And Light There Was...

How about a trip to the past? Let's go back to the beginning... Doubtful that anyone but my dear La Colleague will remember this: And Let There Be Light

It's been 5 years. 5 completed years of ups, downs, and all kinds of craziness...
4 years of med school, 1 hell of an intern year, at first and in prospect seemed like ages, but now, in retrospect, nothing more than a few years in memory.

Faithful readers will know the meaning of the word "Checkpoints" in my posts. Well this is a checkpoint if there ever was one. The end of the intern year. The end of one hell of a year that's been the one and only time I have ever questioned my choice of career. Gone. And not a minute too soon. But with the pleasure and euphoria found in a savagely hard fought victory over it, came the sadness of another turning point in life. A turning point where all - yes, all - of my class friends (so much more than just classmates) have packed up and left for residencies in the states, leaving me with another round of fighting with my sense that I might want to do the same. And this is where my mind wanders off into a land of what ifs, buts, and alsos, driving me further into this wicked cycle of thought that I will not bore you with.
What it boils down to, though, is the impossible difficulty of accessing a surgical residency program in the US. Sure enough, none of my friends who are leaving have chosen surgery, and happily all of them were lucky to get the match for an out of this world opportunity for life and career. Kudos to them all.

For Gracie, for Mayssam
So here we are, gone each in his/her direction. In the 'hecticity' of it all, there seemed to be so little time for us to get to do any real talking, the only thing you and I are any good at. So I had little or no opportunity to say what a great 5 years these have been. And I know that I will, sometime, or as we say so untruthfully here in Lebanon... Tomorrow, or where 99.9% of human productivity, motivation, and achievement is stored.


Love, always.

Of Seaside Afternoons - Again

Kaslik, Lebanon - April 2012

Off the coast of north lebanon.
Gathered with a few friends for seaside sangrias. This is how the day ended.
Calm and quiet like you rarely ever experience anymore these days, a nice 25 degree breeze, the sounds of a few small waves breaking every now and then... Then you close your eyes and let the thoughts wash over you.

Breathtaking afternoon

Step Back Inside.

Here comes some white to offset all the black I've been ranting about.
Here comes karma.
Here comes something to look forward to.

Mr. Rubik, your puzzle has been solved.

The contrast between black and white...

"Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white" - The Counting Crows in Round Here.

Black and white... The best way to describe the past two months! White, then black and white, and then a big load of black is what happened.

Loving every second of your life can be a very tricky situation. Because you start wondering why and how it's happening, and then you ask yourself if it's as true and real as you think it is. Until something happens and you realize that it's been sort of helped along by a big bunch of bullshit.
A few discoveries that are incidental at first, then become targets of your unwinding obsession. Lies you've been suspicious of at first, and that were confirmed to you one after the other, sequentially, relentlessly, and repeatedly, until you just burst in frustration and helplessness. And you realize: So that's what it feels like!

Why is it that happiness always needs to be second-guessed, questioned, and put on on trial before it can be credible enough to be enjoyed, and shared?

Why is happiness so multi-disciplinary? so dependent on so many things and? and why does it have so many facets? I think that it's like that so people can hold it like some sort of a Rubik's cube and orient it in such a way to see only the positive parts, only those facets where all the colors match, and lie to themselves about still having to sort out the others. 

Well I have choked on your lies for long enough. 

I can take no more...

Of Friendship and Lack Thereof

What happens when you run out of outlets? What happens when your friends are leaving, one by one, caving to the attraction of a random civilized country with hope for a decent and secure future, and you're left counting how many of them you have left? Two or three? Or is it one? Shit I don't know anymore!
I'll tell you what happens. You're left with two or three mindsets that cooperate or take turns tearing your sanity apart, each one taking partial or complete precedence over the others depending on your mood and how your day is going.

On the rare but welcome good day, you'll feel optimistic about present and future -like I felt when I wrote my previous post-, and keep thinking to yourself, "staying here isn't so bad! I've almost got it figured, and it feels good to be home!" Expected, from someone who's already failed -miserably- to capitalize on the golden opportunity of a medical career in France due mostly to nostalgia.

On the more common average day you tend not to think about it too much. Because on the average day you have a lot keeping you busy, and there isn't much time for thinking and musing about life and its roller-coasters. You do catch a few ideas flying by, but these don't tend to materialize into something meaningful by the time your attention is caught by something else.

We're left with bad days. It is on those bad days, those days when you just can't seem to find anything to do with your time, or when you just seem to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, that these thoughts go wild. You feel stranded, isolated, wondering what the hell you're doing at home or wherever you are. Your outlets are numbered and each has his/her own set of problems and obstacles. They're busy. You don't really feel like their gossip, trivia, and pettiness, even though you love them. She's unreachable! S. is in the U.S. B. is in the U.K. N. is in Kuwait, K. in Dubai, R. in France... I could go on...
And this is when it gets to you the most. Because what are you left with, if not memories of good times and intrusive thoughts and feelings of all sorts that make you question your own sanity sometimes? or a bad mindset and ensuing reactions and overreactions that can ruin friendships and relationships? And what can you do with these thoughts? Well you can either swallow them, or throw them in someone's face. I tend to do the latter, often with bad consequences, but that's another thing I never seem to learn.

But you know what? All that's about to change. I'm done. I feel like I've been changed. Yes, BEEN changed, by these circumstances. I've let them get the better of me, something I don't usually do.
I've gotten a few remarks which I admitted to, again, something not everyone around me is used to seeing. The changes are in motion, things will be different from now on.

Here's to not keeping all your eggs in one basket.

For those of you who know what I mean...

Brilliant Recap on Religion

Came across this skit by George Carlin on religion and its shortcomings.

I know some of what he says may be a bit disrespectful and his language might be a bit raunchy. But look past this and you'll find a good argument. And a funny one!

I somehow identified with Carlin on this one. I was never a believer. Since childhood, and since I could remember having any sense of logic and my own opinion on a few things in life, I just couldn't get myself to accept the dogmata of religion. There always seemed to be just too many discrepancies, to many dissonant axioms for me to just believe blindly. And let's face it, blind faith is the requisite in this department.

So what Carlin says in this skit summarizes (very briefly) my views on religion.

One thing though is that I've always been sincerely respectful of people's beliefs, as I've said in earlier posts; what drives me out of my mind though are people who use the 'faith argument' in discussions to try and convince people of the validity of the God Theory and all that it entails. These are the only instances where anyone will hear me badmouthing religion (and not spirituality).

Yesterday was holy Thursday and I tagged along with milady and a few friends for the traditional 7-Church visit. "This isn't tourism", smiled L., who was all too aware of my views on the matter, "you should have some thoughts, maybe say an informal prayer here and there!"

The thing is, there were many, many thoughts entering my mind at the time. At every church visit, every time I walked into a church since I was a kid, I would start thinking and thinking. Wondering, asking myself questions. Questions and thoughts about how people seemed taken and immersed in their belief, and the sense of their trance-like state. Every time, the experience is touching to say the least. And every now and then, I felt like one or two of my thoughts were of my family and loved ones, and these were the thoughts that I felt were somehow 'emitted' or 'sent off' without me necessarily wanting them to, in some raw and random hope that someone really is up there. But... you know the rest. These feelings and thoughts never consolidated into anything more powerful and for me, I don't know. I guess something more compelling will have to happen for religion to have a better chance with me. Don't ask what.

So please for those of you who will view this video, don't be outraged and blinded by a few bad words and scream blasphemy!

Cinema Paradiso, a Blast from the Past

There is nothing better than that feeling you get when you come across something from the past. I don't know, I guess this may be the appeal, the incentive, or maybe the lure, that makes people dwell in it so often, and sometimes indefinitely. Ranging from that once-in-a-while sweet, harmless nostalgia to downright pathological, disabling failure to progress, this feeling of familiarity and comfort found in one's past is probably, and to my experience, the reason why so many people struggle or fail to move on to new pastures.

The other day I tagged along with M. for a short DVD shopping trip. We were both flipping

through the monumental stacks of DVDs, and were ready to go home, nothing of note having been caught in our respective nets, when I heard the clerk making a recommendation to a girl (and a nice looking one at that!). I overheard: "you should try Cinema Paradiso..."

Instant flashback to 1990. I was eight years old, and we had just moved to a new place in Beirut. A brand new TV set, a brand new VCR and a nice VHS to christen it with.

Cinema Paradiso, an award-winning film by Italian filmmaker

Giuseppe Tornatore. I remember it so vividly; it was late, one of the first quiet nights in the post civil war era. The living room engrossed in the somber yet elucidating light provided by a solitary candle placed on top of a run down coffee table, I waited, anxiously observing the clock's every move, in anticipation because at midnight, we get to enjoy the luxury of electricity again.

I fell asleep on the couch, to be woken up at midnight by my mother, who was just as anxious as I was to watch that new movie.

Perhaps ironically, the theme of the movie circles around letting go of one's roots, of one's past and all that it entails, as it so powerfully follows the life of Salvatore di Vita, affectionately called Toto, as he morphs from that 5 year-old kid with so little on his mind, through a hormone-laden teenager, and into a grown man with aspirations to a career and success.

Always the sucker for blasts from the past, I jumped on that thing like there was no tomorrow; I drove back home in a daze, and the mere sound of the two words "Cinema Paradiso" brought my mom to tears. To say that watching this movie 20 years down this long road was an emotional experience would be a masterpiece of understatement. So many powerful scenes, and a theme and topic that remind me so poignantly of my own childhood, my own journey through life, proved to be nearly too much to handle. I guess that my having been through the experience of leaving home and loved ones behind meant that I identified with Toto in the movie.

Ironically, a movie riddled with nostalgia, departures, and separation from the past, has reunited me with mine in a way my clumsy words will never be able to describe.

Why so afraid of the past?

A Sunday From Hell

I had been dreading this day for a while. Sunday, July 19, 2009. Bidding farewell to loved ones, saying goodbye to friends. All on one day seemed like torture. And it turned out to be even worse.

This just in: friend and fellow blogger wondering: "Is it true that Lebanon is now nothing more than a pit stop?" This is a question to ask indeed...

I live here, I grew up here, and even for me this is just a pitstop.

For everyone who woke up one day and decided they wanted more from their lives than this place had to offer; For everyone who is contemplating the thought of leaving; nothing more than a pitstop. That Sunday, I said my goodbyes to my aunt in the evening, and to one of my best friends from childhood later that night... Very eloquently, this sucks.

Flashback to Sunday, late afternoon:

It was a long drive to Ballouneh, where my auntie N. lives. LiveD. Mixed emotions flying in the air. There was a distinct feeling, or taste, to that trip. Everytime we went on that noisy drive singing silly music and hopeless songs, there were great times. Barbecues, nargileh, and that sweet feeling of a family reunion every few weeks. Not this time though. This time round, this warm familiar feeling was overshadowed by foreseen grief and heartache. N. is going to Canada. She's taking her incommensurately adorable kids -this from a hardened official kid hater, remember?- and she's going to start a life somewhere else.

Somewhere where she won't have to worry about making ends meet every month, somewhere where people are actually people, somewhere... Don't worry, I'm not gonna start another tirade about our dearly cherished country, if one can call it that. No, I've done that before (read). What matters now is where she's going, and who she's leaving behind. This is the second time that this country has done this to my family. And what's worse is that it's about to do it again. I'm going to have to leave, again, for my residency. And that Sunday, this was always on my mind and I felt like I was suffocating.

My grandmother worse for wear, my grandfather's voice choked out of him as he desperately tried to hold back his tears, my uncles and other aunts in no better shape, and my tears clouding my last sights of N. and her kids, we left Ballouneh for a silent trip back to an insipid Beirut.

Goodbye N. We love you so much. We miss you already.