I always believed that passions should be the backbone of professional life…The best way to test a theory is by trying it on  myself…let’s see how that goes:

-But why would I undergo this stripping process, I ask myself. I always claim being satisfied with my life, the job, the location, and all that revolves around those.

The truth is, I am not.

A mere temporary feeling has crystallized into a certainty lately, on a gorgeous day at the beach, one of many I spent this week at the mercy of the searing Cyprus sun. Things get to become clearer at the beach. Everything is crisp, well defined as a summer day’s color scheme.

I’m definitely not satisfied with my job. It’s regressing. Fatal to brain cells. Jolting to nerves. Painful to the neck, shoulders (excellent chairs) and knees (very smart desk and network wiring set up), flu inducing all year long (smart, adjustable air conditioning system).

My work colleagues are no different than people in any other work place, notably an international office, where people from different walks of life cross paths to produce an effort, tripled due to the genius management, and the extra lengths it takes to bridge cultural gaps. Some are vicious, others are decrepit, most are hypocrites, and a handful of them are pure sweetness.

That has never been a problem for me. I’ve dealt with the vile and vicious. I also worked in both worlds, east and west, to manage in both. Worked and lived with a lot of westerners and the time of surprise regarding their general opinions, culture and lifestyles is long gone. Decided some years ago to rediscover my own background and culture too. However, I am kind of caught in the middle. But that, I will go over later.

Anyway, back to our issue…what do I want to do? Thinking out of the box here, let me list what I like and then attempt to make a career perspective. Think satisfaction.

I love flavors, scents, aromas, nuances of those. My nose (and oh what a nose..pffff), tongue (ehem, that too, can touch tip of nose, hehe), palate, and relatively sharp distinction capacities seem to be well adjusted to dissect a taste. My nostrils tend to suck in, channel and process scents and smells. Particular brain drawers store them. My smell/taste memory seems to be sharp, and I can sometimes detect people’s smells on objects and in the air. Especially those that I spend enough time sniffing ;))

With that, I could be a gourmet chef, doing my thing on some cooking channel, refined restaurant, or an explosive detecting dog, or a perfume maker...however, that needs study and expertise, to add up to the olfactory talent. That is not currently on my to-do list. Besides, having a subtle palate doesn’t automatically come with the thrill for cooking. Concocting meals is an activity I’ve given up due to many prior unfortunate tear-inducing encounters with onions. And the obnoxious burden of dishwashing.

I have a good ear, a strong voice, and a capacity to control it. Don’t get me wrong, am not boasting, it’s just something I was born with. I haven’t had the opportunity to perfect it, fuel it with academic knowledge. You see, in my background growing up, singing is nothing more than a hobby to practice at home, in the shower, or while stirring a stew pot. Not in any way a path to earn a living. All matters of arts were frowned upon, unless they were a side dish which didn’t cost dough. I was expected to become a doctor, or at least a lab worker, both of which I shunned big time. Once, only once, the father asked whether fine arts were on my mind and then, only then, did the mother interfere with a high-pitched “are you out of your mind?”, sharp enough to sever the thought from his brain. Negotiations were ongoing as I passed entrance test after entrance test, was admitted at AUB for a nutrition or a chemistry major (vetoed by the regents - shuuu, serving food for hospital patients? Never!), and for BUC for whatever I applied for (vetoed too - too expensive), and finally passed the entrance competition for the school of translators at USJ. I later discovered (after 2 months!) that I nailed first rank and got some kind of prize from my school for the graduates who rank first at university entrance tests.

I excelled at the test without any effort as I had already been perfecting my Arabic and English through school. French came third as I didn’t like it. It’s nasal. Guttural. Too picky, snobbish. The French speak, as if they have a smell of shit up their nostrils. Some behave as such too. Anyway, Arabic and English were privileged, still are till this moment.

Thus, languages was my landing field. A fair compromise.

Yiiii, back to our point, music and singing are my most sincere passions. The ones that have stuck with me throughout every twist in my life. Unfortunately, most young people have no real guidance to lead them into a career that fits them, or that they can fit into, in time for their higher education. And I got to realize it too late for me to flow into that world, or make it mine. It was kept within the precinct of my privacy. Or when I’m drunk. For what does the bee do when drunk? Sing her heart out just for kicks.

But then again, what about writing? Writing is blackening pages with the ink of one’s soul. A stripping, harsh, painful dissection of things within and without. An act of complete self absorption, withdrawal, and internal scrutiny. A task usually ending in a brooding, depressive, and anxious mood. But it’s also a relieving, sometimes exhilarating, often much needed purge. Add to that my usual impatience to get rid of a freshly slit piece. Naaah, I don’t need this much tension. This should stay a hobby.

I worked for an NGO as a communications officer, based on my tri-lingual skills, some journalistic experience, and a very good ability to mould language. And boy the tricky situations I was challenged with: to communicate to a watchful, skeptical, doubtful, sometimes ruthless, culturally-torn Arab public. Despite the excruciating effort that task sucked out of me, it was a boosting challenge. To explain, communicate in written, spoken, even in body language and color codes a certain message. To chisel words, sentences, look up terms, and synonyms to express exactly the intended meaning. To adapt concepts, translate and insert cultural perceptions to serve an objective. That was some of the most refreshing, sometimes rewarding acts of production I got to perform.

What I’ve been looking for at the end is production, creation. To elaborate something tangible, that can be measured, evaluated and valued, or not. Take it and build on it for a further project. I found satisfaction in that. Strategizing. Playing fields, domino effects, implementation, tactics and tools. Studying and monitoring media structures, intricate political mechanics, and trends. Then watching a plan unfold, each of its components sliding accurately into place, or going wrong to different degrees…but yielding something.

Aaaah, the emotions that came along the entire process. Disappointment, deception, disillusionment, learning, challenge, pride, stress, relief, accomplishment, and many more…barely any boredom, as there’s little free time.

That was a downside.

In addition to that, low salaries, extremely overloaded schedules, tension and stress end up taking their toll, especially when working within an environment such as the ever-explosive Lebanese sphere, where the stakes are scarcely environmental, but highly political, cultural, and often involving security risks.

One might ask, is that enough to let go of something that enticing…for what I currently do. Mind you, my job is done with a minimal effort, but provides security, something I lacked for a long time. And not to sound too gloomy, it’s a rich pool of information, and a great character building experience. Pffffffffff, hehehe

An added value is this island, Cyprus, I’m growing fond of it, getting accustomed to its rythms, that seem to beat in synchrony with my pulse as seasons pass by. Clearly I am one to get attached to places.

Thus the question pounds with its mark again…what next? Is it that Time, to roll. Until when is this wandering to keep recurring? Where will I end up easing into a comfortable existence (er, Amsterdam…Istanbul?). Will I ever? Those and other pressing questions have been squatting in my mind lately.

And then again, back to our business…what do I really like?

Until those very deep, serious issues pick their answers off trees or under unturned stones, I say a pint of strawberry cheesecake Haagen Dazs ice cream will do!