June 16th 2018, Hotel Dieu

I want to remember every moment, every room I lived in - my first Lebanese apartment.

Mirrors and windows leave an infinite opening to the world and the possibilities of what one can be.

Almost every day I read my coffee book. Today I strangely saw a human form in there. An hour later, after setting my mug aside, this man transformed into some sort of Minotaur. Is this a sign of bad omen ?

The eternal fight of the mankind, lost in his thoughts, dominated by his impulses.

June 22nd 2018, Hotel Dieu

I sometimes wonder if I’m trying to take over a place or my own body.

March 2019

After living for a year in the first apartment in Hotel Dieu and losing my job, I now live by my aunt in Mar Mitr. First failure.

November 2019 

After two months in my new position, and my new apartment in Geitawi, the October 2019 Revolution erupts. I lose my job, once again. 

Several months have passed. 

The first lockdown, the second, probably the third. The Lebanese lira continues to plummet. 

I spend my days alone at home. I take online art therapy courses, but there is only one hour of electricity per day, I give up.

Sadaat Street, July 2020 

At the end of July, I move into the sixth apartment, in Hamra. I finally found my own cocoon.

August 04th 2020, Hamra.

Still confined. A few days later, the stores finally reopen.
It was 6pm when my friend and I felt a first - almost funny - quake. After a few seconds later, it is chaos. Glasses exploding, ceiling falling down, people are screaming, lost in the thick white smoke to the rhythm of the deafening alarm. We waited for a second explosion, not knowing where it was going to strike. At that moment, everything happens very quickly, you think about your life, you think about your loved ones. Should we stay or should we go ? People were panicking and running. Once outside, we saw this huge red smoke in the sky. We still didn’t know what was going on. We still didn’t know whether we should run or hide nor how many bombs had fallen on Beirut.

When I got home, I sat for a long time, staring blankly, without saying a word. Then I cried. I cried all the tears in my body. I cried by fear, I cried because I survived, I wept for my murdered people and my destroyed city.

First self-portrait after the blast.


At home I always felt protected. My apartment was a cocoon where no one could ever reach me. After the explosion, I realized that even at home we are no longer safe.

February 2021

Three years spent in Lebanon. Seventh move.

I had this ability to bury deep within myself every feeling that allowed me to love them more and eventually suffer from losing them. Was it better, for me, to lose them from an excess of love or from a few attachments?

Sometimes I no longer know where I come from, sometimes I no longer know where I belong. I feel closer to my thoughts but yet so distant and detached. To the point of sometimes feeling invisible.

Time stops and I feel trapped in it.

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