“Tell me I have cancer please,” she said as I stood next to her in the Emergency Room. “Tell me I have cancer,” she repeated again as if repetition would make it true. “I have cancer, yes I do. But I’m not insane.”

1 out of 5 Lebanese will have a mental disorder during their lifetime. This is in sync with international averages, which is interesting given the proficient history that serves as precipitating factors galore that we’ve had. But be sure of this: we all know someone who has or will have a mental disorder.

50 is the approximate number of registered and licensed psychiatrists that could potentially treat these patients. 50 for slightly less than one million. We have incredible shortage and yet it doesn’t show to everyone. Why? Because we simply don’t talk about mental health.

0 is the number of local insurance companies that cover for psychiatry. People don’t care enough about the issue in order to pressure them to make it included with their healthcare bundle. It will never happen, they’d say. It only happens to other people, just like every other serious illness I suppose.

A patient my age thought she was living inside a snake on Mars. That was where she was when she presented for hospitalization with bruises all over her body.
Her family denied knowledge of those bruises at first. But they were too systematic to be coincidental. She had bruises over here wrists, torso and legs. Her parents still didn’t budge.
The patient in question was living on Mars for a few months now. She wasn’t brought in earlier because her family thought she was possessed. A religious man had tried to perform an exorcism. We live in a country where it’s more acceptable to say demons are inside a family member than to say he was admitted at a hospital and is on a few meds.

That patient wasn’t the first nor the only one I saw who had attempted many exorcisms at the hand of religious figures before finally deciding that what was wrong wasn’t, in fact, spiritual as much as it was simply biological and chemical. It’s always that way: demons, not disease. Exorcisms, not medicine.

Wasn’t it at the times of our great-great-to the power ten-grandfathers that illnesses were associated with evil spirit?
That seems to still be the case today in Lebanon, and many other countries around the world, when it comes to mental health. The way we view mental health is also that of a taboo whereby we try to hide from it, shut it away as something not to be talked about. Even the suicide of Amina Ismail, sensational as it was, didn’t turn in the media into a discussion about mental health. It was a discussion about her private life. We have it among family members but instead of looking at those family members as sick people, akin to any person with any chronic illness, we look at them as burdens who got themselves into the mess they are in. My family is no exception to the statistics. And I’ve seen both ends of the spectrum: the cancer patient is seen as the sick one. The mentally ill patient is seen as the spoiled one.

The extent that mental health is a taboo in this country is best manifested when you observe the way people act around the possibility of a mental disorder diagnosis. Some of them exchange their names with numbers as identifiers. You can name me thirteen if you want to. Others would panic when psychiatric people are called in for a consult. “I’m not crazy, get out of my room.” Few are the people who are open about the idea of possibly going to the psychiatric ward. Even fewer are those who actually present voluntarily. The least of all people are those who are open about any possible mental disorder they might have and who actually view such disorders the way they view any other illness. You should also see the reaction that doctors who are specializing in psychiatry get every time they tell people of their plans.

Then there are the diseases which have been ridiculed by people to the extent that few seem to actually see them as illnesses anymore. Schizophrenia becomes split or multiple personalities just because Hollywood says so. Substance abuse becomes an issue that doesn’t concern us because we have willpower. “Tu deprimes today?” becomes the reference for depression.

I have a friend who was diagnosed a while back depression. Treatment has greatly improved his entire lifestyle and approach. And I’ve been thinking lately how lucky my friend was to be surrounded by people who viewed his diagnosis and treatment as a true medical case, not him being a wuss. If his case had been the latter, he’d have probably never improved and he would have never known that there is a better view of life than that of a person who was always sad, who had decreased interests, decreased appetite, guilt, suicidal thoughts.

“Madness is like gravity, all it takes is a little push,” the famous saying goes. Except “madness” is nothing like gravity and it takes more than just a push to get there. It’s a collection of genetics, biological predispositions and psychological stressors – sort of like any other disease, really. A mark of the development of a society is the way they view mental health. Lebanese tell their friends who are truly depressed to suck it up. They’d rather seek out exorcisms and justify diseases with demons than with simple facts. A person who develops substance abuse is weak-minded, his abuse never seen as an actual disorder. That patient who wished she had cancer has been “living with a demon” in her house for 6 years. She had brought in a priest every month. She still doesn’t know nor does she accept that the problem is probably with her and it could have been fixed 6 years ago. I guess some people would rather find solace in demons and live in Mars in the process because society thinks a Martian habitat is better for people like them than to acknowledge the simple and yet vitally important fact that it’s mental health, not demons. It’s psychiatry, not exorcisms and voodoo.

I attended AUB from 2007 till 2010. Back in my days, which were not that long ago, we used to pay for 12 credits only even though we were able to register a maximum of 17 per semester.

I thought the system as it stood back then was great – it allowed me to be a full-time student and graduate on time without overburdening my parents with paying for every single credit that I was forced to take in order to count for the 90 required to get that coveted diploma. In 2010, however, AUB decided they were going to enforce new regulations that would raise the 12 credit standard to 15 for those enrolling in the upcoming semester.

I was graduating that year so it didn’t affect me. But I couldn’t disassociate myself from the notion that those who would come after me would be victims of these regulations that were not only unfounded at the time, but were also supported by baseless arguments that are still being used today. So as part of the AUB student body back then, we had a mass protest across campus. We boycotted classes. We paralyzed the university. We all participated. Then those heading the movement blew it by letting politics seep into it and the movement soon crumbled due to the too many heads that wanted to become leaders and instead of abolishing the tuition fees regulations, we simply postponed them. And they called it a victory – the students who slept on the floor outside College Hall for nights, however, did not. And those generations for whom we protested back then are receiving the short end of the stick we knew they would today.

Ever since I graduated, tuition fees at AUB have increased by 37%, at about $5000 per academic year. The increase includes another 6% hike this year. Technology fees for internet and connectivity on campus have also gone up by 50%. Wasn’t internet supposed to be getting cheaper in this country?

AUB is proud of its financial aid situation. Most applicants receive financial aid, they say. Bu there’s a huge difference between receiving aid in principle and the amount of aid a student gets: a 10% financial aid counts towards the former statistics. But is 10% enough?

AUB personnel who are handling these tuition increases justify them as due to the “increasingly bad economic situation in the country which necessitated such increases in order to keep AUB functional.”

The economic situation is touching everyone. I know of families who are well-off whose situation has deteriorated so rapidly lately that they’ve decided to simply leave. We have no government. Unemployment is reportedly at 42%.  Isn’t this also affecting the parents of the students who are supposed to pay those fees? Is it plausible to have American-type fees in a country where the average income doesn’t come close to the American average?

I guess this is what comes when student elections are more about politics and which political side wins than about those who actually work. As long as this party or that gets a majority at the Student Representatives Council and the USFC later on, everything is okay. There are no issues to raise, I suppose. Where is that free printing again?

It’s easy to dismiss all of this as simply “if you can’t afford AUB, then don’t consider it.” And for the majority of Lebanese people, this is the case. We’d also be delusional to believe that the students attending AUB are people who cannot afford it. But is that also enough reason to simply not talk about the issue and let such tuition prices rise go unchallenged, excluding the portions of Lebanese society that could have, at one point, afforded giving their children the best education that Lebanon could provide?

As an alumnus, there’s not really much I can do. But how about AUB students who are now nagging about these increases actually ask themselves, come November, when they’re voting: AUB tuition fees, where do you go now? Perhaps then they can form a student body that can create a road map to let people know which class of Lebanese gets access to Green Oval and that ugly Zaha Hadid building. 

I had no idea what Creamfields was a few hours ago. I honestly would have loved for it to stay that way. But the cancellation of that party/festival/whatever has seemingly unleashed the most rage I’ve seen from Lebanese in a long time. I guess those party animals – all of them by the looks of it – and their parties are not to be messed with or the real shit that this country has been going through will hit the fan: an event cancellation that is.

Another “cancellation” took place today. Hard Rock Cafe, a place where many of us have had a lot of memories and ate great burgers, announced it will be closing in three days. A restaurant closing is, in itself, not that big of a deal. But for an international chain such as Hard Rock Cafe to pick up its baggage and leave is indicative of the situation that the country is going through, a situation which forced this institution that has been here for 18 years to call it quits, which will now leave all its employees jobless until they see another paycheck again. But Creamfields is the worst thing that happened today.

And today marks the 5th month that my best friend hasn’t seen a paycheck, while constantly searching for that company that would hire him. It also marks the one year mark for when my other best friend started searching for a job in her domain. Both of them have Masters degrees. Both of them are great at what they do. Both of them are super qualified. And yet both of them are now only numbers in a growing statistics that is, reportedly, 43% of the Lebanese population. That is slightly less than half of this country is unemployed. Banks and CEOs went on strike a couple of days ago to protest the situation, the lack of work, lack of money, lack of opportunities. But Creamfields is the worst thing that happened today.

Today is also a Friday. And as of now, no explosions have happened. But the day is not over yet so you never know. But two Fridays ago, we had an explosion in Tripoli. And it killed more than 50 people. A week before the Tripoli explosion, another part of the country was also torn apart and 40 people died. More than a thousand people got injured in both explosions. And yet people did not get into the state of emotional upheaval back then as Creamfields has put them in today. Perhaps today’s casualty is Creamfields. But yes, that is the worst thing that has happened today.

Today is another day when thousands of Syrian refugees flock into the country. I’m not really sure which statistic we’re observing lately but last time I checked, 25% of this country was refugees. In other words, when 3 of my friends and I hang out, odds are one of them is a refugee. Our municipalities and politicians spew racist words that resonate for a while and then die off but most of us have no grasp on the possible repercussions that these refugees have on the already-fragile and ever-so-distengrating fabric of our society. Those of us who work in the medical field have been put on high alert for all the possible new diseases that these refugees are bringing with them and which Lebanon hasn’t seen in a long time. There are no regulations whatsoever to handle those refugees. The laissez-faire attitude of everyday life that we have extends to them as well.

Today is another day of us being government-less. I remember the days when our current PM designate spoke about forming a cabinet in the soonest delay possible. I should have known not to be foolish enough not to take those 3 words in the Lebanese sense: “soonest” and “delay” and “possible.” Our economy is breaking down, our nonexistent borders are disintegrating, our security is now extinct. But that isn’t the worst thing to take place today.

Today is another day in ticking down till the time when it’s been 3 months since we were supposed to vote. It’s been almost 3 months that our democratic rights were taken away from us, that are our parliament decided it had done a decent enough job since 2009 to warrant a few extra years for its mandate, that there are enough pertinent reasons for them to come up with whatever logic they used in order to do what they did. It’s a big mess sure. But there are other things that are far worse which have taken place today.

Today is another day of us waiting for that possible American strike over Syria, the strike that doesn’t know when to start – if ever. It’s another day of us living through the repercussions of the war raging on next door as some of our men bring it home because they miss fights, having been without them for several years now. It’s another day of being part of this regional chess-game that knows no ends. But Creamfields is the worst thing that happened today.

Today is another day of us wasting time until we start drilling for oil because signing laws to ratify the regulations required have proved to be way too tedious. Today is another day as all our neighboring countries beat us in the race towards economical richness as we stand by watching. But don’t be fooled, our oil is not the worst thing to take place today.

Today is another day of Lebanese people not receiving medical care just because they can’t afford it, of some hospitals turning them down just because. It’s another day of us ticking down the clock to a possible war with our Southern neighbor. But we’re ready – or so they say. Except since the last time we had a war with that neighbor, we have failed to build shelters, warning systems or any other protection entity for our people down there. But their lives don’t matter because that’s nowhere near the worst thing that could take place.

I’d have loved to maybe attend Creamfields with you. I’d have liked a Hard Rock burger with that as well. But if I were a DJ who was lined up to play during that festival, I wouldn’t come here. And I would tell my friends not to come as well. Lebanese people love life, of course they do. There are even slogans about that precise issue. But the simple fact that we’re now “used” to all those bombs doesn’t mean others should be as well. Just because we’ve gotten numb to the absolute hell we’re living in doesn’t mean those tourists we all want to bring here are numb as well and are absolutely careless about their safety as we are. Ask yourself this: would you come to Lebanon, unless you absolutely had to, in times like these?

I’d have loved to also be on the front-lines of being angry about Creamfields being cancelled with you. But the sheer amount of hormones that have raged due to that event being cancelled has shown many of us, I hope, how disassociated many seem to be from the country in which that festival was supposed to take place, a disassociation that borders on the lines of pathological. But don’t mind me, I suppose, because the cancellation of Creamfields is definitely among the Lebanese priorities that ought to make people believe this country whose passport we proudly hold is a failure.

Let’s hope nothing happens to that rumored Coldplay concert.

It was December 2010, slightly after Christmas, that I went to Maaloula as part of a two day stay in pre-war Syria.

The village was nestled up the mountains some 30 minutes away from Damascus. I had no idea what to expect there, other than some difference from the  souks and mosques that their country’s capital had to offer. I should have known that Maaloula would be drastically different – the driver had been talking a language I wasn’t understanding all the way. It was Aramaic.

Once upon a time, the Maaloula I visited was a calm village, part of a calmer and oppressed country. The people there seemed poor. They also seemed especially devout, asking us to take off our shoes as we visited Christian shrines for saints that Christians in Lebanon worshipped. The town’s houses were tightly packed together, haphazardly built, in a way that climbed up the mountain that overlooked the village. A statue of the Virgin Mary could be seen atop those mountains. I’m sure they figured she’d be protecting their homes.

I walked around the hills next to the village, patches of snow from a storm a few days prior still visible. The townspeople looked at us warily: just another batch of tourists who are coming and going, expecting some funky eccentricities. A few children were busy playing football on the tarmac across the street. They asked us to play but we didn’t have the luxury of living where they did. So we kept looking around.

The monastery we visited, Deir Mar Takla, where the relics of a renowned Saint reportedly lay, was not very different from several ones I had seen in Lebanon. But I guess it’s always more interesting just because it represents a minority, something different in the vast sea of sameness you had come to associate with the Syria I was visiting back then. I never thought that desolate town, huddled in those cold Syrian mountains, would become the focal point of Lebanese politics almost three years later.

I never gave Maaloula a second thought until today when I was told that the Syrian civil war had reached it and I was told that I should care about the lives of its people, just because they are Christians, more than the lives of all the Syrian civilians who have died since whatever’s taking place in Syria started back in 2011. There are varying levels to the value of a human life.

Maaloula became the centerpiece of a long-used argument revolving around the core foundation of Christian victimhood, because the presence of Christians in this region cannot be guaranteed but by dictators and oppressors. Let’s always choose the lesser evil.

I was also invited to #ActForMaaloula today, an admirable effort and all. But I have to wonder: aren’t Muslim villages worthy of me acting for them? Who am I supposed to act for in Maaloula exactly fully knowing that 90% of its people have apparently left their town? Am I supposed to act for the Churches that have not been touched according to all news services? Am I supposed to act just for the sake of acting so I can tell the entire world that I care about the likes of those who happened to be born into my religion just because they worship Jesus and don’t fast Ramadan?

Christians in this region are and apparently will always be dhimmis, precisely because of this rhetoric, whether they like it or not. They’re dhimmis because they’re always forced to ask for protection. They’re dhimmis because they’re always treated differently than the countries of which they are part. They’re dhimmis because they relish in the rhetoric that they are different, that their lives are more precious, that one needs to act for their sake but not the sake of others just because they have carried a Cross.

Being against the regime next door doesn’t mean we sympathize with the Islamists. It doesn’t mean some Lebanese politicians, who remember the never-ending Christian victimhood argument listed above whenever they’re bored, get to patronize us about not doing enough for our “Christian brethren.” I refuse to be blinded to the fact that this talk about extremists and Islamists and Nusra and Al Qaeda did not exist in 2011. I refuse to be forced to forget that the talk about a ruthless regime, which can send the cold, penis-less corpse of a thirteen year old to his mother’s doorstep, has existed since the 1980s. I refuse to be forced to fall to that ridiculous notion that Christians are special and must be protected because Israel considers them competition.

I used to think the fear for Christians in the region is overrated. I don’t think that way anymore. But I also think that the entire way the issue is being dealt with will only lead to further decimation of those Christians and further increase of the fear they are forced to live in. You want to protect the Christians of Syria because you love them so? You fight for a political solution that involves stopping the regime that has killed hundreds of thousands of its people and with it those Islamists we all fear whose existence stems from that precise regime.

One more thing before I bring you full circle.

The Syrian regime protects Christians, sure. The rebels are creatures who want to behead Christians and only do that, sure. The following is not in Maaloula.

Lebanon, courtesy of the Syrian army.

Whose protection am I supposed to ask for now?

I always thought Jesus of Nazareth was the same as Jesus Christ. It was how I was brought up. That figure was the man I was taught over and over again never to question, to always take whole, never to tackle in a way that could tarnish his divine image.

But, as it seems, Jesus of Nazareth is entirely different from Jesus the Christ. One is the simple historical version of a man who existed the same way you and I did. The other is the embellished version that the Church has worked years to build. The man from Nazareth was someone who was born in Palestine and who was crucified. Whether his birth was of immaculate conception and whether he got resurrected after his death are matters of pure faith that fall under the domain of Jesus the Christ. If you believe in those two entities, then Jesus of Nazareth doesn’t really matter because your faith is unshakeable. But if you’re like me, full of doubts and constantly questioning, Jesus of Nazareth may hold a few surprises up his sleeve.

I recently read a book about the historical Jesus – the man that Jesus truly was. The book was titled: Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth. Yes, it’s the book that caused a ruckus across the United States because its author was Muslim. Yes, I read it more out of interest in what the fuss was about than about the entity on whom the book revolved. Yes, it was an interesting read. Yes, I was left with more questions than when I first set reading the book’s pages. Yes, I think the book is impeccably researched. No, I don’t think the author is biased. No, I don’t think the author’s religion impinges on his judgment – if anything, he’s also discrediting his religion by saying Jesus actually died on the Cross as opposed to what Islam preaches on the issue. No, I don’t think the book is perfect. No, I’m not silly enough to believe what he’s saying is scripture but I believe it’s important enough to strike a conversation about.

The entity of the historical Jesus doesn’t really challenge Christian faith whose foundations are built upon three main elements: the Holy Trinity, Jesus’ birth and Jesus’ resurrection. The concept of the historical Jesus is what happened to Jesus’ life between his birth and death. If you believe Jesus died and resurrected for your sins, then whatever happened when he was alive holds little importance.

For starters, the Gospels were not really written by the saints to whom they are associated. It seems that was common practice back then, as a form or respect, to write what a man would have written and associate it with them. They were never meant to be a historical documentation of Jesus’ life and yet we are taught that they are.

Jesus was not born in Betlehem. The census that the Gospels speak about apparently happened after Jesus’ supposed birth and the type of census wouldn’t have required Joseph and Mary to relocate all the way to Betlehem. Why was this altered? Because the Gospels were trying to give Jesus the characteristics of the Jewish Messiah who had to be born in David’s town.

Jesus apparently had brothers and sisters and this is has been historically proven. The Church has tried to cover the fact that the man to whom Jesus gave the mantle of the Church was his brother James because this poses a problem to the doctrine of the perpetual virginity of Mary. To me, however, Jesus becomes much more interesting if he actually had siblings and if those siblings had tried to keep his message alive.

Jesus was a man of profound contradictions which we apparently don’t notice. At one point, Matthew 15:24, he says: “I was sent solely to the lost sheep of Israel.” At another point, Matthew 28:19, he calls to “go and make disciples of all nations.” Sometimes he calls for peace: “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the sons of God”; Matthew 5:9, and at other points he calls for violence: “If you do not have a sword, go sell your cloak and buy one”; Luke 22:36. These verses have been proven to have a higher accuracy chance than others because they happen to exist across the four Gospels that are believed to be the most accurate. It’s worth noting that if Jesus had his way, we may not have turned Christian at all: “Go nowhere near the gentiles and do not enter the city of the Samaritans,” Matthew 10:5-6.

Some infamous statements that Jesus made, such as “love your enemies” and “turn the other cheek” were also removed out of the Jewish context in which they were said because early Christians wanted to make his character more universal and disassociated from Jewish zealous nationalism.

Jesus was also not an anomaly in the times that he lived. There were plenty of “self-proclaimed” Messiahs that came before him and many more after him. His preaching time, which lasted three years, started soon after he met John the Baptist. Historical proof seems to indicate that Jesus was a disciple of John the Baptist but Gospel-writers tweaked the story later on to make it sound like John the Baptist was the subordinate during Jesus’ baptism. His miracles, however, have apparently happened. There’s no scientific proof, obviously, that they were truly miracles, but there is proof and enough documentation about a man called Jesus who trotted around Galilee, healing people. However, even in this Jesus was not alone. His advantage? He didn’t charge any fees.

The story of Jesus’ death, the way he was dragged from one court to the next, seems to have been embellished as well. Pilates’ washing his hands from any guilt regarding Jesus’ crucification while pinning it all on the jews is but the attempt of early Christians to make their preaching more accessible and acceptable to the Romans who soon became their main focus. Pilates, it seemed, was a ruthless man who crucified any one he met. Jesus may have had an audience with him but it wouldn’t have been more than a reading of the charges and a quick sentencing. But Jesus has been crucified and crucification was reserved by the Roman authorities to people whom they viewed disrupted order.

Current Christian theology stems from the teachings of St. Paul which are apparently drastically different from what early Christians believed Christianity should be: a variant of Judaism that is based on Jewish laws with the acknowledgement that Jesus of Nazareth was the long awaited messiah. This “fight” between James the Just and Paul illustrates the difference between Jesus of Nazareth and Jesus Christ: What Jesus was versus what it is believed he meant. It is the resiliency of Paul’s teachings that have done the most work at obscuring who Jesus of Nazareth was.

I was told that the historical Jesus was someone worth worshipping. After reading the book, I felt that wasn’t the case. I had no idea with what stroke of luck he managed to found the world’s biggest religion. I had no idea why he, out of everyone like him who came before and after, stood out. Two decades of rigorous research made Reza Aslan, the author of the book in question, a more devout follower of Jesus of Nazareth than he ever was of Jesus the Christ. Two days of reading his book have left me in the cold. What I thought was special about Jesus Christ turned out to be but a variation instilled in Jesus of Nazareth by the Church I was taught to follow. What I thought made the entity I worshipped special turned out to be but mere additions here and there to make his story fit ancient prophecies. As it stands, I really have no clue what’s special about Jesus of Nazareth.

I hope that changes soon.

Hassan is the name. Let’s play a game of guess his religion in front of an imaginary crowd. I’m not psychotic I swear, although I guess that’s what a psychotic person would say as well.

100% of my fictive crowd say he’s Muslim. Is he Shiite or Sunni? Let’s say our lovely crowd goes 70-30 for Shiite. All are educated guesses, all are well-reasoned choices. I wouldn’t call such thought process sectarian – after all, they were primed to answer. Our imaginary crowd is 100% wrong.

Hassan is not Muslim. Hassan goes to Church every sunday. He is as religious as they go. He is not eccentric enough to have had a name change. You can say he was born that way.

And yet Hassan is sitting around at home, nearing his 30s, unable to find a job just because of the name his parents decided to give him.

The areas he’s searching in, close to home and familiar, are all Christian. But they don’t believe him when they ask about his religion during job interviews, a question that is getting increasingly popular lately. Companies would definitely not admit to this, obviously.

The #1 rule to get a job in Lebanon is, therefore, to have a name that is appropriate religiously to the region you’re applying to. If you’re a Hassan in Jounieh, odds are you will have a terrible time in getting to the point of receiving a paycheck. Of course, other areas in the country are not exactly better.

It wasn’t enough that most of the jobs in the market today are being taken by highly trained and much less salary demanding Syrian incomers.  Lebanese people are having another hurdle develop in front of them lately, apart from all the wastas. Instead of having Lebanese judged by their capacities and qualifications, they are being increasingly judged by the way they pray and, lately, by where they live. And to think I was doubting my friends from Tripoli who were getting increasingly wary of putting up their city of residence on their CVs.

Bass fi a7la men lebnen? 

I was talked into going to Wickerpark yesterday. Sure, it was almost literally taking place next door. Sure, it was only $20 for an entire music festival of sorts. Sure, it was for a good cause. But it was a place for music that I had come to brush off. And I refused to be sucked in.

Wickerpark yesterday introduced me to several bands, three – technically two bands and one performer – of which I can’t seem to shake off. I went to Wickerpark yesterday and got exposed to some great music. I guess it’s a good thing I went.

Postcards:

I absolutely loved these people. Of course, they’re  right up my musical alley of folk music. But their songs are really well-written. They perform those songs extremely well. I never thought I’d use such a word to describe anything but if there was anything to be described as “organic,” it’s them singing by the sea a song called “Lakehouse.” Granted, the Mediterranean isn’t a lake but as they belted “come home” to the echo of the waves crashing behind them, I was simply mesmerized.

Postcards covered a song by Fleet Foxes as well. Yes, I know who those are. And their cover was impeccable. Their EP was released less than two weeks ago and I couldn’t wait to buy it off iTunes. I’d love to see them cover songs by “The Civil Wars,” so in case they read this: make it happen!

You can buy their EP here and check their Facebook page here.

Charlie Rayne:

How cool was this guy? He was apparently globe-trotting around Europe before heading to Wickerpark, performing gigs all across Paris, Prague, Berlin, etc…. His music is folky, akin to Postcards. I especially liked the one about a girl’s “velvet garden.” Don’t fret, there’s nothing overtly raunchy about the material. Rayne is an excellent guitar player. He was the only act to command the stage solo. If you like Philip Philipps’ songs, Rayne is your Lebanese version.

Check out Charlie Rayne’s Facebook page here.

The Wanton Bishops:

I have to admit, this band was intriguing me the most about Wickerpark. I had never listened to their music before but wrote about them having their visa to the UK refused. Thank you Lebanese passport! After yesterday, I have to say that music festival in the UK they couldn’t go to definitely missed out.

They reminded me of the few songs I knew by The Black Keys. Their music isn’t my cup of tea though I’m warming up to such music lately. What drew me to them, however, was the sheer energy with which they performed. That energy is something to behold. They played with a multitude of instruments on stage seamlessly, never missed a note and their lead singer could play that harmonica forever despite him being such a smoker he couldn’t not do his set without a cigarette.

Check out their Facebook page here.

Why the hell aren’t they more popular? 

Yes, I know asking that question puts me on all the Lebanese hipster watchlists. But I can’t not ask it: why aren’t Postcards, Charlie Rayne and Wanton Bishops as known, if not more, than other Lebanese bands, some of which are are dubbed “revolutionary of arab pop” with horrible enunciation to boot?

It’s not like Lebanon doesn’t have the platforms to truly launch their careers. We have four english-music radio stations. They all play the same music. On weekends, three of them play the exact same house music endlessly until your ears start bleeding – unless, of course, you’re a house music fan. None of those radio stations, however, give a shot for these local acts who are truly doing an enormous job given whatever limited resources they have. How many bands have you heard of get their visas for musical festivals rejected?

You’d think though that Lebanese radio would try to put Lebanese acts in the spotlight more often. I guess not. Perhaps they think we like to listen to Applause in a loop 24/7.

It may not matter much, but Lebanon’s indie scene gained an extra fan in me yesterday.

My iPhone 5 fell in water almost a month ago. I didn’t know, so it sat in a puddle absorbing all the moisture it can get until its screen went bust.

We don’t have certified personnel for the iPhone in the country who can fix it and I’ll be sure they’re providing the best possible material. The man I took my iPhone to wanted to switch the screen to something that looked fishy, cost $200 and didn’t even work that well. He blamed my phone.

That same screen would cost about $300 in places around Beirut. So I decided to follow my instinct and send my phone to my family abroad for an out of warranty replacement, which is what happened.

The phone was brought into the country by an old man I barely knew and who had no idea he should register the phone at the airport. I figured it’s not a big deal, I’ll just take my passport the following day and head out to the nearest telecom center to get the procedure done.

That wasn’t possible. My passport didn’t work because I had been in Lebanon for more than a month since I traveled last. Obviously, dragging the 85 year old man who brought in the phone to one of those centers was out of the question. So what was I supposed to do to get my phone working on our networks?

I was lucky enough to know an exchange student who had been in the country for two weeks. So he did me a favor, fetched his passport and registered the phone for me. The process, advertised to be easy and seamless, took half a day and several car trips around Beirut just for something that should be second nature to anyone who gets a phone: the device getting reception. I have no clue what I would have done hadn’t the exchange student been available.

It is said these procedures are to prevent illegal smuggling of devices, provide another source of income for our government and basically make our life “easier” when it comes to phone purchases. But is that happening with phone prices taking a hike and the procedure having many parts of it that are apparently not thought out?

What if a relative sends you a gift from abroad with someone you don’t know at all and that person doesn’t register it. Are you supposed to take a trip to Syria just to get your passport stamped in order to get your phone to work?

I checked the online brochure the ministry posted back in May to see if there was a workaround on the matter. There was none. If you purchased a device online, you’d have a way to get it registered after paying the exorbitant taxes and using the customs’ receipt. But you’re basically out of luck in case you don’t have a recently stamped passport at your disposal.

Buying a phone and getting it to work by inserting a sim is apparently too simple for a country like this. But it’s all okay as long as we keep providing revenue for the government.

The next age of protests is upon us. A new initiative has made its way online today, called Demonstrate for Peace, which calls on an online gathering on September 21st in order to protest for peace. It will be the first of its kind. It is orchestrated by the United Nations.

You can join the movement by following this link. This demonstration, despite the website listing Martyr’s Square, will not take place in any physical locations in Lebanon but is simply Lebanon playing its part in International Peace Day.

I have to ask: what effect could such a rally truly have? Is an online protest as efficient as a real life one that requires people to go down to Martyr’s Square and ask for peace using their voices, not their keyboards? Or does the UN know that such protests may not be as effective or as enticing to people?

I’m not really sure what a protest such as Demonstrate For Peace could do, especially that real life protests – complete with bloody faces – in this country have failed to do much as a general rule of thumb. But I guess there’s no harm in logging in with any social account and expressing the simple and extremely important need to live in peace, especially in a country like ours. I assume we’ve all come to appreciate the beauty in the quietness of these past few days, which have been oddly calmer than their predecessors.

Let’s hope that those who actually dictate peace log in as well?

You gotta give it to us Lebanese, we sure are languages aficionados. Of course, most of us are not born as such but are spoon-fed three languages over the course of a thirteen year education system before we head out to higher education centers. But, as the saying goes, throw us in any country around the world and we’ll land standing.

Add Iran to one of those countries.

Some schools in Beirut’s Southern Suburb are now teaching Farsi, Iran’s main language, as curriculum requirement. Students would then get to choose between French and English as their third language, according to the previously linked source, because – as we all know – French and English have no commonplace in today’s world, being imperialistic languages and all.

The schools in question are all private schools and as such can teach whatever language they want, according to Lebanese law. Public schools, on the other hand, have not had the same curriculum change.

I get that political ties exist between the country where Farsi reigns supreme and the people running the schools that have adopted such curriculums. I get that those political ties are crucial for the well-being of the parties running those schools. I get that those parties sure love Iran, their culture and believe it should be imported over here – but at the expense of the educational well-being of all students attending those schools?

How does it make sense to teach students a language spoken only in one country, a language that doesn’t have any international reach whatsoever? What benefits does teaching Farsi bring to the students who will be forced to learn it? I can only think of them understanding that Farsi MBC channel. How does it make sense to give such a language importance over others than can simply make or break a person in today’s world? Teaching Farsi doesn’t count as “resistance.”

If those schools are so hell-bent on teaching Farsi, let them make it as the third optional language for their students instead of the other more crucial languages they relegated to that level. That way, they’d fulfill the apparent needs of their political ties by giving that culture more importance and still preserving the fundamental right of those students to get the best education that they can get. Our economy and their upcoming jobs are not contingent upon Iran.

Would I have had the same reaction had some schools opted for teaching German, Italian or Spanish as a required second language? Probably not, because this isn’t against Iran and their culture as much as it is keeping intact that last good thing that we  - as Lebanese – have: our global competitiveness. Those languages can help it. Farsi does not.

Khosh amadid to you.

There are a lot of injustices that take place in Lebanon daily. For the past few days, it has been the horrid traffic that has overtaken the Lebanese highway due to some serious incompetence – is that a shock? But I daresay a bigger injustice has taken place recently, one that reflects the serious inequality that half of our population goes through daily.

112 people  were granted the Lebanese citizenship yesterday via a presidential decree. Many of those 112 people are from Lebanese origin and as such should get the Lebanese citizenship. Others, however, are most probably not as is the case of Mary Fontinato, an Italian.

I have no idea what criteria are employed to grant citizenship to foreigners in Lebanon as I don’t believe there’s a clear path to citizenship here. To be honest, up until yesterday I didn’t know anyone wanted it.

Mary Fontinato, incidentally not the only woman granted the citizenship yesterday, is an odd case indeed because her children – if any – will never be able to have the honor of being Lebanese bestowed upon them like her. Such a bummer, yes I know.

The list of people who were granted Lebanese citizenship also contains many Jordanians. Those of you who have now gotten worried about the country’s fabric, fear not: the sectarian composition of the list is well preserved. For every “Muslim” addition to our country, you’ll find an Italian priest or a French “Francois.” Lebanon is anything but atypical in that regards.

The list of 112 “foreigners” who were granted citizenship does not contain the children of Samira Sweidan, a Lebanese mother who tried for years to get her government to acknowledge the existence of her children. A judge, who ruled in her favor, soon had his ruling overruled by a governmental decree for it being unconstitutional.

Samira Sweidan is one in a sea of Lebanese mothers who cannot pass on their citizenship just because a solution around the Palestinian dilemma has yet to be found. My cousin, an American, recently got married to another American. Her children will never be Lebanese. My other cousin will soon be married to another American – and her children will only know of their mother’s homeland only by name and the occasional visits, if any.

I’d like to think that our president felt a tinge of regret as he signed that decree into effect. I’d like to think our prime minister thought about all the Lebanese women who have been fighting for years to get to where those 112 people got. I guess I’m being too sentimental. Why would anyone who’s American, Australian, Italian, Austrian or any other decent nationality want the Lebanese one is beyond me.

Check out the list of those 112 people here (Arabic link).

One year old Elie Sadaqa is suffering from a form of vasculitis – inflammation that affects blood vessels – and his parents, like so many others in Lebanon, cannot afford the medical measures required to save their son’s life.

I don’t have more information on the child’s diagnosis to explain it. LBC had listed it as temporal arteritis – a condition that affects one of the arteries reaching the head – but I notified them that such a diagnosis is unlikely given its age of onset is usually above 50. But exceptions in medicine do exist. They have since changed their wording on their news link.

According to the child’s father, the lack of a medical code for the procedures required to help Elie – a pure bureaucratic measure – means the ministry of public health in the country won’t cover it. I guess they need any excuse not to pay the approximated $150,000 for treatment. Or it could be that Elie Sadaqa simply doesn’t have the required wasta to save his life. Welcome to Lebanon, where your life is contingent upon your connections.

Elie Sadaqa is not a lone case in the country. Lebanon has next to no primary care. Our hospitals are in competition amongst each other and many of them are, as such, so specialized they are borderline unaffordable to people who don’t have insurance, aren’t super rich, or – like Elie’s case – do not belong to the inner circles of the minister of health.

What will happen to Elie Sadaqa? I can tell you that it’ll take some doctor with very, very good intentions to help. It’ll take a hospital who puts aside the business aspect of medicine for a moment. It’ll take a lot of people who are willing to pitch in with whatever means they can afford. The question, though, is what happens to the other Elie Sadaqas whose stories don’t make it to national TV amidst the situation of medicine in Lebanon today?

LBC hasn’t listed a way to help the family so if anyone knows how, let me know. And for those who are interested, I intend to write an article soon detailing why medicine in Lebanon is the way it is. Until then, hopefully Elie Sadaqa finds the ways to grow up, go to school and give joy to his family and friends.

I loved the recent ad by Annahar for their 80th anniversary, featuring different Lebanese politicians during their early days – with slight jabs at how they turned out today – then ending it with one of the most spot-on taglines I’ve recently seen: We were writing history when they were just children.

The ad, however, it turns out is not as original as I had hoped it would be. I was recently sent the following UN ad for refugees, dating back to 2009, featuring a very similar theme that is centered around important characters as children:

Advertising is definitely not within my scope. But is it really difficult not to get this loosely “inspired” from other people’s material? Have ideas become this scarce? Or do those running such ads believe their original source would never be uncovered?

Either way, despite the Annahar ad being extremely effective, I – for one – am disappointed it didn’t turn out to be the stroke of genius I thought it was.

I am furious.

There’s nothing I’d love more than to have my field discussed openly among people. There’s nothing more I’d love than to make people more aware about cancer, about the different treatment modalities. I’d even teach people all the pharmacology I know about cancer drugs if I were able to.

I approached the latest – currently airing – Kalam Ennas episode with caution. I had a faint clue who Nabil Habib was. They were discussing one of the most funded, most controversial, most challenging aspects of medicine lately. I figured I’d tune in.

Yes, I’m furious.

I’m not a chemist nor do I aim to be. But when it comes to protocol – when it comes to every single facet of what makes medicine works, what makes this branch of our lives that has cured so many people all around the world functional, he has blown to bits. And he’s condescending about it.

I have no idea who figured it was a scientifically sound idea to get a chemist who has a proposal for a cancer drug on air to discuss his work, have almost no opposite scientific opinion to what he was saying save for the few questions the show’s host got spoon-fed moments before going on air. But do you want to know what’s the great idea? It’s quoting the bible left and right for some scientific credibility.

First, an accomplished scientist wouldn’t need to go on media to discuss his work in order to convince people about it. Regular viewers are not those who need to be convinced about any scientist’s work – other scientists need to be. Getting a one-sided opinion on a talk-show is not having a scientific discussion. Getting people who have been “cured” by your methods is not science. You know what’s science? It’s having data that supports what you’re presenting without any shred of doubt. And then people will follow.

Second, the thing about scientific data is that there are ways for it to be amassed. And those rules exist for a reason: because science takes time, because such “cures” have to be so thorough as not to give people false hope, because arguments such as “this disease is ripping our societies” are not valid scientifically. Each step of the development of the drug from the lab to the clinic has to be monitored and submitted to the FDA. Nabil Habib has not done that. These are the steps to be followed for a drug development (link - you need to create an account to read it). Nabil Habib has blown these steps to pieces. But fear not, he has patented it – never mind that he used it on people as a “secret recipe” prior to the patent process.

Third, the drug development procedure is a process that costs at least half a billion dollars. I’m sure Dr. Habib doesn’t have such means under his disposal. If his drug had been as wondrous as he’s making it out to be, then he would have definitely sold it to a major pharmacological company by now. He would have been a billionaire already and the drug would have been much further along development. And he’d have had the chance to cure much people than the 600 he claims he’s currently treating, an odd claim since I didn’t know chemists usually have patients who are people that suffer from a disease where any glimpse of hope is enough to get them going.

Such a TV show is not the platform to host a scientific discussion. I have no idea if the molecule in question is as beautiful as it has been portrayed to be simply because there has been no opposite opinion to its merits. I have no idea if the claim that this molecule has no side effects is valid: a molecule that can affect so many different types of cancers, affect different types of tissues cannot not have absolutely no side effects worth mentioning. I have no idea if what this man is claiming, even when it pertains to all the different kinds of cancers, is correct or not. But fear not, I have no right to know whether what he’s saying is a fact or not.

Such a TV show, aiming to capitalize on the interest of people, doesn’t get to screw over physicians who either refused or are not allowed to be hosted on it just because it’s what gets viewers. Dr. Georges Chahine will face hell tomorrow because the segment he gave prior to the Lebanese syndicate of physicians issued its decision on the episode was not amended to reflect that decision. The excuse? “It’s not our property anymore.” Excuse me? Whose property is it?

Such a TV show doesn’t serve to educate people. It doesn’t serve to expose a facet of Lebanese society that’s troubling us all. It doesn’t even better things for any of us. What it does is serve as a marketing ploy, nothing more and nothing less, to this chemist and his molecule while ridiculing every single physician who has taken more than a decade of his life to know how to do his job and get guests to tell everyone that those physicians are nothing but ignorants trying to ride people’s backs.

Lebanese TV doesn’t discuss science. Lebanese TV only deals with trash. There are Lebanese scientists who are working tirelessly on ways to deal with cancer (link). But we get this instead. My mother, a current cancer patient, felt this show ridiculed her struggles with her disease. But let’s just keep on making shortcuts, bypassing regulations and proclaiming persecution in order to emerge as messiahs. We’re Lebanese and we just roll like that. There are absolutely no standards whatsoever that can faze us.

Lebanese band Adonis is participating in a competition held by Pepsi that’s bringing together bands from the region and getting them to compete in order to become the band that would open up Pepsi Night, which will conclude the Dubai Music festival.

Adonis are late for the competition – they’ve already missed one day out of the 4-day competition, because, as I’m sure you have guessed by now, they faced visa issues in traveling to the UAE.

In order to vote, go to the following website (link), click on Rate The Band and vote for Adonis.

It seems that the hopes of Lebanese men everywhere have been crushed by our Security officials deciding not to grant Ania Lisewska entry into Lebanon.

For those who don’t know, Ania Lisewska is a 21 year old Polish woman who is on a world tour to sleep with 100,000 men from different cities across the world. Lebanon was on her list and, until very recently, it seemed she would get to pick a random Lebanese man to sleep with: Hezbollah and Future Movement MPs saw her as an indecent glorification of prostitution. It seems sex is something they agree upon. Elie Marouni, the Kataeb MP, had no problem in granting her entry and was wondering if she’d survive her quest. The words he used: “betdall taybé?”

No pun, Mr. Marouni?

Two recent reports (here and here), however, indicate that she won’t, even though Polish people don’t require a visa to enter Lebanon. Her name will be blacklisted on our airport borders. Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, Morocco have all refused her as well. She has been granted entry to Iraq and Egypt.

Her Facebook page posting about entry to Egypt is littered with comments from Egyptian men bragging about their package, awaiting her entry. I suggest you take a look for your dose of daily comedy (link). I daresay many Lebanese men would have done worse to get in her pants had she been allowed entry here.

The question though is why ban her? Is what she’s doing considered prostitution? I don’t think so – not that prostitution is illegal in Lebanon to begin with. Odds are the man she decides to sleep with here will remain anonymous unless, which is probably the case, he decides to make his identity public. He won’t be paying her and she won’t be engaging in any form of public indecency.

Are we supposed to be up in a fit because what she’s doing doesn’t fit with our higher order morale code? I can think of way too many things taking place in Lebanon on daily basis that are allowed, that do not fit any form of morality and that many of us still accept. Except talking about sex – about women having sex and discussing their sex life openly – will always be a taboo around here and a mark of shame. Public order rests on a vagina with an intact hymen, preferably.

Ania Lisewska – her name is a mouthful, no pun – won’t be coming here – no pun. Our country’s morales are saved.

Lebanon isn’t a place where much changes in a year. Seriously, if you look at where we were last year around this time and where we are today, you’ll see a lot of similarities. The only exception, perhaps, to our Lebanese reality is real estate, especially when it comes to all the contracting taking place in Downtown Beirut.

More than year ago, I wrote about the Roman Hippodrome that was soon to be destroyed in Beirut (link), in Wadi Bou Jmil next to the Jewish Synagogue. A lot has happened in a year. So courtesy of a piece (link) by Habib Battah, an LAU professor, published by the BBC, an update on Beirut’s Roman Hippodrome is in order:

• The developer who wants to use the land is Marwan Kheireddine. Sounds familiar? He is a minister in Lebanon’s current government. Way to go for transparency.
• The project that will see the destruction of the hippodrome is a gated community where only “elite” Lebanese will enter. In other words: you and I are off limits. Unless you can afford paying millions for a Downtown Beirut apartment.
• According to Kheireddine, the site is not worth preserving. How does he know this? He hired an archeologist who said so. Yes, because such matters are most transparently handled by the people you buy into your service.
• Kheireddine is offering 4000 squared meters of the land to turn into a museum of sorts that people could access. Because a Roman Hippodrome was meant to be contained within the parking lot of a building, right?
• Plots around the site in question are said to contain other parts of the stadium and need to be properly excavated as well.
• There is an immense shortage of archeologists in the country. The job of those archeologists is to make sure such transgressions never happen. But the government doesn’t seem to care about such an issue.
• Beirut is not the only place where Lebanese archeological heritage is being destroyed left and right carelessly. In fact, what’s happening outside of Beirut in lesser known areas might be worse.
• Concerned activists are trying their best to halt the development. But there will come a time when they won’t be able to do much anymore.

I remember back in 2005-2006 when a local cafe in Batroun was being built. The initial digging site revealed a Phoenician burial site, sarcophagi and all. People flocked to see what the site was all about. The following day, nothing survived to tell the tale. Today, instead of that entire burial site lies a cafe known for its shisha and its July 2012 drug scandal.

The Best Way To Save The Hippodrome:

Earlier in 2013, hell broke loose twice over ancient ruins in Beirut. The first time was because some henchmen at District S assaulted the same person who wrote the aforementioned BBC article over him taking pictures of the ruins they were busy dismantling to open up Beirut into the new Dubai-esque age (link). The second time was due to Lebanon’s possibly oldest Church getting discovered at another site where a Jean Nouvel hotel was to be built (link).

The discrepancy between the fate of sites one and two is striking. The former is still operation. The latter has been halted. Churches can do miracles? Believe, people.

Arguments about how priceless a monument is, how irreplaceable it is, how silly it is to replace it with a building, how rare it is to find such a thing in Lebanon, how economically profitable it would be to keep it and turn it into an attraction are all useless simply because most people don’t connect to them on a primal level, enough to get them rallied up.

The only way, apparently, to get to a result, force government to get involved and save such sites in Lebanon is to infuse a dose of religion in the stones. The more religious those stones, the more people get rallied up, the less our government can stand quiet as bulldozers raze through the field. Unfortunately for the hippodrome, there doesn’t seem to be an ancient church in its ruins as of now. Let’s hope that changes soon.

The following pictures are all courtesy of the BBC:

I was recently invited to a meeting with LBC officials who discussed with us their future plans for Lebanon’s leading TV station. One of those plans was an ambitious undertaking that involved flipping the switch on one aspect of Lebanese TV that is, as of now, completely obscure to almost all of us: HD TV.

Even though most of our TV sets are now equipped with the ability to handle such standards, none of our TV stations offered them. This will change tonight with LBC offering an HD TV channel for its viewers, which will be accessible through the following frequencies via LBC Blogs:

Digitek HD & SD formats: Frequency 12420 – Symbol rate 28175 – Polarization = vertical.

Econet HD & SD formats: Frequency 12480 – Symbol rate 31250 – Polarization = horizontal.

Perhaps it’s a shame that we’re just getting around to this technology in 2013 when it’s been around for a long time in most countries we look up to. However, I still maintain that when it comes to media, Lebanon is a pioneer in the region. And we have set the bar for our media pretty high so anything less than optimal reporting gets immediately bashed (link). Despite some gaffs here and there, I still believe what many of our outlets have to offer regional offerings in quality, though that’s not saying much since standards around here are pretty low. Hopefully other TV stations – or just the ones I watch when I have time – follow suit soon.

I’d have liked to have such a channel launch happen in a week where LBC didn’t mess up with their most recent Kalam Ennas episode (link) but I can’t be too picky. The channel will launch tonight following the start of Star Academy’s new season. Blast from the past anyone?

A jury that consisted of Timbaland and Will.i.Am chose Lebanese Xriss Jor as the winner of the talent part at the Dubai Music Festival, following her performance of Listen by Beyonce. As a result, Jor will sign a record deal contract with Sony Music and producer Quincy Jones, who has worked previously with Michael Jackson and Frank Sinatra. She will get a single and a music video out of this.

Xriss was competing with Emirati singer Hamdan Al Abri, Dubai-based Lebanese band Jay Wud, Lebanese singer DD Fox and Sudanese R&B singer Nile.

I figured her name was familiar so I looked into her some more and it transpired that she was a contestant on The Voice and managed to reach the later stages of the show before being disqualified in the 1/4 finals. Those talent show contestants keep going at it until they hit the jackpot apparently. Another batch will find its way to the spotlight tonight with the relaunching of Star Academy.

This seems to be Xriss Jor’s most popular performance on The Voice:

And this is the version of Listen that I was able to find:

Dubai is all about music these days. Another Lebanese band is participating in another music event taking place there. So make sure you head to Pepsi Band Slam and support Adonis.

     “Do you masturbate, Ismail?”      

     “I’m sorry?”      

     “Do you masturbate? Do you have wild sexual fantasies? Do you picture yourself d…”      

     “…I know what masturbate means.”      

     “So? Do you?”      

     “I’m not gonna talk about that.”      

     “Yes you will.”      

     “And why exactly?”      

     “Because you’re paying $100 for this one hour session.”      

     “Bitch.”

     “I heard that.”

Dinner was good. I enjoyed the breast, chicken breast. And then we started talking. And then I suddenly felt weird. “Are you Ok Ismail?” asked my friend, “I’m…fine,” I lied. “Excuse me,” and I headed to the bathroom. I was wondering what the hell was happening and why I could barely breathe while washing my face. Then I realized what was happening, and it was awful because I wasn’t home, and the thing usually happened when I was home, not in a public place.

     “Does your mom know you’re doing this?”

     “Nope.”

     “Why not?”

     “She overreacts over stuff.”

     “All moms overreact. I’m a mom, and I overreact.”

     “She saw a red mark on my left hand two weeks ago, and had a mini heart attack. She thought it was some kind of cancer, and wanted me to do full check-ups.”

     “And the mark was a…”

     “Mosquito bite.”

     “…never mind my question.”

I told my friend everything the next day. What happened and why it happened, because, supposedly, I knew what was happening and why it was happening. “You need help,” he said, “I know some people who can really help you.”  And then he told me about one of his acquaintances who had similar problems, and how the people he knows helped her a lot.

     “Do you watch porn?”

     “What the ….”

     “$100/ session.”

     “Bitch.”

“I’m gonna do it. Give me their number,” I told my friend. And I called them. They gave me an appointment and I went there the next day. I sat among a bunch of people in the waiting room; all of them were much, much older than me. I was clearly more comfortable though because judging by the looks I was getting, they were wishing their heads were covered up with paper bags. It was a shameful thing they were doing.

      “They’re called ‘panic attacks.’ The thing you had lately is one of them.”

     “Alright.”

     “When did they start happening?”

     “Years ago. I was 8, or 9.”

     “Which means soon after you had the eye accident.”

     “I guess.”

     “And did they increase after the ‘school thing’ happened?”

     “I can’t remember.”

     “You look more comfortable now that we’re doing our fourth session.”

     “That is correct.”

     “Are the pills helping?”

     “I don’t know. They’re making me nauseous and dizzy, which means they’re doing something.”

     “Do you feel better?”

     “I’m glad I’m talking to someone without being judged.”

     “Judged of what?”

     “Of breaking some rules. Being here, doing this is one of them.” And I laughed.

     “[Laughs, shakes her head.]”

     “I mean, you know and I know that I’m a bit different.”

A woman called my name, and sat with me. She asked me a lot questions about my past, my personality, why I decided to come here and stuff like that. The interview took an hour before we moved to another room; it was Dr. Fouad’s office. “Hello! How are you doing?”. “I’m fine,” I replied. “No you’re not. You’re here,” and he tapped on my shoulder.

     “You’re not different.”

     “Then why am I here?”

     “Have you ever considered the idea that you’re not actually ‘different’, but people made you think this way?”

     “Perhaps, but you can’t start a fire without a spark.”

“Major Depressive Disorder,” said Dr. Fouad after checking my file. At first I was amazed at how sophisticated the name was. Then I realized how silly it was to be amazed at how sophisticated it seemed and how stupid I was for waiting so long before opening up, before seeking help. And I always knew that I needed help. “You must start sessions with Dr. Maram, and taking these pills,” he said. “You’ll get better,” he added. “So, it’s serious,” I said.

[Flashback: January, 1998. “Can I go to the bathroom?” I asked. “Go ahead,” the teacher replied. The intention was to take a leak, because my bladder was about to explode. What happened was different. “Hi,” I said to the man, a plumber I guess, who was fixing the faucets on the outside wall of the bathroom. And I went in. And I wish I didn’t.  I wish I held it in. I wish I had waited till I got home. But I couldn’t, my bladder was so full I couldn’t focus in class.]

      “Why didn’t you tell your parents about what happened at school that day?”

     “I don’t know. I was afraid.”

     “And you kept it to yourself all these years.”

     “Yep. I’m a great secret keeper, am I not?” and I laughed.

     “Did you feel humiliated?”

     “Yes.”

     “Did you feel weak?”

     “Yes.”

     “Did the guy…”

     “No. He couldn’t reach that point, even though I didn’t know that point existed back then.”

     “[Laughs], well there’s a good part in everything.”

     “Except in a Daughtry album.”

Dr. Maram was a kind woman. We did many sessions together and I honestly liked them very much. They were… liberating.  I didn’t believe in psychotherapy before. I thought it was useless, its only purpose being to overcomplicate stuff and give everything a name. My perception changed drastically when I went through one. It’s always about the person you’re facing, and that person can make you feel so comfortable you find yourself saying things you never thought you’d ever say. And at the end of the day, saying these things makes you feel much better. Going through the therapy made me better, but also made me sad about all the people who need this, but don’t do it because it’s “shameful.” I’m a happy person now, thanks to the therapy. I’m more confident than ever. I’m less insecure than ever.  I’m happier than ever. Dr. Maram told me that I “withdrew” myself from many things in life because I thought I was different and because I thought I looked different. And that, even if it was partly true, was dramatically over-scripted in my head, because people wanted me to feel this way. And that was absolutely true.

“Hello, I’m Maram,” she said the first time I met her. “Hello,” I said. It was awkward being in such clinics. “Sorry, it’s my first ever psychotherapy session, so I’m not really comfortable,” I added. “It’s OK!” she said, “and since you mentioned it, let me calm you down. I read your file, and the first question I felt like asking is the following,” and then she put the file aside and said:

     “Do you masturbate, Ismail?”

Cheerio!

Follow me on Twitter, @IsmailSakalaki.