This visit to Lebanon wasn’t my first, but it was the first time I spent the entire Christmas season there. I must admit, I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about the trip. Just a few days before (up until December 14th, I believe), Israel had been bombing Dahieh, only a few meters away from Hadath, where we would be staying.

It’s fascinating how media narratives shape our reality. People in the Czech Republic or Germany warned me not to go, saying it was too dangerous. Yet, upon arriving in Lebanon, I found the festive atmosphere in full swing, as though nothing had happened. This contrast never ceases to amaze me. Our feelings and perceptions are so deeply influenced by what we consume and our personal experiences. The same situation can evoke completely different reactions from different individuals.

I flew to Beirut alone because the airline flying directly from Berlin didn’t accept Cosma. So she had to fly through Turkey. Anyway, Cosma wasn’t allowed to travel even through Turkey due to missing documents—specifically, a titration test and a medical check-up, both necessary for travel outside the EU. So, I ended up arriving solo. Ironically, I had joked about this exact scenario before the trip, imagining myself spending Christmas alone in Beirut.

CAPTIONS FROM THE DAILY LIFE IN HADATH & Beirut

The first night was great though. Ramona and Eli would pick me up at the airport, thinking that Michel would also arrive as a surprise. I worked, enjoyed delicious food prepared by Ramona, and spent time with her and Eli. We all had dinner together, and I felt an instant connection, as if I had known them for years.

The next day, as we drove through Dahieh to Hadath, I couldn’t help but notice the buildings, some marked by destruction. The sight didn’t evoke strong emotions, more a detached fascination with how precise these drone strikes must have been. I’ve grown somewhat numb to the chaos in the world, able to pass through neighborhoods filled with wreckage without much reaction. When I wanted to take pictures, Eli and Ramona advised against it, warning that it was a Hezbollah-controlled area and unsafe.

The following day, M. arrived with Cassoumi, and we surprised his parents. The journey home in a tiny car was unforgettable. It reminded me how often we get stuck in norms about what’s possible or acceptable.

One thing I admire about him is how he’s unafraid to push boundaries to get what he wants. It can come across as impolite, pushy, or even disrespectful at times, but more often than not, he succeeds. And I find myself drawn to this approach—the willingness to break norms and embrace a “learn-by-doing” mentality. And everything kind of works in the end. He calls it TRUST. 

I’ve realized that That I’m learning this alongside Michel. It’s nice to know, because I sometimes felt that it is rather him who is learning so much and I am not – like showing him that relationships between two people don’t have to follow a fixed structure. They can exist in a beautiful, flowing, and unpredictable way, free from rigid expectations.

Middle East with Cosma

Initially, I was nervous about Cosma traveling with a layover in Istanbul, but I had a feeling everything would work out—it always seems to for M. Watching the bond grow between Ramona and Cosma was heartwarming. Ramona, who had been afraid of dogs her whole life, initially wasn’t thrilled about Cosma’s presence, joking, “I wanted a baby, and you brought a dog.” But as days passed, they became besties (almost). Ramona began talking to Cosma, praising her with “Good girl” and spending more time with her. It was a joy to see M.’s family warm up to Cosma as well. Dogs aren’t a big part of Lebanese culture, but they enjoyed playing with her.

I always feel a deeper connection with Cosma when we’re on a trip together, and this time was no different. I feel such a strong love for her as a being, and it’s so beautiful to watch her personality unfold and to have entire days to spend with her. When I’m in Berlin, I feel like I don’t give her as much attention—or I do, but I’m not fully present because my mind is always somewhere else.

I loved to observe how people react to her:

• Muslim women were generally afraid and tried to avoid her.
• Young boys called her a “tiger.”
• Some people asked if she was dangerous.
• Many admired her tricks, which we should trian more often—it’s so much fun to share it with others.
• Occasionally, people offered her food, like a man at a manoushe shop who gave her a big chunk of bread (which, sadly, we couldn’t let her eat).

Cuddling with her at night in cozy mountain cabins was a highlight. Seeing her interact with other dogs, making friends and melting hearts, was equally precious. She’s incredibly social, and I love that about her.

Festivities

I love to be a guest on festivities or kind of part of someone’s else celebrations (but would forever hate and also never did my own). I also love visiting other people’s homes and families, observing how they interact, what they talk about, and the inevitable family gossip.

Years ago, I used to wish for a big family of my own. Now, I’ve come to terms with how my life is, and I’m even grateful. Thanks to the different relationships I’ve experienced and the deep observations I’ve made of other people’s lives and family dynamics, I’ve found more peace with who I am, how I function in society, and how I’ve always functioned.

There’s always been this pervasive feeling that I don’t belong anywhere. The need to hide things, the inability to invite anyone into my home because I was ashamed or unsure of what I’d find when I walked in—or what they might see. Even when I lived alone, I struggled to invite people over. It was as if this insecurity had been deeply imprinted in me.

I’ve also noticed that my anxiety about not having a serious romantic relationship is so closely tied to not having a supportive “nest”—the kind of unconditional love that someone like M. has. He doesn’t have to be anyone or do anything specific. He knows that when he goes to Lebanon, there will be dozens of people who unconditionally welcome him—and anyone he brings along. He doesn’t carry the burden of shame, fear, or uncertainty. He sees a stable family structure, people living “normal” lives. And even if he finds it uninteresting or “not his vibe,” I often catch myself wishing I had that kind of “normal,” well-rooted family—a family that drinks champagne, eats tons of food, and gossips about relatives.

This visit gave me more clarity than ever about my own journey. It brought me peace in realizing that I’ll probably never be a community-oriented person like that. And even if I tried, it would never feel natural—it’s simply not in my “veins” because I never had the chance to learn it properly.

The “unconditional loving” community has just never been present for me. Yes, there’s love through my partner or my friendships, but those connections always come with some level of “exchange.” Even when it’s called love, it can disappear. For M., though, his family will never leave. It’s a permanent foundation, something I can only observe from the outside.

Social Classes

I’ve been thinking a lot about social classes. How different it is to be debating at Christmas whether to buy salmon or not—or whether to get 800g or 1kg for five people because of the price difference—compared to families who order such an abundance of food that it’s perfectly fine to touch only 10% of it and leave the rest for another time. Of course, I’m aware there’s also a cultural aspect to this. Still, it’s just a fact that we never had such a dinner—not only because of the cost but also because there was no one to really share it with, was interesting to think about. I also think that in general people are more happy to share and enjoy abundance within a group with easy atmosphere as opposed to those sitting around a table with not really knowing what to ssay so that the situation doesn’t escalate.

I also realized that being born into a certain level of wealth likely creates this sense that you have to maintain that same standard throughout your life. I think that can often be limiting—living within a specific “price range” of life and never stepping outside of it to experience the full spectrum.

At the same time, I’ve reflected on how, in Europe, these things don’t seem to matter as much. I’m grateful for how much you can achieve even if you come from a poorer or less privileged background.

Observing all these nuances—like having helpers for cooking or cleaning—has also helped me understand M. better. Especially his approach to food orders, his way of not overthinking purchases, and his “just get what I want” attitude. In the beginning, I felt there was a big gap between us in this regard, but I think I’m slowly getting closer to his mindset.

I try to balance these two sides of myself: one that wants to allow myself to buy things I want, not just things I need, and the other that feels so “Czech” in its protectiveness, always worrying about my financial future.

More Thoughts

I’ve noticed that the pain in my back has become chronic. It often makes me sad to realize how incapable I am of pulling myself together, how scattered my mind feels, and how this inconsistency in everything I do contributes to the pain not improving. The same goes for my leg—I often feel scared of the sciatica, afraid of the possibility that one day I might lose the ability to move because of it.

I’ve also realized I have a very ambivalent relationship with change and many other things. Everything about me seems ambivalent—it always has been. I find myself where I always wanted to be, yet craving the opposite, and vice versa. On one hand, I feel like I constantly need change in my life, but on the other, transitioning feels incredibly hard for me. Transitions are always so difficult. In some areas, I’m just not willing to take risks, and it all seems to come back to one core issue: I don’t think I feel unconditionally safe or “good enough” if I fail.

I love the idea of progress, but at the same time, I don’t care much about societal achievements. I don’t have big goals or feel external pressure, yet I constantly put myself through this internal race, training myself against invisible standards. I compare myself to others, even though I know none of us are on the same journey, and we all have to figure ourselves out in our own way. But then again, some people don’t have to figure it out entirely on their own because they have a strong nest of support by default.

I often want to let go, to stop being so strict with myself. But at the same time, I feel like discipline gives me a sense of purpose and direction. I want to settle in one place and create a routine, but as soon as I have it, I start looking for ways to escape.

Hikes

I’ve noticed that I’m completely fine doing the same things as last year, and in general, I no longer feel the constant need for something new. So, we repeated some of last year’s journeys—like staying at a beautiful, cozy cabin in the mountains, which felt even cozier with Cosma this time. Just like last year, we locked ourselves out of the cabin, and once again, we visited the Cedar Forest. This time, though, we had Cosma with us and her new friend, who clearly wanted to make love to her. I don’t think he’s ever run that much in his life—he looked completely exhausted after the loop we did.

We also visited Horsh Ehden nature reserve, where I stumbled upon a Czech and Slovak book left behind by diplomats who had visited in the summer, apparently. I got coffee for free and ended up drinking three cups, immediately feeling the dopamine rush from the caffeine.

We ate manoushe at the same place as last year, though the place had been renovated and didn’t feel as cute or local as before.

Bekaa Valley

This hike was a short one, but it gave us a glimpse of the snow and the stunning valley leading to Baalbek—a town I really wanted to visit but was apparently too dangerous because of the risk of bombing from Israel and the presence of Hezbollah in the area.

Shouf

We did two hikes there. The first one was very cold, up in the reserve, while the second one, on the last day, took us through houses and rocks. That second hike might have been my favorite—a mix of seeing people, homes, protected animals, and the beautiful colors of the rocks. We came back at night, which reminded me of how most of our hikes go: spending the whole day being super relaxed and then rushing through the last 10 kilometers to arrive after dark.

It made me think of Iceland, where we were always the last ones on the trail. But being last meant we got to experience nature all to ourselves—just like being the first ones on a trail in the morning. It’s all about perspective. Society often values being an early bird, as if doing something in the morning is inherently more meaningful than doing it later in the day, even if you get the same amount of sleep and do the exact same activity. It’s funny how that works.

 

Captured on the road

Culture

We attended a choir concert with Ramona and Michel, and all of us were bored. The singing felt empty and dry, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much a singer’s face and expression impact the overall experience. Still, it was nice to be in the church and notice we weren’t the only ones bored—I loved seeing a woman in front of us playing mobile games to pass the time.

Metro Medina

Just like last year, the show at Metro Medina was amazing. This time, it had an Egyptian theme. We went with Ralph and had a lot of fun. I even got a lamp as a souvenir (which I’m so grateful for—it’s so pretty! Just a piece of plastic, but it made me happy).

VILLAGES 

During the time in Lebanon and our journey, we passed by many cute villages. There is something truly special on the calmness of these places. 

Aside from all this, I really enjoyed walks around Hadath, visiting the shopping center, eating so much meat it almost felt inappropriate, taking random photographs, seeing M.’s high school, laughing with Ramona, and watching her enjoy herself with prosecco and chips. We grilled kebbeh on the stove, drank Nescafe 2-in-1, savored daily cups of powdered hot chocolate, wore my merino t-shirts without a care for my body, indulged in cookies, and noticed Marsharbil—the saint of the Middle East—everywhere we went.

There would be a lot more to write but this is what I can pack into a few hours of waiting on the Istanbul airport for my delayed flight.