[Student Profile]
[Prompt & Essay]
Why Tufts:
I hope to take advantage of Tufts renown International Relations program. I am especially interested in learning from Professor Leila Fawaz. I am fascinated by her interest on the impact the fall of the Ottoman Empire and World War had on the Middle East. Growing up with a Syrian best friend I have noticed a great amount of similarities amongst our cultures and
tendencies, I have always wondered what caused the similarities between these two, and other cultures. In addition, the class of Civilizations of the Nile and the Near East interests me. I am really interested in learning about the contributions of ancient Arab civilizations, along with learning about the society, and the culture. I also hope to take advantage of the “MERG”
program, I hope to use this program to travel to a different Middle Eastern country and compare and contrast the societies, political states, and the cultures.
It’s cool to love learning. What excites your intellectual curiosity?*
When I was younger I lived on the same street with a lot of other Lebanese-Americans, I called it “Little Lebanon”. Walking down the street I would be able to smell my uncle grilling chicken and eggplant in the backyard with Fairuz playing in the stereo. If I continue walking for another block I would find the mouthwatering aroma of IHOP and the irresistible pull from Toy’s R Us. I would grow up listening to Arabic news on an event, then seeing the completely different American perspective on the same exact event. Having these two juxtaposing cultures adjacent to each other boosted my curiosity about my culture, other cultures, and the history of them. I would usually be left asking what caused such differences in these perspectives? Why were these societies so different, yet both attempted to incorporate aspects of the other in
their own culture?
It was the first time I saw a dead body. It was my childhood friend. The one I spent my summer nights in Lebanon with, the one I called first for anything. My most loyal friend. The figure in the open casket was not him. My friend was always smiling but lying there, the body’s face was serious. The body looked so tranquil, yet my friend was the loudest kid I knew. My first funeral was for my friend who had taken his own life.
After the funeral, everyone who knew him showed up at his house to support his parents and sister. I was touched by the show of support. However, the next day, the same people were gossiping about Fadi, his family, and why he had taken his life. The worst accusation was that he committed suicide because his mom had an affair. They clearly did not care about supporting Fadi’s family, and I think that fact hurt almost as much as him passing. This was when I first realized being Lebanese isn’t a full blessing.
I grew up with expat privilege. Being the son of Lebanese immigrants, I got to enjoy the beauty of my culture. I had my community, the food, the culture, and my beautiful country. To me, there was nothing bad about being Lebanese.
Though I could barely speak Arabic, the kids would invite me everywhere so that I never felt left out. Anyone was welcome in anyone’s house, regardless of age. That was the Lebanese hospitality I knew so well. I thought it applied to everyone, especially since it applied to me, the expat who could barely speak Arabic. While this was my common belief for the longest time, I was wrong. Every year I return to Lebanon, I see more Syrian refugees on the streets and I witness more hostility towards them than the year before.
I will never forget the day when I saw a refugee sleeping on the street. His bones were visible through his skin. My mom stopped to give him money and tried to get him some food. Instead of helping her, my aunt pulled her back. “These people are everywhere, this one person won’t make a difference”. I was shocked. How could she say this? There was a man who was starving in front of her and covered in dirt and ripped old clothes, but not only did she reject helping him, she also tried to convince others to do the same. Lebanese hospitality did not apply to everyone after all.
In the summer of 2020, I had plans to visit Beirut. While COVID-19 robbed me of that experience, it saved me from one of the largest explosions in history. It left me in Boston, interpreting the damage from my phone and my imagination, which were both kinder than the harsh reality of Beirut.
I knew I needed to help. Lebanon had been so good to me my whole life, giving me an identity and a people to connect myself with. I could not turn a shoulder. My sisters and I decided to sell bracelets for a fundraiser.We raised over $52,000, yet it still did not feel like enough. I would never understand what they went through nor did I physically help to rebuild the city.
Even though being Lebanese may seem like a curse, to me it is one of the greatest blessings I could have had. Being Lebanese brought me my faith, my community, a different culture, a beautiful country that I can visit, and so much more than I could explain. I am forever grateful to be Lebanese. I know that being Lebanese does not mean that I negate mental health issues, being Lebanese means I help all those around me and treat them with the hospitality and love that I expect them to treat me with.