Eid is often seen as a time of family, tradition, and celebration.
But the truth is, Eid looks different for everyone.
Growing up in Lebanon, my Eid was filled with new clothes, Eidiyyi, and the joy of the Karmes… but also the quiet absence of my grandparents, who lived abroad. Our connection came through cassette tapes and distant voices that carried love across borders.
From childhood in Lebanon to life in the diaspora, Eid became more than a holiday.
It became a story of distance, memory, and love that never fades.
Hop on… allow me to take you on a ride. The road from Sour to Bint Jbeil is a story in itself. Sour, a semi-island kissed by the Mediterranean, starts the journey with its flat terrain, gradually giving way to the legendary hills of Jabal Amel. The climb is more than just a change in elevation—it’s a transition into a world where roots run deep and every turn whispers of history. After crossing a massive valley, the city of Tibnin greets you like an old friend, with its vivid mini forest and welcoming charm. Passing through Tibnin means one thing: Bint Jbeil is just minutes away. And then, as the excitement builds, you see him—the farmer selling wild cucumbers, or...
Every day, I wake up with a simple intention: to live as if today is the last day of my life. But life, with all its beauty, often collides with an unimaginable darkness. In the blink of an eye, the home I grew up in, filled with memories of love, laughter, and sunsets, is gone—reduced to rubble by forces that claim morality. This is a story of enduring loss, relentless resilience, and the quiet strength we carry as we rise again. As the world around us shifts, we remain—rooted, like the ancient cedars of Lebanon.
What is something that felt so close yet so far away during your childhood? For me, it was tea. In my family, drinking tea was ayb—off-limits for children, a privilege reserved for adults. It wasn’t just a drink; it was a symbol of being grown-up, a secret ritual I longed to be part of. I can still remember the delicate Turkish cups, intricately lined with gold, paired with maamoul or petit four, making tea seem like a dream for us kids. The day finally came when I was asked, "Do you want tea?"—but a single glance from my mother silently said, "Nope. Ayb." Years later, tea is no longer forbidden. It’s become a symbol of love and connection in my...
