Starting Over: Embracing Change After a Decade in London
From London Life to Mom’s Rules—An Unexpected Plot Twist
Well, well, well. If it isn't me, back in your inbox, dusting off my keyboard after what can only be described as the most tumultuous rollercoaster ride since someone first had the bright idea to strap wheels to a wooden track and call it entertainment. I know it's been a while. I had every intention of keeping The Ghannouj Gazette running like a well-oiled machine, and I had planned my 2025 down to the last scented candle in true Type A fashion. But if life has taught me anything recently, plans are about as sturdy as a soggy biscuit.
For the past decade, London has been my home. It's where I built my career, my friendships, and my sense of self. I imagined spending many more years there, growing Ghannouj's Table, expanding the candle business, and diving into whatever new projects my restless creativity concocted. The plan was solid, sensible, and utterly irrelevant.
Because despite living in the UK for ten years, despite submitting every piece of documentation under the sun (twice), my Indefinite Leave to Remain application was rejected on technicalities. Bureaucratic red tape is the sort that tangles you up so tightly you forget which way you are up. And so, with ten days' notice, I had to pack up a decade of my life, ship it off, break my lease, and leave behind the city that had shaped me.
Now, there are two ways to handle something like this. One option is to sit and lament, shake my fist at the sky, and curse the randomness of visa policies that allow some through and keep others out. I could fill pages with righteous anger about the lottery of passports and how being from a developing country adds an extra layer of uncertainty to everything. And believe me, for a moment, I was tempted. But that's not me. I have never been one to wallow, and I refuse to be a victim.
So here I am, back in Beirut. Living with my mother was a shift both nostalgic and jarring. After years of independent life, suddenly, there's someone reminding me to eat, questioning my late-night habits, and commenting on the number of candles I own ("Ya Habibti, are you running a shrine or a shop?"). But beyond the readjustment, there is beauty in this. It is time to reconnect, bond, and be present in ways I couldn't before. And my nieces and nephews? Oh, they have fully clocked my availability and are making the most of it. I am now a full-time horse, a trampoline, and a human jukebox for children's songs I did not know existed.
For now, I am unpacking. Physically, as I try to fit my London life into my old Beirut room, and emotionally, as I process this unexpected twist in the story. But I know myself and know that soon, the dust will settle, and this new chapter will start to feel less like an exile and more like an adventure. Beirut has always had a way of pulling me back when I least expect it. This could be the universe telling me it's time to reset, recalibrate, and build something new.
I'm still figuring out what that new thing is. But I do know this: Change, no matter how jarring, is always an invitation to grow, shift perspectives, and reinvent. And if the past ten years in London taught me resilience, then this new chapter will teach me something just as valuable. It could be patience. It could be reinvention. Maybe it's how to smuggle British tea past Lebanese customs without raising suspicion.
For now, I'll leave you with this: Life is rarely what we expect. That may be the point.
Until next time (from wherever I am), Ghena