At the moment one of your favourite things to ask is: What’s this made of?
Beirut is turning you into a material girl: wood, plastic, metal, cloth- of which wood is your favourite- interesting since there are so few real life trees in the city. Despite this, you are constantly looking (or listening) out for it as I discovered the other day.
We were in our friends’ car on the way home from a birthday lunch on a public holiday, discussing the traffic, as you do in Lebanon (every destination has two journey lengths, depending on the time of day and amount of traffic on the road).
‘It’s not too bad so far… touch wood!’ I said, halfheartedly looking round the car for something wooden to touch before giving up.
A few minutes later you piped up with ‘Where’s the wood that mama touched?’
How do I explain that one? When, if ever, are we old enough for superstitions?
And how do I respond when you ask ‘What’s this made of?’ pointing to yourself.
So far the best answer I have offered you is ‘lots of things’ , but soon, I will tell you about the Buddhist idea that we are all made of the same wonders as wood, the same elements as the earth, the same stuff as the stars.