The Love of A Hometown: Beirut
There is a song that I was really stuck on by the popular Syrian singer Nassif Zeytoun. It’s called ‘Ana Maik’, which means ‘I’m with you’. The lyrics revolve around how he loves his lady and would never leave her side even if the whole world is against them. I have been obsessing over this song lately, though it is not newly released. I one day searched for its video clip on YouTube and found it. As I clicked play, the clip starts showing Downtown Beirut from above with the song’s opening lyrics popping up on the streets and from some of downtown’s notable buildings. I glance at the date this music video was released, and the date is July 23rd, 2019.
Suddenly, I notice my eyes tearing up. I was sure that I wasn’t tearing up listening to the lyrics as I heard this song countless times before. Something about watching that video, filmed on what seemed to be a peaceful afternoon during that time in the summer of 2019 brought so many thoughts and fleeting happy memories to my mind. It felt as if I was taken back to my life back then. I was interning at a prestigious architectural firm which office was located in the very heart of downtown Beirut. My working days would end at 7 PM. I would walk back home on most days as the sun would begin to set. I remember capturing the glamour of the city’s landmarks on my way along with the soothing summer breeze. I mostly captured in my mind and sometimes on my phone some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.
Looking at that date, I wondered where I was or what I was doing when it was released or when it was being filmed. That summer was one of the most exciting and nerve-racking ones in my life. My sister’s wedding was coming up later that August. We were busy with preparations and both nervous yet excited to see the first one of us in a white dress. I was especially busy preparing for the decoration items and souvenirs for her bachelorette party one week before the wedding. My sisters and I were faced with lots of drama and numerous obstacles adding to our nerves. It all went great eventually. The party was fun, and the wedding was perfect and memorable. Little did we know that so much more stress and obstacles were awaiting us.
Less than two months later, fires engulfed a big chunk of the green lungs of Lebanon. In that same week, the much-needed anti-government protests known as “ October 17 “ broke out across the country as everyone was fed up with the politicians’ corruption and inactivity. A pandemic, an economic crisis, and a massive explosion later, I find myself pouring out my conflicting emotions into this piece of writing. It is baffling how much I miss my city. I miss Beirut very much though I never left it.
I miss the Beirut from 2019 and prior that I still carry in my head, and yet how I still love and appreciate the Beirut I know and live in today. Having been a fresh graduate from architecture school, it wasn’t easy for me to see the walls of my city’s heritage fall apart and with it, the people of my city were wounded from inside out, confused and grieving. I threw myself into volunteering the majority of my time to put these broken windows and doors on their way to be fixed, hoping that a fixed door a newly installed window would restore the people’s sense of safety and dignity after a shaking explosion that took what was left of their peace of mind and patience in an already deteriorating economy. I then immersed myself in taking part of an urban study where I walked unfamiliar streets for me that became like home to me and listened to all the happy and tragic stories they had to share about their experience of being this city’s dwellers. From that eye-opening journey, I moved to another where I worked and am honored to still work with a charity that dedicates itself to bring life and add vibrancy to open spaces that belong to everyone and should be used by everyone, from the Beirut family who has always lived here to the vulnerable child refugee who opened his eyes in a foreign land driven away from his home country for a war they had nothing to do with.
It’s amazing how can a city not only be a piece of land, but some abstract concept, a group of conflicting emotions, and a story about resistance and resilience. How much did I wish to be able to give my hometown a comforting embrace after a tragedy blew its heart, but who can ever hug a chunk of land? Lebanon’s only airport is overcrowded every day with people going off to a new place for better opportunities than here. No one can be blamed for striving to do what’s best for themselves. Many of those who still live here are dreaming of being a part of these crowds flying far away from this city and this country.
This isn’t me. In fact, I feel honored to still live here. If I one day leave this land for whatever reason, I know I will be grateful that I did my best to stick and give back to my city and its many communities that have shaped the young lady I am today. So, until further notice, I am staying here.
