We’re Losing our Nation.

I couldn’t find a title that would better suit what I’m about to write here. As a matter of fact, I don’t know what I’m going to write about here, I’m just going to let my fingers say whatever the hell it is that they want to say.

I have a question for you. When will you cut your shit and get back to your senses? Two years ago I stopped writing. I don’t know why, I probably had no time or energy for it. Two years ago I was politically unbiased. Two years ago I used to throw some words at you. Two years ago I thought I had it all figured out. Two years ago, I thought we, the educated, respectful people of Lebanon, are going to make a change. Two years ago I was wrong and today, I stand corrected.

I’ve recently graduated from university and have finally had the time to genuinely concentrate on something other than formulas and numbers. Here’s what I’ve realized: We are not worthy of this country. We are not worthy of the thousands of sacrifices our martyrs have made on our behalf. We are not worthy of those who defended our country against the Syrian invasion. We are not worthy of those who died on their own soil because a group of people decided they want to turn Lebanon into their alternative state. We are not worthy of anything.

Now before you get all pissed off about my judgmental entry, and I’m pretty sure most of you are already pissed, ask me why. Why is this guy saying we are unworthy? Why is this guy saying we’re too stupid to take up any responsibility? Why is this guy assuming he knows better than us?

I’ll tell you why. For one small reason. You probably cannot recite your national anthem.

And the people your parents voted for to represent you in the parliament? They don’t know it either. I wanted to make very descriptive and educated points about why most of our representatives don’t fit the very basic job description, but I’m pretty sure this is more than enough.

Where am I going with this? As stated at the beginning of this text, I have absolutely no idea. All I know is, if we continue this way, we might as well hand our country back to al-Assad. Even though we’d be a Syrian sector, living as an oppressed minority, we would probably have the basic needs such as electricity, public transportation and maybe, just maybe, decent public schools. The public health sector, thanks to Minister Hasbani, is doing much better so I’ll leave that out of my rant.

So again, where am I going with this? I still don’t know. All I know is, if we continue this way, we might as well tell the Syrian refugees to use these 10,452 square kilometers as they please. Throw it in their hands like an old toy we no longer need.

This is not a toy. This is not a can of tuna with an expiry date and this is most certainly not a round of counter-strike. Just because you’re sick of it and you’ve lost hope in winning, doesn’t mean you just give up and yell out Ma3sh bade salle. It doesn’t work that way.
Thousands upon thousands of people sacrificed their lives for you to stay here and be one of the, if not the, very first countries in the Arab region to allow you to practice your freedom of speech, pick your own representatives and, well, get shit-face-drunk without being prosecuted.

At the end of the day, I’m only writing to rant. I’ve lost hope in most of my people, especially those who ma badon ywajj3o rason bel siyese. But this battle is far from over, this is a matter of survival. From my perspective, from the perspective of the 14,000 men women and children who died in the 70’s, the 80’s and the 90’s for you and me, my fight is over when I lay breathless and helpless beneath her majesty.

Image result for lebanese cedar

Get out of your cocoon, pick your fight and make a difference.


Dead numb

You know how sometimes, your day is going all right, all “routinish”, just like any other day? You wake up in the morning, grab your cup of Turkish coffee, brush your teeth, get dressed, go to class, come back home, make some plans. You know, same old. But then the most disturbing news hits you. A man your age, brother of 3, son of thousands in his village, was found in a car crash near his house. To our relief, he was very much alive. To our disturbance 20 minutes later, he died of internal bleeding. Pretty cool huh? Yeah that’s not the point. I knew the man ever since I was a kid, knew his family, knew his father in specific. His father? Let me brief you on his father. He’s what you would imagine an Arab man to be. Tall, big boned, mustached, with that natural frown on his face which he cannot control, in other words, he smiles -rarely- as he frowns. The kind of man who would do a dozen things altogether to provide for his family. The kind of man who would work sunrise til sunrise without sighing once. The kind of man who would always find a minute or two to praise the Lord and thank him for all his blessings. The kind of man that has never fallen to the ground, never given up, no matter how hard life struck him. He is a man I would feel smaller than a minim whilst shaking his hand, my 6ft tall body looks microscopic in front of his. He is all that a man would be. Last time I saw him was a year ago, before, that is, seeing him in church yesterday. Putting his son into the ground and kissing him one last time. That was what broke who was once a rock, down. 6 decades worth of tears flowed out of his furious eyes. 2 decades of love, care, went into the dirt and probably a hundred pounds of muscle in his body failed to keep him up. For the first time, he’d hit the ground. The masses stood in silence not out of respect for the little man’s body. They were in shock that Youssef had fallen to the ground. For the hours to follow, Youssef’s legs were unable to serve him well. He needed three men by his side to walk him. There he stood among his family members accepting people’s condolences. But what could words do to the loss of his son? How could people’s handshakes and sorry’s, make him feel even slightly better? I refused to walk up to him with my own mother and give him a word of relief. I had no idea what to say I had no guts to walk up to him as a mother and her SON, to tell him it’s going to be okay. It’s not, going to be okay. Having sent my mother all by herself, holding off her tears she quickly shook his hand and ran away before she would mix her tears with his. I pray to God to give me the strength, and as usual he never failed me. I walk up to him with my head held high in my all-black suit, grab his hand as strongly as I could and I swear I could feel it getting weaker than a baby’s, by the moment. Grab his shoulder with the other and pull him towards me. “You’re not alone,” I say, “God is by your side. God made sure you’d become a lion. Your son might have died, but he sure as hell doesn’t want the lion in you to die. You’ve got 2 men and a girl, not to mention their mother, who need your support and strength right now. Don’t bail on them. You can do this. You can do anything in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”. That frown was back on his face the look of fury that had left him for minutes was now even more furious and so help me God that man of a lion was back on track for the sole reason that he didn’t want to fail his son and the rest of his family.

Why am I telling you this? Because I have not yet hung out with anyone who does not like the taste of adrenaline. Their heart pounding and blood pumping strong just because they want to prove their balls of steel. Let me tell you something, that’s not how you prove your manhood. You prove your manhood when your own father raises his head whenever somebody mentions your name. You prove your manhood whenever your mother tells you she is happy with you you prove your goddamn manhood when you bust your ass off day and night to keep your parents comfortable. But trust me when I tell you, your balls of steel will do you no good when you’re laying in a white coffin with a Zaffé crew waiting to dance in your pre-mature wedding into heaven laying to your father’s right and your mother’s left. Your manhood won’t serve anyone when your father hits the ground and your mother collapses on top of you. Your manhood will not do you any good when you’re sitting helpless in the dirt. And trust me the sweet taste of adrenaline is no match to the bitterness coming out of your father’s aching heart. You wanna be a man? You gotta stay alive first.

May God rest your soul.

The day I broke up with Christianity.. Modern Christianity.

Today, the 29th of March 2015, is one of the greatest days in the Christian calendar. It is the day every man, woman and child uses the penny they’ve been saving ever since Christmas, to buy a glamorous outfit they cannot afford, to impress people they cannot stand, and flood their social media timelines with photos from this fashion show. Oh, it’s also Palm Sunday.

To those who don’t know, Palm Sunday is the anniversary for Jesus Christ’s triumphal entrance to Jerusalem. Triumphal, because he spent a few decades of his life promising people that he shall save them and cleanse them. People did indeed greet Jesus not as the spiritual Massiah, but as a political leader coming to overthrow the Romans, and as such, they greeted him by placing palm branches all over his path and waving at him with these branches. Palm used to symbolize triumph, victory and power, 2000 years ago.
The following Monday marks the beginning of the week of Great Friday, which is Jesus’ path to the cross, as a sacrifice for us. Throughout the upcoming week, “Christian” people are supposed to live the pain and misery and suffer what Jesus went through at the time. Maybe not physically, but the norm has it that we turn into vegetarians for a week.

I broke up with Modern Christianity because, apparently, the beginning of “Ash Monday” or the fasting season, is also the beginning of an act that lasts about 40 days. People who turn into full saints in public, and go back to gossiping about the public, harming people and simply pressing the undo button and erase all the sacrifices they’ve made throughout the week. The Monday following Ash Monday, everybody goes back to normal, up until Palm Sunday, that’s when they go back to being Saints because “Jesus dies this week, we have to fast”. Then the Great Friday, the day of Jesus’ death, comes, and then again these people march around a certain church for a while, pray for a while, then on Sunday it’s fancy shmancy all over again, and life goes back to normal once the play is over.

Three types of people will be reading this article:

1- Those who don’t really care about religion, who happen to be people I respect.
2- Those who are an exact application of the above, and choose to acknowledge what they’ve just read and actually see their mistake.
3- And those who are going to get pissed because this has offended them very deeply and they feel like they’ve done nothing wrong.

To the third group of people, I ask you to take it easy on me. I’m not a critic and God knows I’m not better than anyone of you. I’m simply a pissed off Christian who changed his mind about going to church today after seeing girls and women running late for the service because they haven’t finished putting on their makeup, after seeing boys and men running late for the service because they haven’t washed their car yet. I’m simply a pissed off Christian who changed his mind about going to church today after realizing that church and the word of God, the Bible, Jesus’ sacrificed flesh and blood, are no longer on top of your list, and are now below your personal appearance.

I’m not pissed off because everyone is getting dressed up for a major event, trust me that is most definitely not the case. God created beauty and you might as well enhance that beauty which I so happen to cherish and appreciate. I’m pissed off because Jesus himself is no longer the purpose of your Christianity.

This is not me criticizing everyone out there. I have nothing against those who don’t fast at all because they see no point in fasting, for that matter I respect the fact that they’ve stopped doing it because they’re not feeling it, rather than just going with the flow.

I’ve made that mistake before, I’ve pretended, I’ve dressed up, I’ve gone to that fashion show myself. But that has never brought me real comfort and happiness. That has never brought me the peace of mind I was looking for. So take it from someone who knows, get back to your senses, next year, try fasting the whole season. Try sacrificing meat, chocolate, milk, cheese, chicken, your own body’s health temporarily for a man who died for each and every single one of your souls. You won’t be harming yourself. There are a lot of alternative sources of proteins and minerals that you get from your normal consumption of meat, no one ever died because they fasted. I beg you, don’t do it because you have to, do it because you want to. Do it because you want to satisfy your Lord and savior. Do it because you want it to be done because it is the least you could do. Do it because this is what brings you closer to Jesus and God. Do it because it is your duty as a Christian. Do it because he did it for you. Once you do that, you get yourself back on the right track, and Jesus’ resurrection will no longer be just another holiday, it’ll be one of the best feelings you can ever have.

As for the first group of people reading this, sorry for the long post.

Here’s the thing about life.

We’ve all gotten to a point in our life where we asked ourselves some questions.. “Am I living life?”  or “Where am I going?” or my personal favorite “Now what?“.

For what it’s worth, the past 4 months of my life have been pretty hectic. So hectic in fact that I haven’t even had the chance to think about my life. Haven’t asked myself any one of those questions. I got to a breaking point where I just wanted to shut everything off and sit there quietly, waiting for nothing to happen. At that point, watching paint dry would be the most soothing thing I could ever do. But most of you know what I’m talking about. To those who haven’t been there, this one’s for you. To those who are still going through that, this one’s for you. To those who have gotten over that, high-five mates.

So what is it about life that is so important that it made me go back to blogging after months of inactivity?

You get your ass out of your mother’s womb, you’ve got nothing on your mind. You go to kindergarten, you’ve got nothing on your mind.

Now for the fun part: You go to elementary, you come home crying to your mommy after your classmates laughed at you for peeing yourself. You go to middle school, you spend hours looking at the mirror trying to figure out how you’re going to go the next day with all these pimples all over your face. You go to high-school, you spend hours thinking about a plausible story to tell your friends about how you lost your virginity to this super hot girl when truth is you haven’t even seen a pair of tits before. You go to college, you spend your time thinking about how you’re going to bring your GPA up and save some money to buy your girlfriend a present. As for the rest, I wouldn’t know. Haven’t really been there.

Where am I going with this? You spend your entire goddamn life, you waste all of your energy, you take up all of your time just to think about the way people see you. The moment you step into real life, the moment you come in contact with people who can actually speak the moment you shake someone’s hand for the first time or tell a girl you like her for the first time, you start worrying about shit that never even matters. I’ve been living in my own shell of insecurity for God knows how long, just because I’ve been worried about what people talk about when I’m not there.

But you see, here’s the thing about lifeIT AIN’T WORTH IT! but what is?

Have I been respecting my parents lately? Have I been showing them the gratitude they need to see? Have I made my girlfriend/boyfriend feel loved lately? And to those who believe in God, have I been satisfying him lately? This is ALL you need to worry about. Forget about prejudice, forget about rumors forget about if you’ve worn the same pair of jeans 2 days in a row. Because I guarantee you, those who are talking about you probably have the same concerns, but as long as you worry about fixing your relationship with the three assets I’ve mentioned above, then you should be completely fine.

But how do you even do that? One thing I once read and never left my mind, “If you get to a point in life where you think you’re the best person you could ever be, then you’re far from being the best person you could ever be” because let me tell you something, as pretty as a building looks, it’s always going to have that one flaw that needs to be fixed to match the rest of it. Once you fix that flaw, something else won’t match it anymore, and you’ll need to fix that. It’s a domino effect. How do you fix it? You don’t. You just keep working on yourself, and you keep working and working. When you think you’re done, work harder. Because otherwise, life will get boring. Life will get lame. Life will be the embodiment of what Lebanese people call “The American Lifestyle” otherwise known as “metl l roboyet”. You wake up, go to work, come home, try to have sex with your wife, fail miserably, end up popping a beer and watching the game to do the same thing all over again the next morning.

What I’m trying to say is, life’s nothing but a sandbox. Keep changing it the way you find suitable. It’s cheap, it’s time consuming, it’s fun and the outcome is always going to be a marvel. Three things you always keep in mind, Family, Love and God.

To his Excellency, President General Michel Suleiman…

Image                     Image

Today, the 25th of May, 2014, marks the end of a great era. The era that is the reign, of the 12th president, over Great Lebanon.

Today is the day فخامة الرئيس العماد ميشال سليمان leaves the presidential palace, and comes back to the town that has loved him long before he became president, long before he became general, that has loved him long before he made the decision that he wanted to serve the country. Today is the day he comes back to Amchit.

Who is he? He is a husband to a beautiful well-respected well-known lady, Wafaa. Together, they gave birth to three successful children, and together, from 2008 up until 2014, they took care of over three and a half million people all across Lebanon.
Graduate of the Lebanese University, holding a Bachelor of Arts in Politics and Administrative Sciences, he joined the military and began serving his country at the age of 19, graduated from the military school as a 2nd Lieutenant, and worked his way up to eventually become the Commander of the Lebanese Armed Forces.

Awarded, honored, and well decorated with over 15 medals and recognitions, he went on and succeeded Former President, General Emile Lahoud, and became, himself the President of Lebanon.

Now that we’re done with introducing that great man, even though words would not be enough, I would like to say a few words of my own. To you, Mister President.

تحية طيبة وبعد،

You, Sir, have been sitting on that chair for the past six years, putting up with people’s nonsense and yet going.
You , Sir, have been listening to complaints from locals about how this country is going down the drain.
You, Sir, have been watching your own men, the people we’ve elected, betray their own country, their own people, and you bit your lip and held it together.
You, Sir, have been the tied up Iron Fist, wanting to put your foot down but not having the resources needed for it.
You, Sir, have wanted to do so much more to this country, but your hands were tied, and yet you kept on trying.

For that, Sir, I would like to say

Thank you, Mister President, for the last 6 years of your life, spent serving your country from a chair that has been contaminated by many.
Thank you, Mister President, for doing your best to cleanse that chair and give it back the honor and pride it really deserves.
Thank you, Mister President, for putting up with people’s criticism, people who think being President is an easy task, people who assume that they could do it any day, people who assume that they could be a better president, where the truth is that, they were not able to elect a proper senator, let alone be president.

Thank you, General, for the spending 41 years, putting your life at risk, putting your family at risk, to keep this country as safe as you could.
Thank you, General, for raising generations and generations, teaching them the true value of our beloved military’s motto – Honor – Sacrifice – Loyalty.

You have made Amchit proud, you have made Amchit beautiful. You have made Amchit what Amchit is today. Our municipality has its strength coming from you, its motivation coming from you. Our inspiration IS you.

Thank you, Mister President General, for being President General, Michel Suleiman.

عشتم، عاشت الديمقراطية، عاشت السيادة، عاش الشرف، التضحية، الوفاء، وعاش لبنان

Diaries of a Lebanese Citizen…


image credit: http://www.aaswat.com


We do need change. Here’s something someone wishing to stay anonymous sent me.

Hi, I said breathing deeply and slowly.
Goodmorning, is Mr M in his office? Each inhalation invading my lungs and with each exhalation I remind myself to relax, look calm, confident. Be yourself they say, that’s the trick. She looks up to me from her desk, examining me, scanning everything from my shoes to the possible thoughts inside my head.
Has Mr M arrived, I repeat. I need to speak to him.
She glances for seconds and looks away, thinks to herself how stupid of this person to be here.
Worn out shoes, messed up hair and she probably hasn’t showered in days.
Mr M is far too busy today, and tomorrow too she says.
It is urgent, I repeat.
Ever heard of an appointment, she laughs.
My breaths no longer synchronized with my smile.
My anger surrounding me, I remember, my mother telling me words are your weapon child, believe in this cliché of a motto and you’ll be just fine she said.
I look to her and say,
Ma’am, Mr M needs to see me more than I need to see him. Mr M needs to hear me out more that I need him. Mr M needs my vote. The castle he has built for himself can vanish if I decide to.
The castle he has built for himself can vanish if my worn out shoes and my ripped jeans decide to rip away everything they have provided him with.
Don’t wonder why I haven’t showered and wonder why I have a representative that is okay with having his people unprovided of their basic needs.
Wonder why my so called leader sits back and watches me stay unshowered for days while his children play water fights and keep their taps open and be his children.
You sit here, with your new shoes and your perfume and your ego answering phone calls pretending as if the person inside is a person.
Well you can tell Mr M for me that all it takes to take this animal of his thrown is a thought and I most definitely have it.
I look away and then look back.
I had forgotten that I’ve been standing in front of a broken mirror imagining what would have happened if they let me in Mr M’s building in the first place. Apparently his people thought the shoes of my people are too dirty to touch common ground.

عشتم وعاش لبنان

If you’d like to share your story, please send an email to unidentifiedmarvel@gmail.com



A Journey, between here and there…



Photo credit: http://www.dailystar.com.lb

Above, you see a checkpoint at the borders between Lebanon and Syria. What’s with this post? We’ll get there in a minute.

In my previous article, Model United Nations? It did change my lifeI told you about how I completed several goals concerning my life, inspired by past events and actions. Among those goals is something I undermined, and didn’t fully talk about. Which was meeting a few amazing people who did eventually turn my life around. People who gave me a new perspective about life and a new way of thinking, showing me that there’s more to life than just education, a degree, a job and a few hundred bucks in your pocket by the start of a month.

While training these people, a certain student was about to give a prep speech. She couldn’t. She was too nervous at the time, the atmosphere was overwhelming and she broke down into tears. Two months later she wowed me and her directors at the MUN final conference, and nowadays she tells me about how people actually want to listen to her speak, which makes me as a friend rather than a trainer and an instructor, more proud and happy than I ever was. The more I talked to her the more I got to know what an amazing person she really is.

Oh, did I mention that she’s Syrian who is now a high-school student in Lebanon and she misses her country like hell?

Yeah so I asked her to share something with me about Syria, this was her reply

Say something about Syria
Is there anything left to say?
I mean.. They’ve already said it all
All I know is. No one will do it with my heart. My passion. My poetry. My background and thoughts. No one will do it like me.
It’s a wound in the apple of my heart
It aches me everyday till it stops at a certain point where all I can feel is numbness.
I always reach that ‘what can I fucking do about it‘ point. 
One thing i can never stop doing is love it. Love it with all I have and all I ever will. Teach my kids to value and cherish every single inch of it. 
I will tell tales..I will bleed on and on..
I will cry over this wound everyday because I know that when my time comes and all that blood stops circulating in my body I will not be buried next to my loved ones
I keep thinking of my future grave i don’t know why is that
It’s just humiliating for a person to be forced to live and die where fate drops him. I’m sick of having this life that depends on time and what it holds for me.. I just believe my case is different than everyone else’s for some reason.. Probably due to the lack of knowledge and settlement
I’m going off at a tangent here
Please excuse me
I can go on days and nights talking about my love for Syria and all types of memories I have. I just choose not to. I stick to the wound metaphor because it’s all I can come up with without crying for hours. It’s a page I decided to rip for the sake of moving on.. I feel so guilty but i know that i’ll be dedicating my life to change this tragic reality.
I will bleed.. But I will heal..”


Can you relate to this person? Do you have a story you’d like to share? Send us an e-mail at unidentifiedmarvel@gmail.com, and we will make sure you stay anonymous unless you wish otherwise.

Amal Alamuddin – Clooney’s Fiancée or Lebanon’s Marvel?


Over the past few days, the local social media has been circulating news about the famous George Clooney, getting engaged to a fellow Lebanese lawyer, Amal Alamuddin.

“Yeah this is one of many blog posts about this engagement, why continue reading yours?” you may ask?
Well usually I’d say no one is forcing you to read it. But this time, I want you to read it because as usual, I’m going to link this whole thing to the Lebanese mentality.

Now the reason why I said Local Media, is because only the local media cares about that. Only the local media sheds light upon her Lebanese nationality, and I’m sure that that very same local media had no idea who Alamuddin was before getting the news. Now the difference between local media and the rest of the world is the following:
Local media stresses on the fact that “George Clooney is now engaged to Lebanese Lawyer Alamuddin”, then states a few things about the engagement and that’s that.
But let me give you an example about some of the global media.

According to http://www.popsugar.com, for instance, Alamuddin is a 36 year-old Lebanese lawyer, who studied at St Hugh’s College at Oxford, began law school at New York University School of Law, where she worked as a student law clerk for current Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, who back then was a judge at the US Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit.

Then the website talks about her personal life, and what’s worth mentioning is that she joined the litigation department of New York law firm Sullivan & Cromwell and practiced US and international law there for three years. During her time there, she represented clients in criminal investigations, including the criminal probe of Enron. Amal currently works for the Doughty Street firm in England and specializes in international law, human rights, extradition, and criminal law. Amal is the legal adviser to the King of Bahrain and also represents WikiLeaks head Julian Assange

And some of her published work, which has been published in multiple books, including The Law and Practice of the Special Tribunal For Lebanon, which she coedited with Nidal Nabil Jurdi and David Tolbert.

Last but not least, let us not forget about some of the awards she’s gotten over the years:

During her time at NYU, Amal was honored with the Jack J. Katz Memorial Award, which is given to the student who has demonstrated the highest excellence in the field of entertainment law. She was also named one of the 21 hottest barristers in London in 2013 by the Tumblr blog Your Barrister Boyfriend.

Which pretty much wraps her biography in a few neat lines.
But let me ask you something. Did you have any idea about Amal Alamuddin before you heard about her engagement to George Clooney? Nope. Did I? Definitely not. That’s not a crime.The crime is referring to her as George Clooney’s fiancée, rather than “Just one of the most epic Lebanese lawyers who so happened to have gotten engaged to George Clooney”. We need people like her in our country. And if you’re wondering why she went abroad to get her education, odds are her parents were scared shitless from the situation that was taking place in Lebanon, odds are she wasn’t quite satisfied with the education offered here; every Lebanese citizen knows how ‘beautiful, amazing, civilized, modernized and respectful’ our Lebanese University is. Every Lebanese citizen could somehow relate to her leaving the country, but why not bring her back and make her feel Lebanon again? Why not make her be concerned about this country, her own native mother country? Maybe then, people will start hearing about Lebanon as the country of strong beautiful independent women who so happened to have gotten a law degree and gotten engaged to one hell of an actor and represented the King of Bahrain and Head of Wikileaks. Why don’t we have that? Because we’re not stressing on that. Why are we not stressing on that? That’s up to you to answer. Feel free to fill in the comment box.

Thank you.

Model United Nations? It did change my life.

Yesterday was the closing ceremony of my personal first year as a member of the MUN Secretariat, and fourth year as a member of the MUN Family.

The year 2010, my English instructor walks into class and asks “Who wants to participate in an LAU program called Model United Nations?”
Being in a French based school, 4 years ago English wasn’t people’s number one preferred language so we didn’t have many English speakers at school. I signed up and got approved right away. I had no idea what MUN is about. I had no idea what I have to do there. All I knew was spending seven Saturdays at a University I was hoping I’d be a student at.

First training session was lame.
Second training session was lame.
Third training session turned from a training session into a gather-up with people I’ve recently met.
Fourth training session turned from a training session into a running into a random girl who ended up taking a big portion of my heart until recently.
Fifth training session, sixth training session, seventh training sessions were simply Saturdays I kept anticipating just to go and see the people I’ve recently met and loved.
They turned into me sitting down and looking up to the two incredible amazing trainers who were Gods to me. I wished I was like them. I wished I was as good as them. I kept wishing and wishing. I wanted to make people feel, the way they made me feel.

I won the Participation Award. That award meant the world to me.

The following year, I became a senior, the kids who are a year younger than me joined MUN. I walked them through, helped them out. We emerged Participants. It was amazing.

The year after that I joined LAU, first year Computer Engineering Major. I had no major goal. The only goal was still MUN.
What for?
Money is nothing. It’s a volunteer work.
The CV is nothing. It has nothing to do with my field of studies.
I volunteered as an usher for the final ceremonies of GCLAUMUN and MAL, 2 weekends, 2 saturdays, 2 sundays, over 24 hours of standing up and walking around in a committee passing small pieces of paper.
Going to the global village to see the very same small serious faces that were once in suits, jumping around eating and throwing food at each other with this incredible smile on their faces.

The following year I told myself screw it. Don’t worry about the time. It’s worth it. You’ll manage. I applied for MUN. I wanted to become the people who made me who I am. I wanted to become a Trainer. I became a Trainer. I made it.
Participation Award, Check.
Getting into the Model United Nations Secretariat as a Trainer, Check.

First training session. We’re supposed to arrive on campus an hour before the training session, at 08:00 AM.
I live 10 minutes away from campus. I woke up at 6. Put on a suit and was done by 7. Got to college by 7:30 AM.
That’s how excited I was. Having prepared over and over for the training session. All I wanted was to preach those kids and give them the same feeling I had 4 years ago.

9 AM, students started showing up. My heart was pumping. What should I do? Act serious? What if they hate me for that?
Act fun? What if I make a fool out of myself?
Oh screw it I’ll just be myself.

They started walking in. “Hello, good morning, hello”
It began. I started talking, and talking, my partner starts talking and talking, I start talking and talking and I look into their eyes and see the look. The “This is amazing” look. The “I’m glad I came here” look.
First training session ended. It was amazing. Evaluations were amazing.
MY STUDENTS, were amazing.
Second training session, they started calling me by my name.
Third training session, fist bumps.
Fourth training session, stalking my twitter.
Fifth training session, they wanted us to go for dinner after the ceremony, they were hugging me and they were telling me how much they love me.

Becoming the people who made me who I am, Check.

Global village, everybody was smiling all over again, every body was dancing all over again, everybody was happy. ALL OVER AGAIN!
My smile never left my face. Seeing my delegates being happy never left my face. Walking into committees and seeing my delegates give their best. THEIR OWN Best not the committee’s best, it made my day. it made me happy. It made me want to sit on the laptop and type this out.

They walk up to me, whether they got diplomacy, Secretary General, Position Paper or Just the participation awards, I love them. I love them all equally.
A delegate walks up to me, didn’t win anything, and says “I’m sorry I didn’t make you proud
she did. She made me proud as hell. She tried, she gave it her best, she poured her heart out and she worked on it. that’s why I’m proud.
To those who won the awards, I’m happy for you. Extremely happy, but that’s for you.
To those who didn’t, I am amazingly happy for meeting every single one of you. You’re amazing. Your smiles and laughs make me want to improve, they make me want to do this all over again, they make me want to spend not 5 saturdays a year, but 50 and 500 and being careless about the rest of the world.

What I’ve taught you, memorise it, keep it in you, and when you graduate, you’re going to train alongside with me. I’m waiting for you. I’m going to miss you.

I love you, Check.

Sorry not Sorry

Although the title is cheesy, I’d like to make some clarifications due to certain complaints and feedback I’ve received from you guys.

To those of you who are close to me, you know I can take criticism with a good spirit, but I cannot take insults. And I expect to be treated based on that but at the same time, I expect myself to treat you based on that. If I can’t stand an insult, I cannot insult you, or your ideology, or your belonging or your sect for that matter, which leads me to the idea behind this article.

Many readers have accused me of insulting, offending and practically attacking certain groups. I’d like to clarify that point. I do NOT attack, I do NOT offend and I most certainly do not insult. I point out matters that bother me. A person once told me “Before you go on and criticize other religions, do your own religion a favor and preach for it first. We’re not in any positions to criticize or judge others’ duties to their religion”

I agree. That person has a point, but the point that person and other similar people had missed is the fact that I do not criticize, I do not insult I do not defend I do not offend, again, I boldly, straight out, state out my opinion. And to those who think that I’m being offensive towards their specific sects, I say to you, I’m using the same, if not an even harder, tone towards my own sect. Not the sect itself, not the rules, regulations, duties, rights, demands, of that specific sect rather than the abuse, mistreatment and malfunctioning of certain individuals within these sects. Including my own sect, including myself.

Priests are not perfect, nuns are not perfect, brothers are not perfect hell the pope himself is not perfect. Jesus himself is, saints are damn near that point. You and I and the rest are as far from it as we could be. And it’s not an easy task for us to get close to it it’s a life goal. You devote your life to being perfect for a purpose. Not to satisfy your own soul but to satisfy the hierarchy that is God.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is, if I you feel offended in any way by the words I say, just know that the words I’m throwing at you, I’ve thrown at myself at the same exact moment. The accusations I’ve thrown at you, I’ve thrown them at myself and the disgust I’ve shown about you, trust that I’ve disgusted myself more than anyone has disgusted me. But that’s the beauty of civilization and keeping an open mind. Take it, learn it, love it, hate it, then change it. Instead of yelling out and going after your dignity, try to discuss it with your dignity. I for one have my dignity before all and my friends know that more than anyone but before I flash it around other people’s faces and throw punches all over the room like the animal that I’m not, assess yourself. Is the criticism correct or not? If yes, then change, try to. If not, fucking hell you might as well change my point of view and if that doesn’t work and I offend you even more, slit my throat by all means.

So to the people I’ve offended, to the people I’ve criticized, to the groups I’ve disrespected, I apologize, and you’re welcome.