"Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, lived in a castle surrounded by a moat and constantly under the watch of numerous guards. Dionysius, who was always worried, surrounded himself with courtiers whose job was to flatter and reassure him. Among them, Damocles, the king of the goldsmiths, incessantly praised his master for the fortune of being the tyrant of Syracuse. Annoyed, Dionysius offered him the chance to take his place for a day. In the middle of the feast, Damocles looked up and noticed a sword hanging above him, held only by a single horsehair. This is why, since the 19th century, the term 'Sword of Damocles' has been used to describe a particularly dangerous or distressing situation."
In our little world in Lebanon, where tragedy is as familiar as the neighbor we greet daily, the Sword of Damocles, feared by the rest of the world, is just another piece of our scenery. It's like an old piece of furniture in the living room, so blended into our environment that it almost fades from our notice. While the rest of the world shudders at the thought of this menacing sword, we in Lebanon, a group of enduring spirits, have learned to coexist with it. We sidestep it, almost ignore it, turning a formidable threat into just another mundane aspect of our daily lives.
From the moment of our birth, the Sword of Damocles hangs over us, a constant reminder that life here isn’t a calm stream, but a raging torrent that sweeps away everything, sometimes even common sense. However, we Lebanese have honed the art of navigating these choppy waters, gracefully sidestepping challenges like ballet dancers in the heart of a tempest.
Winter, with its unyielding chill, has become a partner in our struggle. It watches, bemused, as we strive to keep warm, playfully mocking the layers upon layers we wear, making us look like ambulatory onions. On the streets, the biting cold nips at our cheeks, a reminder that even the elements join forces to test our stamina.
But we Lebanese have a secret weapon: our razor-sharp humor. In the face of adversity, we counter with this finely sharpened tool. When the Sword of Damocles looms overhead, ready to fall, we meet it with a grin: "Oh, dropping now? Hold on, I’m late for my hairdresser. Can you come back later?"
In true Lebanese fashion, we chose to take the reins of this infamous sword. With a sly grin, we transformed this emblem of uncertain fate into a commonplace household item. "Intimidation is your goal? Then serve as our coat hanger!" And so, the Sword of Damocles was relegated to a mere peg for our coats and scarves.
This seeming lightness belies a core of steely resilience. Each joke conceals a starker reality: we have learned to dance in the shadow of threats and to smile in the face of peril. Our endless winter has become a training ground, teaching us to spar with shadows and flirt with danger.
"Hide that Sword of Damocles that we shall not see!" But not only have we seen it, we have also conquered and repurposed it into a throne on which we sit, rulers of our destiny. In a display of ingenuity worthy of the greatest magicians, we’ve turned our deepest fear into a symbol of victory.
So, in the chill of winter, under the looming sword, we advance with smiles on our faces. We handle the challenges of life in Lebanon as if we were stars in a circus, demonstrating daily that our spirits are impervious to both cold and fear.
Beneath the wintry sky, in our theater of the absurd, we play our roles with unparalleled skill, showing that even against the grimmest threats, a Lebanese will always find a way to smile, to resist, and most importantly, to live fully. Not even scared!
In our little world in Lebanon, where tragedy is as familiar as the neighbor we greet daily, the Sword of Damocles, feared by the rest of the world, is just another piece of our scenery. It's like an old piece of furniture in the living room, so blended into our environment that it almost fades from our notice. While the rest of the world shudders at the thought of this menacing sword, we in Lebanon, a group of enduring spirits, have learned to coexist with it. We sidestep it, almost ignore it, turning a formidable threat into just another mundane aspect of our daily lives.
From the moment of our birth, the Sword of Damocles hangs over us, a constant reminder that life here isn’t a calm stream, but a raging torrent that sweeps away everything, sometimes even common sense. However, we Lebanese have honed the art of navigating these choppy waters, gracefully sidestepping challenges like ballet dancers in the heart of a tempest.
Winter, with its unyielding chill, has become a partner in our struggle. It watches, bemused, as we strive to keep warm, playfully mocking the layers upon layers we wear, making us look like ambulatory onions. On the streets, the biting cold nips at our cheeks, a reminder that even the elements join forces to test our stamina.
But we Lebanese have a secret weapon: our razor-sharp humor. In the face of adversity, we counter with this finely sharpened tool. When the Sword of Damocles looms overhead, ready to fall, we meet it with a grin: "Oh, dropping now? Hold on, I’m late for my hairdresser. Can you come back later?"
In true Lebanese fashion, we chose to take the reins of this infamous sword. With a sly grin, we transformed this emblem of uncertain fate into a commonplace household item. "Intimidation is your goal? Then serve as our coat hanger!" And so, the Sword of Damocles was relegated to a mere peg for our coats and scarves.
This seeming lightness belies a core of steely resilience. Each joke conceals a starker reality: we have learned to dance in the shadow of threats and to smile in the face of peril. Our endless winter has become a training ground, teaching us to spar with shadows and flirt with danger.
"Hide that Sword of Damocles that we shall not see!" But not only have we seen it, we have also conquered and repurposed it into a throne on which we sit, rulers of our destiny. In a display of ingenuity worthy of the greatest magicians, we’ve turned our deepest fear into a symbol of victory.
So, in the chill of winter, under the looming sword, we advance with smiles on our faces. We handle the challenges of life in Lebanon as if we were stars in a circus, demonstrating daily that our spirits are impervious to both cold and fear.
Beneath the wintry sky, in our theater of the absurd, we play our roles with unparalleled skill, showing that even against the grimmest threats, a Lebanese will always find a way to smile, to resist, and most importantly, to live fully. Not even scared!
This Is Beirut
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