Jenny, You have me thinking about my own dynamics...having a very nurturing father and a mother who tuned me out through adolescence. Those memories of my father are so special, and sometimes I feel I've been transplanted from a lush, tropical island to Beirut, having to deal with a culture I don't understand and trying to find a way to survive. My problem was my poor boundaries and inability to give up fantasy island. On the isaldn my mother was able to act in various abusive ways towards my father and get away with it. That doesn't work in Beirut. I am envious of my mother for the freedoms she's had, but I realize underneath she wasn't happy either. And I've been angry at my father for putting up with it, til I realized that he needs to be seen, in part, as the martyr who can handle it all. Maybe I was just caught in the Bermuda triangle...the whole Freud oepidal thing.
Living in Beirut has gotten me sick. I would have done better in another land but chose to stick it out, probably out of fear of change. But over time I have adapted to things here and have been forced to grow up, to figure out how to survive despite days of being parched with thirst. And that's a good feeling. I'm making Beirut work for me, and it's different and interesting. On my best days I am coming alive again. On bad days I'm nostaglic for the island or wonder what another land would be like. I remind myself I am free to leave, and that helps.
