This year, the Easter holidays will be long and very festive. In London, taking three days off, we get to link two long weekends of four days each. Because the Easter weekend is followed by the marriage of Prince. And of course this deserves a holiday. Congratulations William and Kate. And thank you! The result? Eleven days in Beirut, of course!
That said ... The formula is not as simple and joyful than it pretends. Because there are two obstacles to overcome.
The first obstacle lies in the office. It is time to ask his boss (and firmly) to be granted 3 days of leave that bind the two weekends. He must convince his colleagues, most of which (all in fact ...) are more senior, they should remain to cover my absence and I, deep in the hierarchy, I deserve this luxury. I would not hesitate one second to play that manages to turn every time to charm my audience, run out of tears and the words powerful, passionate, touching my attachment to my land, my painful separation from my family, my expatriation to London. And I'm leaving in a speech ending, patriotic and determined, which will be interrupted by my boss, who, tired of my ride, resolves to let me go.
happy with my victory, I'll sit my butt in front of my screen, and send some emails to my friends who ecstatic, like me, plan the lavish celebration. I would file a few tips that work every time: my cousin got married (if you listened we really had understood that it was only 7 years old and she can not marry 7 times in a year ...), my brother finished university (in April?) and my best friend passed the bar (So what?).
short. Now it's done. I smiled stupidly but wisely not to irritate the prisoners in April.
Needless to say, the few hours after this announcement are lightweight, head in the air and very distracted. But the words here and there in the Lebanese newspapers that I read online and in the international press, take me back to reality quickly. And I remember the second obstacle, which my still applies to repress consciousness.
Danger. Revolution. Indictment. Regime crisis. Big words that sound strong but are actually impregnations of cowardice.
The voice of my father on the phone sounds calm and rested. He said he had lunch with my mother in their big empty house with their four children. He told me that there's falafel. He said he is heartened by the fact that we all live abroad.
me it does not comfort me at all. Because already they are. And if the country is really in danger, I'd rather be with them there, my house, how to look through my TV screen, some clue that would resolve the uncertainty. The uncertainty of the existence of a government, its lack of impact on peace, the uncertainty of the return of an indictment, the uncertainty if it is eventually published.
My phone rings and me away from my thoughts. My friend, I feel quite optimistic, which already buys its tickets online, wonder if he takes BMI or MEA, and if we go on April 22 or 23.
Frankly, I can only hope that during a rest interval between a crisis and a war, I can go for a kiss to my mother. ©
0 comments:
Post a Comment