Status Updates From La mujer de papel

A human face to Beirut, Lebanon: sharing the experience of a woman, living her entire life there, experiencing its constant wars and oppressions. Moments of beauty and appreciation: her strength to fight for her right to live alone, to work in a bookshop, to exist in a quiet way she enjoyed, and others interpreted as selfish. Lots of heartbreak, though, for the sheer amount of suffering. Friendships at end uplifts.

Time for Lebanon!

Nothing is working. Nothing in my life is working.
Giants of literature, philosophy, and the arts have influenced my life, but what have I done with this life? I remain a speck in a tumultuous universe that has little concern for me. I am no more than dust, a mote—dust to dust. I am a blade of grass upon which the stormtrooper’s boot stomps.

Of all the delicious pleasures my body has begun to refuse me, sleep is the most precious, the sacred gift I miss the most. Restful sleep left me its soot. I sleep in fragments, if at all. When I was planning for my later years, I did not expect to spend every night in my darkened bedroom, lids half open, propped up on unfluffable pillows, holding audience with my memories.