I was raised on stories of the Lebanese homeland. My early memories are steeped in Lebanese culture, shaped by the Arabic dialect my father spoke and the classic dishes of his hometown.
My ancestral village, Kayfoun, is at the peak of a mountain just past the popular tourist part town of Aley. The town is unassuming. It smells immediately of rotisserie chicken, falafel and spiced meats. There is a small corner market where you can purchase bottled water and soda. Further up the one road town is the mosque where the call to prayer sounds three times a day. Beyond that are some shattered, abandoned homes and some teeming with life, generation stacked in generation as is the Lebanese way of keeping family together—each floor of the ancestral home house one family unit.
When I miss Lebanon, I miss home. I never lived there, but my father’s family is there. My grandparents have passed away, and I haven't been able to return since 2003 due to finances and regional instability. It hurts to be separated from loved ones, but also from the sights, sounds and smells of a home I always wished for.
Fortunately I have love and joy in my life. I have grown a family of my own. I have a house that makes me smile when I look at the walls. Even the ones I want to paint. I feel safe and happy. I feel satisfied. I feel rooted.
But my roots run deep and across the world. I will always be struck with the depth of longing for the cousins grown from children to adults, the tile rooftops, the ironed sheets fluttering when a breeze comes through the window. My bedroom window. I miss that home.
So I take myself to my local international market and walk the aisles slowly. I take in how the products are packed together in unrelated ways. How you have to know the space to navigate it.
It smells of spices. There are jars of olives and an aisle of olive oil. There is also a mix of New Age American products that let me know the market is a gateway, that perfect between space bridging the two pieces of my life I can’t connect otherwise outside memories and wishes.
This is a life trgedi.you miss your won twon and your own country.your grandfather lived in there.also your perents.you can't do anything because that is life.
It hurts to have that separation, but I also have a home in America. My mother is born here, so there is that solace, although it isn't much as we are estranged currently.
I think this post is all about Hiraeth :) A sort of homesickness, a beautiful mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia for a home you cannot return.
Beautifully written :)
Thank you for this word! I needed it just now. There is a power in naming our experiences.
I had never heard about Kaifun before, but I've been wanting to visit Baalbek since I first read about it. I totally understand the yearning for your roots. Because I, too, wishes to see the place of my origins, Igé in north-western France, even if my ancestors moved out of there more than 350 years ago!
It’s a very particular feeling, isn’t it?
Yes, it is! :-)