getting cornered in a round room

I think I would like to tell you about how I felt last summer when I had to evacuate Lebanon. I can sum it up in a few words,
Disgusted.
Disgusted with humanity and the fact that there is no respect for it. Disgusted with the idea of having to leave my home. Disgusted with having to leave my family and my best friends at the same time.
Humiliated.
Humiliated that we had to run away. Humiliated by the fact that we had to drive through Syria in order to get out. Humiliated for my mother who had to go down at the Syrian border, and bribe the officer with three hundred dollars, just so he could let us pass.
Disillusioned.
Disillusioned by the fact that humans are still capable of this much destruction. Disillusioned by the fact that humans are still capable of such megalomania, such big egos, and so much hatred.

Numb.
That’s the worst, because you stop feeling, you stop crying, you stop thinking. You just sit there like a potato and stare at nothing. This is the stage you reach when you are so tired and know that no matter how much you cry, or swear, or discuss, or brainstorm possible solutions, nothing will help it. So you just give up.

That is how I felt in the car on the way to the Syrian border. For days, I insisted on remaining in Beirut, war or no war.
I finally surrendered and agreed to leave on the condition that I could return the second ceasefire agreement was reached.
On our way out, we used the only road left that hadn’t been destroyed by the Israelis. Our escape plan was suicidal. Then there were those explosions.

Ok, listen I will finally tell you the reason that I never wanted to leave Lebanon during the war. No...Its not because I am suicidal, or super patriotic or anything like that. I have a bigger reason. I promise.

But first let me explain the background issues:
Ok, so what am I? I am half Lebanese and half Iraqi, born in Washington D.C and living in London. What does that mean to me?

Let’s use the process of elimination…

Although I was born in America, I left at such a young age that the memories I can remember well were in my home, with my family and close friends. Mostly all Arab.

Iraq is not my home because it is smitten with civil unrest. I have never been able to go there, furthermore, I was never avidly encouraged to identify myself as Iraqi. Despite my fathers numerous attempts to make us proud of our Mesopotamian heritage, I know I was never attracted to a country that I had never seen and that was lead by a psychotic dictator. Not to mention the amount of times my mother sarcastically joked about the fact that Iraqi’s were naturally violent and ugly people and that my father was the exception of exceptions.
So although I would want nothing more that to feel Iraqi, and I will never stop trying to do so, Baghdad is not my home.

After moving to London at the age of nine, I quickly discovered how this capital was in fact a hub for all ethnicities and cultures. In fact, it seemed to me that there are more foreigners in London than there are English people. It is, in fact, a melting pot, a melting pot is not a home, it’s chaos. London in general made me miserable, when we were on vacation and I thought of going back I would feel ill. A city covered with a grey film. London never felt like home.

Lebanon gave me everything every other country didn’t. It gave me my best friends, it gave me family, it gave me the best memories, it gave me the best views, it gave me warmth, it gave me an identity.
However, it is completely unstable.

The reason I never wanted to leave is because I never know if I’ll be able to come back.