If Beirut was a woman,
She would be old… very old… and she would be having a limp when walking and has a supporting stick…
She would have a beautiful angelic face covered with lots of wrinkles and has a body with irregular curves and lots of cellulite and imperfections…
She would never go for plastic surgeries… perfection for her is accepting the imperfections…
She would be a widow wearing black for the rest of her life…
She would be an incredibly elegant and classy lady with pearls covering her wrinkly neck…
She would be faithful… loyal… honest… true… and yet has no friends as she doesn’t trust anyone…
She would be an exemplary mother… Caring, kind, tender, thoughtful, selfless… and hurt whenever she sees her children leaving or suffering…
She would know how to take care of herself and of others… she wouldn’t let anyone give her a hand… “Strength and dignity are her clothing” …
She wouldn’t talk much but if she did, she would talk with a soft voice and would never yell or scream…
She would never laugh… she would have a shy smile as nothing is worth a laughter since the death of her beloved husband…
She would be sitting on her swing chair looking at an old photo album in black and white reflecting her years of glory…
She would have been a sexy, beautiful, intellectual and smart lady in her youth…
She would be fighting till her last breath to stay alive despite the illness that eats her body…
If Beirut was a man,
He would be a gentleman, a man of his word, an entrepreneur who was once successful but reached his downfall because his children preferred to sell the business…
He would be an old man with a poker face when watching the collapse of his empire but torn apart deep down inside…
He would be brave, daring and scares the shit out of his enemies…
He would be a hero with no cape…He would be overprotective… yet finds nobody to protect… everyone he cares about left…
He would be having scars all over his body… and his soul…
He would be living with a mask. He would be showing pride, strength and no feelings facing people. But when alone, he removes the mask which reveals his real sensitive identity as he can cry more than one could imagine… What could be more honest than the tears of a real gentleman?
He would be silent, quiet, mysterious and charming…
He would be an unknown genius, unknown prophet who is chased constantly to be prosecuted…
He would be a divorced man to a woman he never loved…
He would be a grandpa who never saw or met his grandchildren…
He would be a humble womanizer…
He would be driving a Ferrari but still misses his Renault 12 when life was easier…
He would be tired of fighting yet never quits… He would be torn between hope and desperation… He would be wishing to die yet still fighting to live…
Dina Hajjar
Dina Hajjar 