and beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

Guess which twenty-something lost her voice screaming in a sea of wannabe fifteen-year-olds tonight?

Happiest night of my life. Embarrassed to say this was my fourth BSB concert and good God it was brilliant. The end.

Bettina Liano jeans, Uniqlo top, Table Eight (circa 2002?!) blazer, Miu Miu pumps, Michael Kors watch, YSL ring, Chanel pearls, Chanel earrings, Orly Gel fx nails and MAC Lady Danger lips.

I feel like I’ve been neglecting this tumblr for a while now, which I’ve fessed up to in a roundabout way, what with mentioning my lack of mojo.

Things have been a little all over the place the last few months.

My maternal grandma, my Tayta, passed away on Good Friday this year. My mother and I were there as she passed, holding each of her hands tight as we tried not to weep and as my mum clutched her rosary and prayed out loud. She had been ill for a long time now, particularly with endless trips in and out of the hospital the past 6 months, and she had come close to the end several times over the past decade (our favourite anecdote about our Tayta has been the fact that she outlived two priests who came to give her the final rites at different stages during the last ten years.) We can take comfort from the fact that we had our chance to say our good-byes, that she didn’t die alone, and that even in her final week in hospital, she was always smiling, even through her pain.

I guess the fact that she fought and outlived for so long made it a struggle to understand. I vividly remember three days before her passing, perched on the end of the sofa in the hospital waiting room, listening as the doctor rattled off a list of health problems they were trying to overcome. “We’re trying to put out one fire after another. It’s only a matter of time.” Those words still ring in my ears as I watched my uncles stoically take in the news, watched my mother sob quietly, and as I watched my own tears slip off my face and pool onto my jeans.

The last 7 weeks have been much of a blur, and as you can imagine, blogging has been the last thing on my mind. Mourning, taking condolences, the funeral, prayers, bereavement leave, family time, and more - it doesn’t feel like almost 2 months since she’s been gone.

As is custom in our very Catholic Lebanese culture, wearing black as a sign of mourning and respect is expected for the first several weeks following a relatives passing. Our faith also dictates that we hold a memorial mass 40 days (give or take a few) after the funeral, which was held on the Sunday just gone. So on a lighter note, the lack of outfit posts can be explained away by the fact that I was rotating the 10 black pieces I owned without a hint of creativity.

I’ve learned a lot about myself the past few weeks. Grieving has brought family closer, repaired broken relationships, healed fractured ties. I’ve lost count of the people who came to pay their respects to my mother and her two brothers, all coming in bearing hugs, kind words, prayers and thoughtful memories. And more than that, the friends I know as family, the cousins who have made contact, the extended network of relatives and the amazing people I work with who have all been there to provide support.

I’ve also, unexpectedly, learned about how much I respect my culture. Those of you who know me also know I poke fun at my “Lebanese-ness” more often than not, rolling my eyes at ridiculous traditions and sighing exasperatedly over yet another thing I am “expected” to partake in. But it’s amazing how, in times of grief, I realise how much I love who I am. I’m lucky enough to not have been touched by death often in my life - my Tayta joins my grandfather in eternal life, whose passing 19 years ago was the only family funeral I (vaguely) remember attending. But the events that followed Tayta’s death showed me all about the ties that bind. My best friend, my sister in everything but blood, dropped everything and was at my side through the entire ordeal and walk me through the expected cultural traditions. The living room in Tayta’s home have been crammed full of women in black, alternating between silent sobs, sombre gazes and theatrical weeping and wailing. The men have stoically bonded in quiet chatter in the back yard, sipping endless cups of thick black Turkish coffee. There has been such an outpouring of solemn, sympathetic, respectful grief and love, from people we haven’t seen of heard from in years. It has come in all forms, from the neighbours who popped in bearing freshly ground coffee to keeps the hours of grief going, to the aunts/second-cousins-twice-removed/friends-of-a-friend boiling up pots of the stuff and offering around trays of lemon cordial and water to the masses (Fact I recently learned: we only offer lemon cordial or water because red cordial or other bright coloured drinks as seen as celebratory and are to be shunned in times of grief.)

At any other time in my life, I would have called it ostentatious and ridiculous. But I have sat and talked and cried and allowed myself to be hugged, and mourned and hugged my mum and prayed and thought and cried some more. And I appreciated every moment of it.

Life is getting back on track now. It’s still sad, and my mother still oscilates between tearful breakdown and wistful memories. But things are getting better, one day at a time. Thanks for sticking around during my mini hiatus. Hopefully things will be up-and-running soon. Watch this space.

Ha!

alieninbeirut:

As posted in the New York Magazine Travel section…..

While much of the Arab world has been blown apart by social upheaval, mass violence, and political turmoil, Beirut has been kicking back quietly on its Mediterranean perch, happy and astonished to be a spectator for once. (Even the New York Times recently hailed it a “haven amid turmoil.”) By day, buzzing scooters and battered old Mercedes taxis honk their way along palm-lined boulevards, unimpeded by demonstrations. By night, their occupants stroll on the seaside Corniche, smoke water pipes in cafés, and indulge in the Lebanese capital’s legendary nightlife. But of course all is not rosy. Neighboring Syria remains a battleground, to say the least. While there is a vibrant gay subculture, homosexual activity is technically illegal, and travelers with Israeli stamps in their passports (or even so much as a Jewish-sounding last name) can still be arrested and detained. Tensions among rival politico-religious factions, some heavily armed, simmer under the surface. But a relative calm in recent years has prompted a development boom—indeed, the razing of historical buildings to create luxury shopping malls has led some to decry the Dubai-ification of downtown Beirut—and a parallel blossoming in art, fashion, and gastronomy, propelling the famously bullet-riddled city to emerge as the Arab world’s creative center.

What to do

“Paris of the Middle East”?

Ever since Lebanon gained independence from France in 1943, no moniker has stuck to Beirut more persistently. But is it rightful praise or a pathetic cliché? “Our nightlife rocks, our fashion is constantly up to date, we make kick-ass wine, and French is our second language,” enthuses Yasmina Abi Rafeh, the owner of a construction company. Bilal Annan, a Lebanese graduate student in Paris, is less captivated. “To my mind this expression epitomizes the pervasive impression of inferiority, envy, and unfulfillment that a portion of Lebanese people get when they compare their culture to Western ones,” he says ruefully.

Love or loathe the phrase, a palpable French influence permeates the city: For a fully Gallic day, pick up a copy of L’Orient Le Jour newspaper (lorientlejour.com) and flip through it over a vanilla éclair at the Paul boulangerie (Ave. Georges Haddad, Gemmayzeh; paul.fr). Do your afternoon shopping for designer threads at Zadig & Voltaire (2 Park Ave., downtown; zadig-et-voltaire.com), and then grab macarons at Ladurée (128 Rue Foch; laduree.fr), a nice prelude to a steak dinner at Le Relais de l’Entrecôte (Rue Abdel Wahab El Inglizi; relaisentrecote.fr). Come nightfall, there are French-language performances to take in at Théâtre Monnot (Rue de l’Universite St. Joseph, Ashrafiyeh) and cocktails to be swigged in the swank Behind the Green Door (Rue Gemmayzeh, Mar Mikhael), inspired by Paris’s famous Le Mathis bar.

Choose Your Own Adventure

1. Gallery-Hopping
Where: The Qarantina district, a once-violence-stricken industrial backwater that’s now emerging as the Chelsea of Beirut.

The area was pioneered in 2005 by the renowned Galerie Sfeir-Semler (Tannous Building), making it a good jumping-off point for an art tour. The sister to the main gallery in Hamburg and a bridge between Western and Middle Eastern contemporary art, it exhibits renowned artists from the post–civil-war generation like Walid Raad and Marwan Rechmaoui. Opened just last year by genius architect Gregory Gatserelia, SMO Gallery (Dagher Building) deals mainly in furniture and installations, with some photography. It’s one of the first of its kind in the country. The new Art Factum Gallery (Rehban St., Alley 204, Building 13), on the other hand, is a large contemporary space that introduces emerging and mid-career international and local artists like Naiza Khan, Go Segawa, and Tanya Traboulsi. —Lea Sednaoui, director, The Running Horse gallery.

2. Shopping
Where: The up-and-coming Port Beirut neighborhood.

The seriously fashionable should begin at Rabih Kayrouz (Fayyad Building, Rue Darwish Haddad). The architecture-influenced designer shows at Paris Fashion Week, but this is one of his few namesake boutiques. Next door, Karen Chekerdjian’s housewares-and-furniture showroom marries minimalist design with traditional Lebanese workmanship. Artisans du Liban et d’Orient (Ain Mreisseh) curates select Lebanese décor and clothing, while Joanna Dahdah (Hermitage Building, Ghandour el Saad St.) sells her silver- and gold-plated jewelry alongside other designers’ pieces. And for a distinctly Lebanese purchase, swing by Ashekman Urban Wear (Strand Building, Hamra St.), established by graffiti artists who combine their graphic-design studies and passion for hip-hop in T-shirts that mix Arabic graffiti, urban graphics, and calligraphy. —Tala Hajjar, co-founder, the Starch Foundation for emerging designers.

3. Partying
Where: All over; this is the city of a thousand nightclubs.

Right now, the biggest draw for Beirut night owls are rooftops like White (Seaside Road, Daoura), a massive open-air nightclub with a revolving door of international D.J.’s, and Coop d’Etat (Pasteur St., Gemmayzeh), which is more casual and has both a diverse crowd and a diverse lineup of bands and deck-manners. At the Berlin-style Dictateur (30 Bedawi Street), there’s an underground vibe with raw walls and ahead-of-the-curve revelers, while the all-white L’Osteria (Tyan Building, Armenia St., Mar Mikhael) is more Franco-Italian, serving wine and charcuterie to a jazz soundtrack. MYU (Mar Antonios St., Gemmayzeh) is a nice dining spot, but at the end of the night, lights go down and serious on-top-of-the-bar dancing begins. And nearby at the more approachable Demo (Rue du Liban, Gemmayzeh), the music is kept at a volume that welcomes conversation among tourists and locals.—Laila Sarkis, a.k.a. Djette, local D.J.

Where to Eat …

1. The Gathering
(Pasteur St.; 961-156-6196) Powered by rooftop solar panels, this courtyard combination of wine bar–grill–Italian restaurant is a sustainable first in Beirut.

2. Zabad
(Zaitunay Bay; 961-137-6640) After riding a wave of success in Paris, chef Karim Haïdar returned home to launch a bold tasting menu of Lebanese-fusion dishes within the glossy marina-side Zaitunay Bay development.

3. S.T.A.Y.
(Fakhry Bey St.; 961-199-9757) Overlooking the Beirut Souks, Yannick Alléno’s restaurant has a bar, pastry counter, and communal table where guests can try a chef-selected meal from the contemporary French menu.

4. Lux
(Al Gamarik St.; 961-144-4311) Accessory designer and restaurant guru Johnny Farah has his own organic farm in the Lebanese Mountains where he grows ingredients for Lux’s well-priced Mediterranean fare.

5. Momo at the Souks
(Beirut Souks; 961-199-9767) Momo’s Franco–North African spot was a hit in London and Paris before opening in downtown Beirut, where it quickly became a lair for serious party animals.

—Ellen Hardy, travel writer

Traditional Lebanese-Grandmother-Style Dishes:

1. Furn el Hamra
(Nehme Yafet, Hamra; no phone) Every Beiruti has a trusted man’ouche dealer. The best is this closet-size bakery, where crowds mill outside waiting for warm, doughy breakfast pies to emerge from the oven slathered in the perfect thyme-sesame-sumac mix. —Salma Abdelnour, food writer

2. Varouj
(Maracha Royal St., Bourj Hammoud; 961-388-2933) Varouj is a minuscule four-table spot in the mazelike Armenian neighborhood of Bourj Hammoud. No one can outdo their spicy soujouk sausages, meaty manti dumplings in minty yogurt sauce, and luscious basterma, a pastramilike cured meat. —S.A.

3. Al Halabi
(Antelias; 961-452-3555) Pay no mind to the tacky décor. The Lebanese meze is like no other. Meze, as opposed to tapas, are a proper meal of many small dishes ranging from cold salads to raw-meat platters. Typically, the meal ends with skewers of barbecued meat, and Halabi does them best. —Kamal Mouzawak, founder of Souk El Tayeb farmer’s market.

Three months to go…

And to think, this time last year, I was lamenting the fact that I had to tack on two weeks in Lebanon and fulfil my ethnic daughter duties. Fast forward twelve months and the days cannot count down fast enough. Granted, I do have my reasons :)