Diaries of a Lebanese Citizen…

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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

 

 

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