From Beirut to Paris, re­cent ter­ror­ist at­tacks have kept the world on the edge of a univer­sal break­down due to war­ring spir­i­tual, po­lit­i­cal and so­cio-cul­tural forces.

And with the Tur­key-rus­sia jet down­ing making head­lines world­wide, it did not take long for hash­tag-in­fused World War III sce­nar­ios to flood the In­ter­net.

Mean­while, the plan­e­tary tur­moil did not seem to af­fect the Le­banese pop­u­la­tion as some cit­i­zens gath­ered to make the world’s long­est man’oushe while oth­ers were busy hav­ing aes­thetic de­bates over Christ­mas dec­o­ra­tion, in a strik­ing pan­de­mo­nium of na­tional pri­or­i­ties. “We’re go­ing nowhere.” I’ve heard this line count­less times (and prob­a­bly used it count­less times in the course of weather talk-type con­ver­sa­tions about cur­rent world events) over the past few weeks but was never par­tic­u­larly tempted to delve into its sub­tleties, un­til I fi­nally ac­knowl­edged to be liv­ing in a coun­try de­prived of con­crete des­ti­na­tions. A coun­try emp­tied of all sub­stance, yet ter­ri­fied of empti­ness.

And since most of us Le­banese be­lieve to be go­ing some­where but some­how al­ways end up in the mid­dle of nowhere, why not try to re­verse the tra­jec­tory this time by making nowhere our next stop, lit­er­ally?

Go­ing nowhere is not bad for you. I see it as more of an ad­ven­ture. You never know what nowhere will turn out to be. Nowhere has no limit. Go­ing nowhere is free­dom in its sim­plest form. And yet our care­fully boxed col­lec­tive mind strug­gles to em­brace the am­ple­ness of this free­dom.

So to­day, I'm go­ing nowhere. Might ac­tu­ally stay there for a while. And to ev­ery­one ask­ing why I'm go­ing nowhere, I say: go nowhere with me.

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