If I die a hundred times,I will come back a hundred times.

— well,

I suppose if the revolution were (human) it would be a fetus, cooking simultaneously in the mother’s womb.

I have been drawn to Mashrouh Leila's voices and instrumentals, which have been an encouraging affirmation for me recently. Bob Marley was right when he said, " One good thing about music is when it hits you, you feel no pain.”

We’re experiencing growing pains throughout this chaotic, complicated, violent time in Lebanon. I am questioning the degree of this transformative stage.

The stage of the revolution is technically the phase of the unknown and, ultimately, the phase of sporadic growth…an unnerving metamorphosis.

Or is it a perplexed butterfly reaching an anti-climax?

If the revolution were (human) it would be a troubeled fetus, cooking simultaneously in the mother’s womb.

Meanwhile, the fetus remains unknown to what the outside world occupies yet listens intuitively and carefully to the loudness of the thumps of the outer world. Eyes closed.

As the fetus listens, it takes notice, merely responding to these noises. Instead, bathes in the water of scepticism, suspicion and endless curiosity. Yet, no matter the loud outcry of the outer world, there remains an echo vibrating— surrounding the womb.

And, although fragile, the fetus remains safe and cautious within its world. The miraculous consciousness of the fetus awakens and fathoms the thumps it had been accustomed to.

And finally, my body and I returned.

That’s how it feels to view the revolution — arms fastened – miles away. I find myself contemplating my ordinary, private life away.

My typical existence. The grown fetus.

My existence in the Western world. Whilst my fingers are caged to social (media), I attend the Iraqi and Lebanese protests every weekend — with friends.

An observer of the cooking process and potential rebirth of my countries from the womb of my internal shell –

Oh, what a f weird life. Oh how I miss home.
”So, push me off the cliff and watch me fly –