I started the New Year in my hometown more than 2000 miles away from my ‘homecity’, Beirut. (Not my place of birth, but my place of giving birth and the only city I’ve ever known.)

I was with my family, and all 5 of us (a 2 year old, 2 pensioners and 2 tired parents) were ready for bed well before midnight so we decided to celebrate on Beirut time instead, popping the spumante cork 2 hours early. Cheating? Maybe, but as I have resolved that 2015 will be a year of no regrets, especially those that come from putting things off, it felt right to start the year slightly ahead.

I woke briefly at the official midnight to hear faint fireworks, only a distant echo of what they would have been in Beirut, where the city would have exploded into sound,  its stars ricocheting off the the sky-scrapers.

Or perhaps what I heard was the Beirut fireworks after all, travelling only slightly slower than the speed of sound to wish me good night, to say Happy New Year.



New York


New for new beginnings, new for New Year, new for this new project and new for New York. On my free day this week I attempted to search for the new in New York, but found mostly the old in the form of a public school transformed into a modern art museum (MoMA PS1). Up the old iron stairways separated for boys and girls, where the the wall paints were crumbling, to the brick walled roof top. Standing from the past looking into the present. The contrast between new and old has never been clearer, yet somehow the line is also blurry. I wonder how much change the rooftop has witness over its hundred years history, with the Manhattan skyline renewing itself every second. New is temporary, new is creation, new is art. Yet new is also a constant, a state of perpetual change, of reinvention, of chasing dreams.