The personal bubble is your personal space that surrounds you, it might be physical , emotional or social. The radius of the bubble varies from culture to culture and from person to person. As a person I am a very private being, I do not like my private bubble invaded, I do not like to stand close to other people unless I really really know them, or the other is one heck of a hot girl :P.I do not like people to meddle with my affairs or to be too be curious unless I allow them to be, I have a few people in my life that I can invite completely into the last layer of my bubble, other than that most people have to be on the 2nd or 3rd layer.
There is a big problem with Lebanese society, which is completely incompatible with me, for Lebanese people the personal bubble does not exist, and if you get annoyed by their invasion of your personal bubble they get offended.Thankfully my very very close friends and my family know their limits, but most other Lebanese people do not.
So ladies and gentlemen, my personal bubble is sacred, if you cross it uninvited we will have a problem…
“There is enough hate.” — Kate
If we hate them because some of them are inhuman and kill our children, I am pretty sure they hate us because some of us are inhuman and kill theirs.
An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Mahatma Gandhi.
True, but it does not stop there they continue to fight while killing each others and their own people not realising what the heck they are doing.
It has been like that since before I was born, them and us. no contact, no communication, divided by stupidity.I thought we could be in harmony, hand in hand with a better future. That idea fortified when I came here, I was delusional. No harmony, no brotherly love, no better future. Its all about sperm and myth now.
Waking on Sunday morning, I feel energetic even that I have barely slept 4 hours: I am going for a long day riding and its enough to put a huge smile on my face. I eat my cereals, drink my coffee, take a nice shower, brush my teeth, check my e-mail and that’s where my usual routine stops, I go into the garage wearing only my underwear, open the closet.Thermal base layer, thermal socks, body armour, leathers, gloves, boots and my trusty helmet are all on me.I turn on the ignition, the engine purrs into life sending chills down my spine, almost orgasmic.
I choose a random route, I just have to endure the first half hour until I get out of the city and arrive to the open road.Nothing feels better than the freedom that you feel a motorcycle: maybe its the danger, maybe its the thrill, maybe the skills required to stay upright, I don’t know but I have been obssesed about motorcycles since I was a kid. Lots of people told me not to be crazy, that they are dangerous, but thankfully I didn’t listen to them, or I would be just like every person sitting in a car right now , in their own personal bubbles, isolated from everyone else. They can’t feel the road like I do, smell it, touch it, or they can’t even perceive why would I pick the weirdest looking roads to ride on,small back roads that seem dangerous, but at the end I always end up somewhere amazing, meet lovely people which wouldn’t be possible if I am sitting in that block of metal.
Some car drivers look down at us motorcyclists, they think we are anti-social, agressive, lawless, lack descipline, and just plain dangerous.Though, from time to time, at an intersection I pull next to a driver, and I feel his sad eyes looking at my ride, scanning it, dreaming about it: an unborn biker. He probably always wanted a bike, but other car drivers kept pressuring him, his parents, his friends:”don’t be a motorcyclist, they are bad, just stay with us, just stay with who you belong with, they are different”.He might have surrendered physically, but his mind will always dream about motorcycles and how it would have been, until the day he dies.
You don’t have to ride a motorcycle to be a motorcyclist, listen only to your heart screw conformity, screw everyone else, its your life do what you want.
I thought about becoming a grown up, but then I noticed that grown ups become too childish when they drink alcohol and they call it fun. So instead I decided to have fun all the time.
I have a thing for helping people, when I do that it makes me feel good about myself so in a way I help people for my own good.
On the other hand, the worse feeling in the world for me is busting my ass trying to help someone, working for hours just to make their life easier while doing something, and then not even be acknowledged for all that help.Its a direct kick to the balls.And any man would tell you it fucking hurts!
We middle eastern just love to fight, and if we don’t fight using missiles and cluster bombs we find something else to fight about.
I was just reading some hilarious that some Lebanese union wants to sue Israel for stealing Lebanese food and market it as their own , as their own cuisine.At first glance you would think , yeah! in what right they do that?? we should sue their asses! the argument is that we Lebanese have been cooking these dishes for hundreds of years before even israel existed!
And there’s the fucking problem!! Lebanon is 5 years older than israel!!! Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Palestine have been more or less counted as one unit for thousand of years! the Levant! we have the same food, the same culture, the same habits, and if you really want to dig it up, almost the same language etymology wise.What we cook, is that what all those newly found countries cook! the difference is a bit of extra salt here, a bit less of pepper there, one ingredient more or less just to reflect a certain area, I mean even in Lebanon kebbeh of the north is different than kebbeh of the south! the only truly dish that came 100% from the current lebanese with its current borders is the tabouleh! I am not sure about the baba ghanooj. But humus , falafel, shawarma, sheesh tawoo2 etc. are not a Lebanese invention! its something from the whole area!!!!
But hey at least we make them the best, and no body can deny that!
Today while I was working out at the gym, I was already becoming extremely tired and barely able to lift any weight anymore, so I went to the water fountain to drink some water, and there I see on the mat a guy doing sit-ups like a spring and he had a prosthetic arm: the guy was pretty in shape and I watched him move from machine to machine without skipping a beat and I thought to myself: damn that guy is amazing, he is missing a whole limb and he still can workout faster and better than me, then I thought some more, I wish all lazy bastards who sit on the couch all day, that whine if they walk for 5 mins, take their cars for 1 km distance instead of walking, and haven’t been in a gym since their primary school, could actually see this guy. They would feel much shame.
Kudos to that guy :).