Letter From Lebanon: Miles Away From Privilege
They tell you to pack your bags, pick your courses, move in to your dorm and settle in; you’ve just started a “new and improved” chapter of your life as a semester-abroad student.
No longer do your grandmother’s silk curtains shield you as you look to the horizon. The plastic roll-down shutters will have to do for now.
No more smoked salmon on toasted whole wheat bread, but some quick and easy pour-it-in-the-bowl cereal becomes your best option now.
They tell you a lot about spending a semester abroad but they don’t tell you that rather than simply missing all of your previous privileges, you grow hyper-aware but thankful for having had them in the first place.
Thankful for the little things from the daily good mornings you once woke up to, the comfort foods so readily available and the house which was kept impeccably tidy and clean.
Such a life of privilege is truly missed when you become fully responsible your new place, laundry detergent in one hand and dish soap in the other. It’s all up to you now, whether your clothes are clean and ironed, or if you have enough bottles of water for the day.
No longer are you surprised by the plait de jour that was once served to you daily at 3pm; rather you go to sleep planning tomorrow’s three meals.
Which cereal to buy? The cheapest, most delicious, or healthiest?
One should not dismiss the subtle transformation of character as the mind wrestles in a continuous competition between cost versus quality.
Queries and uncertainties consume your mind and slowly your wellbeing. You constantly overthink every aspect of your new independent lifestyle.
Should I walk to this area, even if it’s 30 minutes away, or is taking a taxi the easier option? You even start debating vital issues like whether it would be best to wait out the pain stinging in your thigh or make the 15-minute walk to the pharmacy.
You begin to miss when buying medicine was just a Whatsapp message away, and your mother’s warm embrace could instantly heal even your physical wounds.
Now you are miles away from the closest cuddle and must find home within yourself.
Home in your favorite cereal. Warmth in your daily cup of coffee. Security under the bedsheets your mother carried for you all the way from home.
It has been just four weeks since I’ve left the pink encrusted walls of my room and embarked on a journey miles away, to a paler-looking dorm.
Gazing outside shutters that will never fully buffer the sun’s rays, the view of the Mediterranean sooths me as I begin my semester abroad.
It sometimes takes being denied privilege to become aware of just how much our lives have depended on them.
Here’s to four more months of forlorn survival and many more letters from Lebanon.
Malak Sekaly
Caravan Columnist
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