I sat inside a cafe on Hamra street…

I sat inside a cafe on Hamra street today. My novel, a novel I brought with me from Istanbul, was on the table in front of me. I took off my eyeglasses and bent down on the table, reading.
On my left hand, my Large Mocha stood faithful.
In the pocket of my hoodie, my iPhone relaxed. In my ears, Majida Roumi sang “Kalimat” (Words).
I glanced outside the glass at the street. It was out of focus. There were red, yellow, and grey colors. on and off.
I felt very very safe. And very very happy. In this beautiful city. The Switzerland of the Middle East.
* * * * *
My mother told me a couple of days ago that when we returned to Beirut late in 1982 after the Israelis left, I cried. I wanted to go back home (an abandoned house we took for refuge in Aley).
Random thought: If I first registered Aley as my home, no wonder I was never able to call Beirut home. It is a nice city and all, but it is NOT home.


Author: Niam

Storyteller, Award Winning Filmmaker, Digital Nomad

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