By Marina Abourgely
Memories, kept in silence, burning for years, while in Greece; unbearable, grieving heartache for my country and my people; irreversible, trembling of passion enthusiasm, crying out when it comes to my inner roots.
I wouldn’t even dare dream of it. I wouldn’t even let myself think that, yes, everything is possible. I can exist here.
And it happened—without me having projects, without me planning a life, without me knowing that my destiny had already decided for me.
How can you escape from what longs to be?
How can you deny a flame that grows up into a fire, constantly burning inside you all of your existence? You cannot.
This one goes out to my Lebanese father, who never let me forget that, first of all, I am Lebanese, and to my Greek mother, who supported him in all ways on this, and to my sisters, Anastasia and Elena, who know exactly what I am talking about, and, mostly, to my neighborhood kids, to my “Abdelbakis” in Sioufi, “les enfants de l’immeuble,” as we call each other. Carl, Carol, Micho, Zeina, Rania, Nayla, Georges, Mikette, Kinda, Chaden and Roula. You brought me back to my reality. I can’t thank you enough for that.
I can Love here — Everything, Anything,
Everyone, Anyone.
Because it’s Lebanon.
