Favour Without Prescription

And there is the Lebanon

We criticize all Lebanon. All. We Lebanese, we criticize Lebanese women. We accuse them of superficiality, hypocrisy, sometimes excess. We accuse men of sexism as we blame the parents for their attention often exaggerated, their interference, their severity

... Yes, we watch Lebanon through a magnifying glass. And we have the right. Because Lebanon is ours. As parents have the right to criticize their children. Like a brother has the right to make comments sometimes disturbing to his sister. Law from good intentions. The desire to protect. The legitimacy of the assertion located in the information. Simply. Because who knows better than us in Lebanon, Lebanon.

But I defy any Lebanese to accept that our beloved country abroad tip of the finger. Our women. Our men. Our parents. Because it is a scenario quite different. Right there by default. And then becomes questionable legitimacy.

Because we all love Lebanon. And I can say that the Lebanese I know, living abroad, live and by proxy through a calendar. I can assure you that although I was often tempted to go further, more beautiful and exotic, my heart, he is opposed to this desire and scrolls in front of my eyes cold and wandering a beach Lebanese often ugly, dirty, chaotic but oh I love her. Lebanese

I remain in the soul, in the head in focus, in my fake blond hair and every inch of Lebanese still polish never converted. Today

a ray of sunshine seeped into my room. And my happiness, it has found its source in Lebanon sunlight. I used the theory of proportionality to imagine myself in the sun even stronger, truer, bolder.

And my imagination could only hear the sound of spring - because spring makes noise - the noise of cars passing by delicious at spaced intervals, birds that start quietly chatting, of leaves who caress and my mother in the kitchen busy.

We criticize Lebanon. But we are. We are all the things that bother us, we are his charm, we are his mess, its chaos, its bottling his trash, his permanent danger, its warmth, its excess, its complicated structure, its eternal talks.

This morning, I love Lebanon a little more. Because there are days like this, where people like more, without knowing why.

And as there are stable partners and reasoned, that offer healthy relationships and long-term, beautiful children and beautiful notebooks and other lovers who do not promise anything at all except the fervor of the moment, there are country governments francs. And there is the Lebanon. ©

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* Colored Days (2)

ballerinas ROSE
sofa RED (my new friend for life no doubt)

skies BLUE

a cat that makes me see t o u t e s the s e c o u the e ur s! *

Toronto Pediatric Clinic

Ireland: stories, memories, stories and identities

[One of many murals in Northern Ireland: Bloody Sunday, Derry Bogside - vservat]

gradually conquered Earth from twelfth century and subject to England (to which Northern Ireland is still attached under the United Kingdom), country bled by emigration and the Great Famine of the mid-nineteenth century, states battered by a incomplete independence and partition painful leading the northern provinces to sink into a terrible war until 1998, Ireland may not be approached only in terms of this via dolorosa time throughout history. In this turbulent past, the Irish have built different identities, sometimes conflicting over the events stored in memory and sometimes reshaped according to more contemporary issues.

Stories, identities, memories of Ireland, is on these themes Laurent Colantonio, historian of Ireland , kindly answer the questions VServat, and enlighten us on how the events of spent part in this Irish, and Irish.

is fascinating to read an interview with photos on Samarra and two tracks on the playlists of Ireland

Baby Diarrhea More Condition_symptoms

Too bad for Canary Wharf

past few days probably deserve to be included in a chapter of this book fantasy that my mother called "the trials of life."

Gift spring, criminal or other food, I do not know the reason that made my whole body reacts in seconds and transforms me into a monster. I say monster because when I looked in the mirror, I see Charlize Theron. Not the Charlize glamorous and sexy on the red carpet. But the monster in Monster Charlize. If you have not seen the movie, google him (no, this is not a linguistic error. The verb "to Google" is now in the dictionary. Yes, yes ... I'm sure).

short. Apart from the aesthetic disaster which affected me deeply (I'm still a bit superficial), the real pain was situated beyond the skin and allowed me to put things in perspective.

Often in a big city like London, the organization is required. Because the minutes become precious. Metro at 7am, gym 20h, drink with friends Friday at 21h and so on. Appointments in the calendar we settle the driving pleasure of spontaneity, sleeping late and desires instant. Everything is programmed like that we can make the most of his time.

While it is by taming so that we lose really. His time.

And in this organization pushed things are happening especially next to a clear reality. That of being, despite all, human. Because in giving appointments within a week or two, thus eliminating the possibility that unpredictable external event, a "force majeure" (looks like the sleeping lawyer in me), would upset the order of things and add a few adventures in his life.

Saturday morning, I put on jeans in a hurry and walked, still in t-shirt that serves as my pajamas, in the first taxi to the emergency room. I resisted even this act of reason, hating hospitals and being imbued with the arrogance of Lebanon that nothing can happen. Until I detected in the dark eyes of my friend who was staring at me almost tangible fear.

Despite the urgency of the moment, I took care to carry my glasses and my hat, the costume that day comes naturally. And then I like to imagine, as to console me for the pain (and / or ugliness), Kate Moss on the streets of Angel in disguise for not getting to recognize and avoid attracting the curiosity passersby.

(Except that I was Charlize ... Again).

I turn the chapter of incompetent doctors, syringes, which are my only phobia, the ride in the rain in the middle of sickness absence for taxi, my mother on the phone that feels helpless but still do not understand that her voice alone is my only strength, dirty hospitals and so English, the difficulty of shopping is required when barely strength to drag their feet ... I

password. Because if I mention it because it took me to live a few difficult days for me to remember that London tried - in vain - to make me forget. I mention this because even though I suffered and I still suffer, I realized that most often goes to one side of a blessing innocuous but highly valuable, that of being healthy.

I mention this because it took me to live these moments to remember that whatever the pace of his life, always finding time to give to friends and family. Because it is to them that you think when you have blue legs and heart and when you're happy.

And ... I mention this because I had almost forgotten that same feverish and tired, there's nothing more delightful than to be awarded, for heaven's gift to spend a whole week in bed nothing to do except watch Two and Half Men on TV.

That's not all. Yes, yes, it gets even better ... The oreos and all the nonsense of the kind offered and with them the fun, yes fun with a capital P, the one who gives his acceptance in the further, that that is devoid of any sense of guilt.

Too bad for Canary Wharf. ©

©