Be careful over there! my American friends said to me. As if the Middle East is simply one big mosh pit of danger, mayhem and debris. Be careful doing what? I thought to myself. Choking on lobster, slipping on a marble floor, or poking my eye out with a canape skewer?
Cruising through streets and neighborhoods that we once loved reminiscing as we navigate our way through our own history. It’s about a trip down memory lane and fond memories. It’s about putting your hands on the wheel and feeling something familiar that grounds us to our past. Don’t take it personally, it’s not about you. It’s all about us.
They line up for miles to pick through the debris, of a once glamorous life like you see on TV. The sailboats, the yachts, the bubbly brunches and more; have been carefully chronicled on Facebook galore.
If Martha Stewart would’ve concentrated more on these tid-bits of information versus insider trading, I probably wouldn’t be in the pickle I am in tonight around the Lawrence of Arabia dining room table.
Do you know how badly it would hurt us to see the disappointment in our children’s eyes, if years from now we told them story of the opportunity we abandoned which would’ve changed their perspective for the rest of their lives? That’s why we chose to go away.
It is a love affair with the unknown. An addiction to the experience. A memory that may never be forgotten.
Twice I was in a room filled with people who looked just like me — and it was odd. Nobody with dark skin. Nobody with a Middle Eastern accent. Nobody dressed in their country’s native clothes. Only white people, in white people clothes, having white people conversation — and I was bored.