Where do we go now?

I am disgusted by all political parties that are incessantly dividing the leftovers of our 10,452 km² and multiplying the ignorance of 30 years of civil war. I am nauseated by hypocrate politicians, unrighteous religious men and pretentious patriots that add to the nation's debts, doubts and dirts and subtract from the ruins of bravery, faith and honesty. I have had enough of all religious sects that rather than seeking union through similarities, are in favor of being reduced to anti-national and even anti-relegious individuals with identity and existential crises to the point of irreducible self-hatred and suicide. I am sick of the political parties that have infinitesmaly partitioned a minute nation and everything that its citizens could ever discuss or enjoy. Calendrical dates that are marked by political events, usually of disastrous nature, automatically used to refer to specific parties and historical mishaps. However, the greedy parties are not fully satisfied with mere dates from the calendar; they also claim colors from the spectrum of light in order it to label each citizen and in a way claim him or her as their own property. Even if you do not know it, when you're dressed in orange in this country, then you belong to this party, and when your hat or watch is blue then you belong to this other party... Where is this ridiculous modern dark age going to end? Are we going to wake up one day in favor of a vegetarian meal just for the sake of supporting a certain party, that has not had the chance to claim meat or animals for its supporters?

A couple of nights ago, Nadine Labaki made my day, in a movie that creatively and passionately expressed hyge concerns about this minute country, with tears of joy. Without any further due, I invite you to watch it at your nearest theater:

Thank you Nadine!

War does not determine who is right -- only who is left.

The Ottoman Empire

On 1918 and with the end of the second world war came the end of four centuries of the Turkish occupation of Lebanon and many nearby countries. A more neutral term like colonization comes to mind when I think of our gastronomy that was evolved thanks to the Turks. Regardless of the of term adequacy, I fear that 1918 was not as effective as it seemed about ending the Ottoman colonization and I am not arguing about the cultural, linguistic or culinary influence that it had already made to a certain extent. I am talking about the active invasion of our local media, common talk and even unique identities by Turkish soap opera. The Ottoman Empire is alive and kicking, it is streaming Bollywood of forbidden love stories that are scarily addictive. I am not exaggerating, I am describing a daily experience of solitude when my whole family is gathered in front of the TV between 7pm and 8pm to watch another episode of forbidden love. My solitude is aggravated when the whole nation is petrified for an hour every day by a Turkish soap opera and animated during the day when talking about it as if it were the holy grail. It is said that television is something the Russians invented to destroy American education but my lament is too faint of a sob to be heard, it is overwhelmed by the volume of Television and ignored by generations of couch potatoes. Our poor nation is in constant search of distraction and oblivion after all the wars it survived. Perhaps the miserable lives of our friends the Turks could bring consolation to our souls. Perhaps we can experience vicariously the forbidden love that we cannot live nor dare wish for. If I were asked to give a title to the play we cast on stage every day, it would be "Distraction Ad Mortem" were soap opera is only one minute scene in a theatrical piece about and by mankind.

La Cuccagna

I have been trying to post this for a while but the catatonic stagnation I suffer from was extremely overwhelming. Perhaps the DSM conceals a syndrome synonymous to such a level of laziness describing my current mental, emotional and physical states. But alas, the effort I might need to invest in  unveiling such a terminology might be fatal, needless to mention how vain and insane can a diagnosis of this nature be.

It was never clear to me why my home sweet home was ironically sour (no pun intended) for lack of better word or judgment. I must  have at home everything I could ask for from gastronomy to astronomy. I might not even need to dream, imagine or think for all is taken care of by the loving family. It took me many meditative hours to realize how such love can paralyze a restless soul, and make any excursion from one's oasis unbearable, until depletion. I finally understand how paradoxically devouring is the land of plenty and any attempt to escape it after a certain time results in more agony ad nauseam.  Ode to Pirandello's ephemeral beauty that is beautiful as it lasts and ode to the ignorance of my innocent childhood that is now irreversible and tomorrow more so.

La cuccagna (cockaigne) is a mythical place where people are paid to sleep and punished for working. I recommend Luigi Tenco's only cinematic appearance in "La Cuccagna" for an intimation about my nation.