Do you sometimes feel like just letting go and running somewhere remote where you can be left alone... To 'be'?!? My running away is to jump on a plane and go wherever life takes me. There is nothing or no one to run away from; instead, the many wonderful friends spread across the world to visit and feel their familiar feeling of love, the family I picked to accompany me along my journey.
There is my 'blood family' and my 'chosen family'; equally impressive.
Hey, don't call me 'bitch', although it makes me smile, I 'know' I'm a lucky girl and making my dreams come true, however big or small, is my 'raison d'etre' (reason to be alive). Fly high and see the world at large as one. Meet the most exciting people life could possibly offer, at its best or, as it happens, sometimes at its worst, for the pages of memory and experience.
It is not the tabloid celebrities I particularly want to meet, the ones who fill up those gossip columns on those colourful pages of magazines, but everyone and anyone who crosses my path; we are all one, all with tales to tell. After all, famous people are just like you and me; they started with dreams and went through their own stories to get there.
During a deep conversation with Charlotte, she expressed her learning in a spiritual session that the celebrities who come to fame young, live the lives most envious and part early, such as the wonderful Whitney Heuston or others with tragic deaths, are apparently only 'new' souls on this earth. So, they make a considerable impact, only to disappear from our lives, but certainly not from our thoughts. They possess beauty, talent, fame, riches, and everything most would only dream about rapidly, only to leave abruptly. My point is, 'we are all ONE'. Allow no one to make a judgement on who you are and what your life's journey is about. That is individual, and we are each on our own path to learn and move on to... 'Greener pastures', you may ask?! Haha.... Well, yeah.
(Unless you read the blog with that heading, you may need help understanding my meaning here; that's fine).
Before I lose you here, let's return to the August Bank Holiday in the UK while having dinner at the Embassy club with Donna on Friday evening...
I recalled a story from my long nights at the party in the liberal capital city of Beirut. Can't wait to go back to all those years ago, the year before their President Hariri was assassinated.
One night, on an outing in a nightclub downtown, my sister Hala and I met a charming, tall, slender character resembling Sacha Baron Cohen with even similar glasses on. I do not recall his name, but to tell the tale, let's call him 'Sacha'. He was charming, fun and friendly. Hala seemed tired of all the non-stop partying since our arrival and decided to return to our hotel for some rest. So, I ended up with this very colourful character in his car, driving through a motorway somewhere out of town, going to some party as he expressed! Again, let me be clear: the man did not for a second give me a reason to feel any kind of threat or discomfort.
We chatted happily; he answered some calls on his mobile, then abruptly left and stopped in a dodgy area under a bridge with dim lighting from the street light shining in the far.
He seemed a little agitated at the time but explained:
"I'm gonna get some coke. Meeting the dealer here. Do you want some?"
It all happened so fast, and although I had no intention of touching the white powder, under the circumstances, I found it appropriate to play along with his game, so I answered:
"Sure. Here's the cash. Get me one, too."
There I was again, inquisitive, getting myself into another bizarre situation.
We waited ten minutes in that dark passage before the dealer appeared at the rolled-down window. Sacha introduced me, and we shook hands across his chest; they spoke in Arabic (which I did not understand a word of), then the dealer offered Sacha to test the goods on some side road outside the city, me thinking 'Fuck! I hope they don't get arrested now. ' But no.
Sacha exchanged money for the goods, and the dealer politely said goodbye and left while we continued driving to a concrete building, obviously by now, well outside the city where there was no question of going back for me; I was at Sacha's mercy. He even joked, and we laughed at my situation... How mad am I?!? True.
We got out of his car parked on the dismal side street of a concrete building; I followed him to the lobby, where Sacha exchanged words of familiarity with the porter, and we went up in the lift. We walked through the corridor of a white wall on one side separated by dark blue apartment doors and sixties-like square frosty glass panels on the other, leading to the darkness outside, with plain white tiles on the floor. It reminded me of a night out in Momo's club with Sis in London, where we ended up in Hackney, me driving, being conducted by some extraordinary character we had met at the end of the night. Now, that's another story. Strange places I have been to!
Towards the end of the corridor, he stopped and rang the bell outside one of those blue doors. We entered a relatively bare, open space of a studio, where apart from the guy who welcomed us in, two guys in their late twenties or perhaps early thirties were sitting on the white tiled floor, playing football on PlayStation. I was introduced and sat on the small, brownish leather sofa, close to where the football player was deep in his game on the widescreen TV. He began supporting his team as we laughed, and he continued playing. The atmosphere was of none but friendly; we were chatting, and goodness knows what I told them; nothing but the truth, of course, of being my first time in Beirut and how the people there had impressed me with their hospitality, their kindness and their utmost to show us the best time ever.
I even had a go at playing football on the PlayStation. They all engaged in conversation with me, a fantastic bunch of guys, but Sacha seemed agitated, and shortly after our arrival, everyone but the two of us left the apartment. Now, it was Sacha, and I left in that studio, white walls, white square tiles covering the floor, a flimsy double bed in one corner, a small leather sofa and a folding chair, plus a plain wooden coffee table topped with the packets of two grams of coke! I knew not to indulge in anything but simply pretended to do so and dusted away the evidence of any white powder being left on the table. Hence, Sacha ended up snorting most of the two packs until sunrise, which may have been two or three hours since our arrival, but it seemed like I had endured two to three months, waiting impatiently for the sun to come out and as of his promise, to drop me off at my hotel on his way to work. There was nothing else I could do but stick around, watching Sacha lean onto another line of coke spread on the now dusty-looking coffee table, jumping up and down like a wired chimpanzee around the room. It was entertaining, just like seeing Bruno at work! Honest.
At sunrise, Sacha disappeared in the bathroom where I heard the shower running and came out shortly, changed into a sporty look, as I sat in a corner observing another form of human behaviour! Amazing.
I followed Sacha out of the building into his car, and we drove in silence until he dropped me off.
Frankly, all I could see was a man with so much potential as there definitely was a way about him, wasting his life away, jumping up and down till morning, paranoid, then dropping me off to my destination and disappearing into thin air. I chose not to answer his call or text after that episode. But little did I know, this was not the very end of Sacha.
The trip to Beirut was one next to none. Needless to say, if it was not for Aisha and her proposal to show me this city at its best, I would certainly not be here, reminiscing on those tenacious memories and, through her, meeting Sabella and Sohi on that same trip in the mountains of Fakhra which led to another 24 hours of unexpected fun, as came next ...
One midday, Hala, my Girl and I were in our bikinis, wraps and beach bags, getting into our friendly driver's comfy 'big' car to head to Ede Sande, the party beach, one hour from the town centre. But that had to wait for another day, another story! Instead, we instructed the driver in broken English for him to understand:
"Instead, we go to the beach, one hour away, and everything changes. Haha. Now, please take us to the mountains ... Fakhra! You know?"
The driver looked us up and down in our bikinis with the friendliest of smiles and happily accepted to take the journey of one hour, heading the opposite way: to the mountains instead of the beach. He was entertaining and trustworthy, and he totally understood our humour in life!
Oh! As with everywhere else in the world, once or twice, we did have a run with one arrogant taxi driver in Beirut, whom Hala and I were happy to kill, thinking he could treacherously cheat us with a ridiculous fare.
Listen, 'Everything happens Everywhere'!
Once in Fakhra, we spent a pleasant afternoon by the large outdoor pool in the ski resort hotel in the mountains of Lebanon in July. Magical. We swam, sunbathed, ate and as night was falling, Sohi managed to get us a great deal on a suite in the hotel for sis, my Girl and I to stay the night. That evening, we all entered a restaurant, similar to a posh glasshouse nursery with plants everywhere, close to the hotel, set amongst some ruins, filled with fancy people. Aisha, Sabella and Sohi were dressed up, but we were still in our bikinis and matching wraps! At least they were fitting, right? We simply smiled through the stare from the tables around us and went on to have another fantabulous Lebanese meal. Yummy.
The following day, we were driven to a restaurant, where lunch was served on two long tables set literally in the sea, on the stones on the beach, with our feet standing in the water, tickled by the small waves. And we returned to our hotel to change for another night to begin later that evening. But that was fine; nothing starts early in Beirut.
Now, to go back to Sacha, listen to this...
Three or four years must have passed since my trip to Lebanon. At that time, I was visiting Dubai with my brother Soltan when one of his friends mentioned the opening of the reputable nightclub 'Crystal,' which we had been to in Beirut years before. The atmosphere in Crystal was one of Beirut itself; the lights would go on strong on stages when magnums of champagne came pouring in, I presume for people to be able to show off what they were wearing and check out properly who was there. Later through the night, the club began emptying from its total clientele capacity. I recall talking to several people from Italy, Germany, etc, at the following tables who, without exception, mentioned being in Dubai for two to three years to make a quick buck and head out. Some may have done so, but most seemed to stay on. Dubai may not be one of my favourite destinations, but to many, it is a relatively safe environment, especially for bringing up families, comparatively drug-free and duty-free!
Back again to the Crystal Club... While dancing on the seat, a guy from the following table made a gesture towards me as though he wanted a word, so I approached my friendly smile in listening:
"Weren't you in Beirut some years ago? I met you there."
I looked at the guy in a different light and tried to replace him. His face? His smile? Nope.
My reply was: "I think you've got the wrong person. I don't remember meeting you."
So he continued: "You live in London and went to Beirut on holiday?"
I nodded as a sign of agreement, and then he said, "I met you at a club; we drove to see my friend near a motorway and went back to my flat. You don't remember?"
I thought the guy must be making this up or MUST have me mistaken for someone else, but wow, what a story! So I apologetically smiled and tried to be sympathetic: "Really?! Am I that mad?"
Then, he began thinking deeper; he could not be making up such a story. To my dismay, I suddenly changed my tone and shouted: "Oh My God! Of course, I remember now. It's YOU who put me through that crazy night! But you've changed Sooooo much!"
I was taken aback seeing this man, this character whom I thought I would never meet anywhere in the world again, seriously. And now he was dancing next to me, looking at a picture of health and happiness. He had put on weight, looked respectable and must have had his girlfriend there, so I did not engage in further conversation. Instead, I just sat on the velvet Chesterfield sofa, remembering that long night and truly happy for the man. At the same time, I rolled my eyes up in the air, thinking of myself... 'You're a WILD woman. In the true sense!'
He kept looking my way every now and then, smiling. I must have sunk in the reverie.
Here and now, back in London... What was crazy about the Notting Hill Carnival???
I was once again invited to a country home only one hour away from London. Ernest had again done his marvels of asking a bunch of friends down to spend time in a cottage with a heated swimming pool and endless grounds to walk in, flower beds of a proper British garden in full bloom, aromas of freshness and sweetness carrying through the end of a summer breeze. Having been raised in a boarding school in the UK, I genuinely appreciate and value the British countryside, especially in the hilly parts. The weather was iffy at most, but we did get a few glimpses of the sun. Following Ernest's footsteps on the cover of the heated pool, I attempted to do the same walk, which felt like stepping on a wet moon, dragging my feet out of the water, and coming to the ankle to take the next. I looked back and saw friends' faces lying by the pool on those sunbeds, watching. Then, I opened my arms and decided to fall back in full dress and only a bikini bottom on the wet cover. Bam! I dropped off to everyone's burst of laughter. Kelly, my partner in crime followed suit to what must have looked a wet t-shirt contest. We kept falling backwards and forward onto the damp surface, legs up in the air, like grown-up kids having fun.
My stay in the countryside, which would end after one night on Sunday, kept going till the Monday Bank holiday (Well, I had done a 'true' Carnival the previous year, so there was no need for an immediate repeat). Besides, I was having a bundle of fun, sharing the room with Jill and having our girlie laughs, spending time with the charming Sabrina who constantly kept the oven of the house in use with roast chicken, lamb made with pistachios and dried apricots and vegetables to accompany.
Aaaah! Once again, where would my life be without such... What's the new word I keep using? Oh yeah... FANTABULOUS, loving family and friends?! Nowhere.
To the readers here or anyone in my life, however you judge me, I won't take it at heart, nor personally, not to the slightest. This heart of mine is only meant for loving. And if I feel your good vibe, hop along and let's help make people around us happy. It's not much to ask.
Exceed and Proceed your limits! Live life to the MAX.
There is my 'blood family' and my 'chosen family'; equally impressive.
Hey, don't call me 'bitch', although it makes me smile, I 'know' I'm a lucky girl and making my dreams come true, however big or small, is my 'raison d'etre' (reason to be alive). Fly high and see the world at large as one. Meet the most exciting people life could possibly offer, at its best or, as it happens, sometimes at its worst, for the pages of memory and experience.
It is not the tabloid celebrities I particularly want to meet, the ones who fill up those gossip columns on those colourful pages of magazines, but everyone and anyone who crosses my path; we are all one, all with tales to tell. After all, famous people are just like you and me; they started with dreams and went through their own stories to get there.
During a deep conversation with Charlotte, she expressed her learning in a spiritual session that the celebrities who come to fame young, live the lives most envious and part early, such as the wonderful Whitney Heuston or others with tragic deaths, are apparently only 'new' souls on this earth. So, they make a considerable impact, only to disappear from our lives, but certainly not from our thoughts. They possess beauty, talent, fame, riches, and everything most would only dream about rapidly, only to leave abruptly. My point is, 'we are all ONE'. Allow no one to make a judgement on who you are and what your life's journey is about. That is individual, and we are each on our own path to learn and move on to... 'Greener pastures', you may ask?! Haha.... Well, yeah.
(Unless you read the blog with that heading, you may need help understanding my meaning here; that's fine).
Before I lose you here, let's return to the August Bank Holiday in the UK while having dinner at the Embassy club with Donna on Friday evening...
I recalled a story from my long nights at the party in the liberal capital city of Beirut. Can't wait to go back to all those years ago, the year before their President Hariri was assassinated.
One night, on an outing in a nightclub downtown, my sister Hala and I met a charming, tall, slender character resembling Sacha Baron Cohen with even similar glasses on. I do not recall his name, but to tell the tale, let's call him 'Sacha'. He was charming, fun and friendly. Hala seemed tired of all the non-stop partying since our arrival and decided to return to our hotel for some rest. So, I ended up with this very colourful character in his car, driving through a motorway somewhere out of town, going to some party as he expressed! Again, let me be clear: the man did not for a second give me a reason to feel any kind of threat or discomfort.
We chatted happily; he answered some calls on his mobile, then abruptly left and stopped in a dodgy area under a bridge with dim lighting from the street light shining in the far.
He seemed a little agitated at the time but explained:
"I'm gonna get some coke. Meeting the dealer here. Do you want some?"
It all happened so fast, and although I had no intention of touching the white powder, under the circumstances, I found it appropriate to play along with his game, so I answered:
"Sure. Here's the cash. Get me one, too."
There I was again, inquisitive, getting myself into another bizarre situation.
We waited ten minutes in that dark passage before the dealer appeared at the rolled-down window. Sacha introduced me, and we shook hands across his chest; they spoke in Arabic (which I did not understand a word of), then the dealer offered Sacha to test the goods on some side road outside the city, me thinking 'Fuck! I hope they don't get arrested now. ' But no.
Sacha exchanged money for the goods, and the dealer politely said goodbye and left while we continued driving to a concrete building, obviously by now, well outside the city where there was no question of going back for me; I was at Sacha's mercy. He even joked, and we laughed at my situation... How mad am I?!? True.
We got out of his car parked on the dismal side street of a concrete building; I followed him to the lobby, where Sacha exchanged words of familiarity with the porter, and we went up in the lift. We walked through the corridor of a white wall on one side separated by dark blue apartment doors and sixties-like square frosty glass panels on the other, leading to the darkness outside, with plain white tiles on the floor. It reminded me of a night out in Momo's club with Sis in London, where we ended up in Hackney, me driving, being conducted by some extraordinary character we had met at the end of the night. Now, that's another story. Strange places I have been to!
Towards the end of the corridor, he stopped and rang the bell outside one of those blue doors. We entered a relatively bare, open space of a studio, where apart from the guy who welcomed us in, two guys in their late twenties or perhaps early thirties were sitting on the white tiled floor, playing football on PlayStation. I was introduced and sat on the small, brownish leather sofa, close to where the football player was deep in his game on the widescreen TV. He began supporting his team as we laughed, and he continued playing. The atmosphere was of none but friendly; we were chatting, and goodness knows what I told them; nothing but the truth, of course, of being my first time in Beirut and how the people there had impressed me with their hospitality, their kindness and their utmost to show us the best time ever.
I even had a go at playing football on the PlayStation. They all engaged in conversation with me, a fantastic bunch of guys, but Sacha seemed agitated, and shortly after our arrival, everyone but the two of us left the apartment. Now, it was Sacha, and I left in that studio, white walls, white square tiles covering the floor, a flimsy double bed in one corner, a small leather sofa and a folding chair, plus a plain wooden coffee table topped with the packets of two grams of coke! I knew not to indulge in anything but simply pretended to do so and dusted away the evidence of any white powder being left on the table. Hence, Sacha ended up snorting most of the two packs until sunrise, which may have been two or three hours since our arrival, but it seemed like I had endured two to three months, waiting impatiently for the sun to come out and as of his promise, to drop me off at my hotel on his way to work. There was nothing else I could do but stick around, watching Sacha lean onto another line of coke spread on the now dusty-looking coffee table, jumping up and down like a wired chimpanzee around the room. It was entertaining, just like seeing Bruno at work! Honest.
At sunrise, Sacha disappeared in the bathroom where I heard the shower running and came out shortly, changed into a sporty look, as I sat in a corner observing another form of human behaviour! Amazing.
I followed Sacha out of the building into his car, and we drove in silence until he dropped me off.
Frankly, all I could see was a man with so much potential as there definitely was a way about him, wasting his life away, jumping up and down till morning, paranoid, then dropping me off to my destination and disappearing into thin air. I chose not to answer his call or text after that episode. But little did I know, this was not the very end of Sacha.
The trip to Beirut was one next to none. Needless to say, if it was not for Aisha and her proposal to show me this city at its best, I would certainly not be here, reminiscing on those tenacious memories and, through her, meeting Sabella and Sohi on that same trip in the mountains of Fakhra which led to another 24 hours of unexpected fun, as came next ...
One midday, Hala, my Girl and I were in our bikinis, wraps and beach bags, getting into our friendly driver's comfy 'big' car to head to Ede Sande, the party beach, one hour from the town centre. But that had to wait for another day, another story! Instead, we instructed the driver in broken English for him to understand:
"Instead, we go to the beach, one hour away, and everything changes. Haha. Now, please take us to the mountains ... Fakhra! You know?"
The driver looked us up and down in our bikinis with the friendliest of smiles and happily accepted to take the journey of one hour, heading the opposite way: to the mountains instead of the beach. He was entertaining and trustworthy, and he totally understood our humour in life!
Oh! As with everywhere else in the world, once or twice, we did have a run with one arrogant taxi driver in Beirut, whom Hala and I were happy to kill, thinking he could treacherously cheat us with a ridiculous fare.
Listen, 'Everything happens Everywhere'!
Once in Fakhra, we spent a pleasant afternoon by the large outdoor pool in the ski resort hotel in the mountains of Lebanon in July. Magical. We swam, sunbathed, ate and as night was falling, Sohi managed to get us a great deal on a suite in the hotel for sis, my Girl and I to stay the night. That evening, we all entered a restaurant, similar to a posh glasshouse nursery with plants everywhere, close to the hotel, set amongst some ruins, filled with fancy people. Aisha, Sabella and Sohi were dressed up, but we were still in our bikinis and matching wraps! At least they were fitting, right? We simply smiled through the stare from the tables around us and went on to have another fantabulous Lebanese meal. Yummy.
The following day, we were driven to a restaurant, where lunch was served on two long tables set literally in the sea, on the stones on the beach, with our feet standing in the water, tickled by the small waves. And we returned to our hotel to change for another night to begin later that evening. But that was fine; nothing starts early in Beirut.
Now, to go back to Sacha, listen to this...
Three or four years must have passed since my trip to Lebanon. At that time, I was visiting Dubai with my brother Soltan when one of his friends mentioned the opening of the reputable nightclub 'Crystal,' which we had been to in Beirut years before. The atmosphere in Crystal was one of Beirut itself; the lights would go on strong on stages when magnums of champagne came pouring in, I presume for people to be able to show off what they were wearing and check out properly who was there. Later through the night, the club began emptying from its total clientele capacity. I recall talking to several people from Italy, Germany, etc, at the following tables who, without exception, mentioned being in Dubai for two to three years to make a quick buck and head out. Some may have done so, but most seemed to stay on. Dubai may not be one of my favourite destinations, but to many, it is a relatively safe environment, especially for bringing up families, comparatively drug-free and duty-free!
Back again to the Crystal Club... While dancing on the seat, a guy from the following table made a gesture towards me as though he wanted a word, so I approached my friendly smile in listening:
"Weren't you in Beirut some years ago? I met you there."
I looked at the guy in a different light and tried to replace him. His face? His smile? Nope.
My reply was: "I think you've got the wrong person. I don't remember meeting you."
So he continued: "You live in London and went to Beirut on holiday?"
I nodded as a sign of agreement, and then he said, "I met you at a club; we drove to see my friend near a motorway and went back to my flat. You don't remember?"
I thought the guy must be making this up or MUST have me mistaken for someone else, but wow, what a story! So I apologetically smiled and tried to be sympathetic: "Really?! Am I that mad?"
Then, he began thinking deeper; he could not be making up such a story. To my dismay, I suddenly changed my tone and shouted: "Oh My God! Of course, I remember now. It's YOU who put me through that crazy night! But you've changed Sooooo much!"
I was taken aback seeing this man, this character whom I thought I would never meet anywhere in the world again, seriously. And now he was dancing next to me, looking at a picture of health and happiness. He had put on weight, looked respectable and must have had his girlfriend there, so I did not engage in further conversation. Instead, I just sat on the velvet Chesterfield sofa, remembering that long night and truly happy for the man. At the same time, I rolled my eyes up in the air, thinking of myself... 'You're a WILD woman. In the true sense!'
He kept looking my way every now and then, smiling. I must have sunk in the reverie.
Here and now, back in London... What was crazy about the Notting Hill Carnival???
I was once again invited to a country home only one hour away from London. Ernest had again done his marvels of asking a bunch of friends down to spend time in a cottage with a heated swimming pool and endless grounds to walk in, flower beds of a proper British garden in full bloom, aromas of freshness and sweetness carrying through the end of a summer breeze. Having been raised in a boarding school in the UK, I genuinely appreciate and value the British countryside, especially in the hilly parts. The weather was iffy at most, but we did get a few glimpses of the sun. Following Ernest's footsteps on the cover of the heated pool, I attempted to do the same walk, which felt like stepping on a wet moon, dragging my feet out of the water, and coming to the ankle to take the next. I looked back and saw friends' faces lying by the pool on those sunbeds, watching. Then, I opened my arms and decided to fall back in full dress and only a bikini bottom on the wet cover. Bam! I dropped off to everyone's burst of laughter. Kelly, my partner in crime followed suit to what must have looked a wet t-shirt contest. We kept falling backwards and forward onto the damp surface, legs up in the air, like grown-up kids having fun.
My stay in the countryside, which would end after one night on Sunday, kept going till the Monday Bank holiday (Well, I had done a 'true' Carnival the previous year, so there was no need for an immediate repeat). Besides, I was having a bundle of fun, sharing the room with Jill and having our girlie laughs, spending time with the charming Sabrina who constantly kept the oven of the house in use with roast chicken, lamb made with pistachios and dried apricots and vegetables to accompany.
Aaaah! Once again, where would my life be without such... What's the new word I keep using? Oh yeah... FANTABULOUS, loving family and friends?! Nowhere.
To the readers here or anyone in my life, however you judge me, I won't take it at heart, nor personally, not to the slightest. This heart of mine is only meant for loving. And if I feel your good vibe, hop along and let's help make people around us happy. It's not much to ask.
Exceed and Proceed your limits! Live life to the MAX.
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