To conclude, allow me to return to something I wrote before the latest Israeli aggression; I�ve written this for my last installation, �A Window to the World�: �Given the right circumstances, the appropriate standpoint (preferable with one�s back against the sea) and the correct angle of vision (preferably looking obliquely), one would have the distinct feeling that all the buildings in Beirut are packed-up and ready to leave; most of them stand on slender columns that would aid them in their journey; their antennas and dish receptors look like fancy hats one might wear on such a voyage; their balconies are empty suitcases and boxes waiting to be filled by the small histories that unfold in every apartment: long hours of anguish and fleeting moments of excitement. At those times Beirut resembles a large horde of escape boats aimlessly fleeing a sinking ship, and it would be the best time to sip a cup of coffee by the sea.�

I want to return to this text to say that I am tired. I am tired of living for the sole purpose of accompanying friends to the airport (or lately to ports of evacuation) in order to bid them goodbye and with them safe journeys. Frankly, I cannot imagine my life far from this place; true, this is the only country I have, but mostly it is here that I learned the meaning of the words �here� and �there�. All my life I�ve been measuring the distance between these two points and testing boundaries. My only solace is the firm knowledge that, even centuries after my death, Beirut will always remain the dim and flickering light that guides all those who are lost in the deserts of the Orient, whether real or imagined. So send us your weak, your marginals, your unwanted, your freaks and monsters. In catastrophic times they shall become kings and queens, from under this cedar tree to the ends of the earth. (by Tony Chakar)

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