Over the past few months, the world has been in distress. Nothing has shaken me lately as much as what has been happening. Miles away but still felt so close, I was invaded by a whirling train of thoughts and emotions. I felt as if my world stopped, unable to function properly and go on with my routine. I felt so helpless.
The unstable situation in the Middle East is something far from being alien to me. Growing up in Beirut, Lebanon, I got used to living day by day, not knowing what tomorrow might bring. An explosion here, a war there, protests somewhere else… the list continues. But as much as I prepared myself to that lifestyle, each “surprise” would still take a toll on my mental and emotional sanity. The sounds of helicopters or fireworks still to this day (even in New York city!) trigger me into thinking something is about to blow up in the corner. Not to say the least, the recent events in the region have been triggering, bringing back unwelcomed memories and traumas.
It is not easy to be Arab and grow up in the Middle East. In fact, it is both a blessing, and a curse. Sometimes I love it, and sometimes I hate it. It makes me happy, but it also makes me cry.
Yet, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And let me tell you why.
Besides the fact that Middle Eastern know how to make amazing shawarma, hummus or taboule, have the perfect belly dancing body or call everyone around them Habibiii, being Middle Eastern comes with a lot of “duties”, expectations and often times misconceptions. Duties, because it always feels like you are carrying the weight of society on your shoulders.
Our culture is characterized by its communal aspect; this is because family is extremely valuable. We grow up in a very close-knit family environment, with extended family playing a crucial role in our lives. This feeling extends beyond family: everyone knows everyone, everyone cares about everyone … not only my aunts, uncles, cousins (of first, second, third degrees) seem to care about where I am going, who I am going with, what I am achieving, what I am eating, and what I am wearing, but even my neighbors do. Our community is a very tight net of people; sometimes in a big city, you feel like you are living in a village.
Surely, this is stressful and annoying, since it seems like ‘everyone has their nose in your business’; you definitely wouldn’t like it on a good day, but I came to learn that that’s all anyone would look for when things go non-linear. In fact, this tightness in our societies translates into helping someone on the street when an accident happens, it translates into finding home in other people’s houses when yours doesn’t feel as safe during war times, it translates into sharing each other’s food, water, electricity and other basic necessities when our governments can’t provide them properly. It translates into having security when your own country can’t provide it to you. So how can we nag about the stressful aspect of it? I love being Middle Eastern. I certainly do.
Even from afar, being Arab is not any easy. Growing up, I used to wait for the summertime when my uncles and aunts, who immigrated from Lebanon, would pay our country a visit. The thought of finally being able to put a face on the voices I have been hearing on the phone throughout the year was thrilling. Not to mention the clothes, toys and snacks they would bring us as gifts; I was at the peak of my happiness. Particularly, I used to love sitting with my relatives to tell them about my year, the things I have done and the way I have grown. I loved hearing their stories and the adventures they had in some foreign country they lived in. I could also sense that my parents and grandparents were ecstatic when we would all reunite. Tears of happiness and sadness gets mixed in throughout the days; I couldn’t but ponder every time thinking about my relatives, why would you leave and be away from your family? What’s so important there and not here? How could you?
Funny enough, as time passed and I grew older, I was able to get the answers to my questions. However, I found myself asking a different set of queries. As I became the one leaving my country Lebanon and family behind, I asked: Am I now becoming that aunt that I used to once blame? Are my little cousins questioning my behavior? Where do I belong and where do I want to belong? These doubts, I still don’t have definite answers to, however I do have clarity on some other things I learned. Let me tell you what.
Being away from home, especially as an Arab, is one the most stressful thing. It is getting used to “guys, we are all okay” kind of messages from your family’s Whatsapp group when something happens back home. This, followed by the need to be plugged to the news at all times, mixed with feelings of helplessness and worry. And eventually, waiting for the first chance allowing you to go home and check up on your loved ones, even if it means using all your vacation days to do so. However, what I also learned is that being away from home is peace of mind. At least, it means there is a refuge for your family, in case things really go south in your home country. Being away from home also means bringing back knowledge, innovation and money to your region. And most importantly, it means spreading the word about the beauty of your country and its people in faraway places, all over the globe. I don’t want to undermine the constant questioning of where to settle and the recurrent identity crises we face as immigrants, but being away does have its perks. I cannot begin to describe the magnitude of happiness we feel once we step into home and reunite with all our loved ones. That’s one other benefit I can think of.
Most remarkably, what I also came to learn is that regardless of whether Arabs decide to live in the region or abroad, one thing that we Arabs definitely have in common is resilience and strength. Because of all the challenges we lived over time, we became so accustomed to adapting and coping with difficult situations. Accustomed to finding solutions to anything; be thrown into any kind of situation and emerge stronger than ever with no fear. I really have not seen stronger people than my people. The diversity in the coping mechanisms utilized whether through music, storytelling, art or other cultural expression, cannot but fascinate me. Most amazingly, the ability to wake up every morning determined to build a better future, to still enjoy life, spread love and positivity is what mesmerizes me even more. How are we able to still see hope when everything around us screams hopelessness? I still have yet to understand.
I really have not seen stronger people than my people. I love my people. I am so proud of my people. I am so proud to be Middle Eastern and Arab.
