing like a fleet
which scans the horizon for a harbor's tenderness.
Beirut has died a thousand times and been reborn a thousand times.
Beirut of a hundred palaces, Beryte of the stones
where pilgrims from everywhere have raised statues
that make men pray and wars begin...

Excerpt from "Beirut", Lebanon: Poems of Love and War by Nadia Tueni

I can hear Tueni, Hariri, Gmayel, and Fleihan turning in their graves. This was not what they wanted; it was certainly not what they died for. So much loss, so much blood, so much loss...

2007-01-26T08:38:00.000+02:00

"The politicians have opened Pandora's box," my dad said quietly.

And so it begins. There is a large book that sits on the coffee table in the living room. It is the detailed recount of the Lebanese Civil War that lasted from 1975 to 1990, although it begins in the '60s when other clashes pre-ordained the long and destructive war. There are photos and scenes in that book that bring a chill to my bones because it is as though I'm reading about what happened last month, last week, and yesterday - double the pain and fear, with memories of my childhood colliding with a sense of what could become reality once again.

It is embarrassing that we should be so childish as to go at each other with sticks and stones, and then need to have a curfew placed on us. I'm waiting for the hidden guns to come out. They confiscated the firearms of civilians after the war. Ha! Everyone knows that there are loads of arms hidden in so many homes that if anything gets out of hand we will have an exact repeat of 30 years ago.

It's annoying that people would be so ignorant not to realize that they are prey in the hands of their leaders whom they follow so loyally. Keep the people ignorant and uneducated, and then fire them up with words of action, bloodshed, and power... then sit back and watch what happens. Bloody streets, burnt cars, bruises and cuts, gashed skin, dead victims. They had to take the women and men who were not fighting home in the backs of army trucks yesterday. Needless to say, I do not recall seeing any woman throwing stones yesterday. That is not because of brains but because of sex discrimination.

Is this the beginning of another war? Is this a step into more choas and bloodshed? The Muslims are divided amongst themselves, as are the Christians. Someone desperately wants to see Lebanon die.

What has become of you, you poor wretched country?

2007-01-23T08:22:00.000+02:00

Will someone please explain to me how stopping the country - including schools, banks, and other businesses - is supposed to help it and its economy, which is already down the drain, thanks to war and other such sit-ins and strikes?

Do I sound cynical? I am. The city is once again covered in a black haze - the residue of burnt tires.

Lebanon is on the edge of a turning point. I wonder where we will end up.

My frustration gorws to exceeding boundaries. We seem to be losing whatever is left of what is good and no one really cares. Lies and accusations are thrown about; people with blood on their hands are claiming the thrones of their parties. And we sit by and watch. Those who stand up for action are assassinated. Those who are safe are just so because they stand under the hand the more powerful one.

At times I feel that I am watching Hitler and his Nazis all over again - in the sense of brainwashing and blind loayalty.

2007-01-22T11:57:00.000+02:00

Another Favorite: Sunflowers. My first real experience with sunflowers was the first time I was in Armenia. I was a young teen then, vibrant and so excited about being in the land of the forefathers on my dad's side. I had spent years studying the history and language of the Armenian people. I was finally in the land itself, given the privilege of viewing the legends in the flesh, as would be said, were they real persons. The ancient churches built atop toppled pagan temples; the monuments and memorials dedicted to the memory of past pain and torture; the mountains that whisper songs of long ago... all of it was right there and I witnessing them firsthand!

So, standing outside my room in Dzaghgatsor, I was handed a sunflower. I remember it so vividly, like it was yesterday. The head of the flower was placed in my arms. It was huge and dark, dried to blackness. The yellow petals having been dried off. I looked down at this large circular maze of blackness, and was told to pick out one of the tiny black seeds that was sitting in their pockets. I picked one out and cracked it open with my teeth. The center of the seed was... well, nutty and flavorful for all its tiny size.

That is my memory of sunflowers. They are my favorite type of flower... not very romantic, but I love them anyway.

2007-01-22T08:57:00.000+02:00

How many masks does each person wear? It is inevitable that we all wear masks. But I wonder how much of our true self shows through the mask. In hidden and unhindered moments, when we think no one is looking, little sparks of the one underneath shines through, like specks of light through bullet-ridden material.

Is it possible that we can come to the point of revealing our true self to one person, one whom we trust against all others? When I read about Jesus and those who started the church after Him, I see that the removal of masks was a primary part of becoming part of His family. So, why are we still in this place now? Pretending to be what we are not, pretending that all is well when deep inside we are dying of pain and loneliness? There are days when I leave a place and wonder if the people I have just been with are truly as appy as they showed themselves to be.

What would it take for people to remove the masks? WHat would happen if we started to reveal the one beneath the layers of personality makeup?

2007-01-17T12:04:00.000+02:00

Ok, my latest favorite: what is known as Turkish coffee (also termed Armenian or Arabic coffee). The thick, black liquid flows with richness. It is the perfect thing at 6am, while listening to Feirouz, perhaps accompanied by the scent of incense, and while watching the light spread itself over the sky and earth.

6am is not a problem for me, since I have to get up at 5:40 every day for my counseling job at the school. I turn on my desk lamp and the mini-fairy lights hanging on my wall, until the morning light takes their place.

The world is magical at that time of day, just after the time between times.