Some of you don’t know me… So allow me to introduce myself. Hi, my name is Tamara, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve had a pen and paper in my hand.From daily diary entries musing about my 15-year-old MSN relationship, to short story awards won in high school, to blogging and eventually writing my own novel. If there ever was one constant in my life: it was writing. 

Born and bread as a Lebanese, societal pressure made it so I overachieved academically; a Bachelor’s, a Master’s and a PhD in hand, I was ready to take on the world. In between diplomas, I managed to work as a freelancer on countless writing projects: copywriting websites, creative writing of brochures, editing of friend’s books… But my biggest accomplishment was the day I sat down and wrote my novel; Chasing Serendipity. 

My book taught me a lot: logistically how to write, self-publish and go through every important (and legal) detail at a young age. Spiritually, it anchored my belief that writing is my calling. 

But then life happened. A country’s complete economical crash, a worldwide pandemic that paused everyone’s lives. So I did what being Lebanese taught me to do: I was resilient and layed out Plan B to Plan Z. 

To be fair, with a PhD in hand, it wasn’t that hard. I ended up with part-time lecturing gigs at various universities, and consultancy-based training and development online projects. I also expanded my field of studies and went into therapy-based certifications, which allowed me to coach clients online and help them feel better and uphaul their whole identity. It felt good to do good. 

3 years ago I moved to Belgium. I do ask myself why everyday, but I do think it was mentally necessary. I changed, as a person. I rewired my whole identity, I broke old belief systems, and I moved from anxious to securely attached. And for that I will forever be grateful for my move.

But 3 years ago, my professional life came to a standby. Sure, I had projects here and there, part-time university gigs, sales, even modeling engagements. But there’s been a void that I didn’t know how to fill. 

Until I watched Younger on Netflix. (Spoiler alert) It’s a series about a woman in her 40s faking her age to get back into publishing, which had always been her passion. And it felt like the most beautiful slap in my face. 

For 3 years, I had been fighting against a current that I did not even understand. I had been slamming on half-opened doors, trying to squeeze myself into them. When one beautiful glass window was staring me in the face all along: writing. editing. storytelling. 

The opportunity hasn’t knocked yet. But I decided to open this bright glass window wide. I am not starting from scratch. I am doing a homecoming ; “retour aux sources”, like my OG writing mentor told me over the phone. 

Now I am not saying it will be easy, nor am I saying the window will open right away. But for the first time in 3 years, I feel extremely aligned with an actual purpose. 

And I can’t wait to take you on this journey of words and scribbles with me. 

e been in Brussels for the past year, and according to my previous post, it hasn’t always been sunshine and roses. However, just like Serendipity has always had a way of peeking its nose in my life when I least expect it, I had the chance to join a haven of peace, inspiration, and taste of home. It’s a club on the outskirts of the city that molds together a gym, a spa, and a pool area. Expect to read an article about it soon. But for now, it’s one little room of the space that brought this article to life.

It’s known that salt lamps have a number of benefits, first and foremost being proven air purifiers. Himalayan salt lamps purify air through the power of hygroscopy, meaning that they attract water molecules from the surrounding environment then absorb those molecules – as well as any foreign particles they may be carrying – into the salt crystal. As the lamp warms up from the heat produced by the light bulb inside, that same water then evaporates back into the air and the trapped particles of dust, pollen, smoke, etc remain locked in the salt. And that’s one lamp. So just imagine the level of purity you get from sitting in a room filled with salt lamps.

That one little room in the club is lined up floor-to-ceiling with salt lamps, creating much more than an aesthetic and instagramable space, but more importantly one filled with pure breathable air, leading to a relaxed state and mood enhancement. While it hasn’t been proven that the physical quality of a salt lamp can improve calm and positivity, we can agree that the warm light and serene atmosphere create a soothing ambiance.

So here’s me, spending at least 20 minutes in the room everytime I am there, probably messing up my vision even more by trying to read with the dim lights, but allowing the rest of my body to reap the benefits. So if you haven’t already, I say invest in a salt lamp!

It all started with one magical sentence “Welcome to the cemetery of forgotten books”. And just like that, I entered Zafon’s intricate labyrinth.

I usually find my escape in flipping through pages, but this time, I was completely immersed; physically, mentally, and emotionally transported to my beautiful Barcelona. I walked the narrow streets of the Raval corner, imagined the secret entrance to the cemetery of forgotten books, looked over the church of Santa Anna to see the Sempere’s apartment, walked by the Sempere and Sons bookstore, had crema catalana at the 4Gats… I don’t even know if my most vivid memories are from my actual experience or from the amazing description by Zafon of this beautifully bewitched gothic city, where a whole world takes place from the Raval quarter, to the Ramblas, up until avenida Tibidabo.

Finishing the four books was more bitter than sweet for me; I did not want to leave this world I had been lost in.

I know for a fact that a piece of my heart will forever stay in the story, in Barcelona, my beautiful, dark, foggy, mysterious Barcelona.

I’m not claiming to be a movie critic in this article -far from it! So we can call what follows scribbles of a movie and series lover….

Imagine my excitement when I heard a series was going to come out combining 3 of my favorite things: a new program, a famous personality, and a serial killer!

I watched The Assassination of Gianni Versace in one night; 9 episodes of binging and munching on popcorn and chocolate. So 9 hours and a bottle of red wine later, it was almost 3 am and I still couldn’t go to bed.

The cast was outstanding; you seriously couldn’t differentiate the real people from the on-screen characters. The acting was out of this world; Penelope makes you cry with her rendition of Donatella Versace and her unconditional love to her brother, Darren Criss gets on your nerves with his perfect portrayal of a sociopath, you can’t but empathize with Ricky Martin acting as Versace’s boyfriend, and to top it off, Edgar Ramirez is the spitting image of Gianni Versace! Also, from my humble knowledge of directing, the staging of the whole series was amazing; it starts with the murder and goes backwards; you would think it could get boring but it still unfolded beautifully and culminated to a wonderful finale.

Yet… something was bugging me. I felt a little bit cheated; the title clearly stated: the assassination of Gianni Versace. But he was definitely not the center of attention of the series; his murderer, Andrew Cunanan, was. Nevertheless, I loved following the serial killer and his character development (but that’s just me, I’m obsessed with serial killers. Others may disagree and feel the title is misleading).

Still bugged, I went over any and every article I could find online to know more about Versace, Cunanan, and the truth behind this story. Apparently, nobody from the Versace family gave approval to the series, nor did they agree on the events portrayed even thought they were based on a widely recognized book. So I got to thinking; everyone who may have known Andrew in his serial killer moments and his reasons behind killing Versace was dead -he killed them-. So how can someone really state what is fact and what is fiction? Turns out the writers based themselves on the assumptions of the book, as well as on some “eye witnesses of back in the day”. This was disappointing, knowing that the first season of American Crime Story related the REAL story of OJ Simpson. Then again, with Versace, it looks like no one will ever know what really happened. So why not assume the killer’s psychology? It honestly was pretty convincing.

Regardless of the accuracy of the series, I could think of 4 very important messages that could be deduced from it:

1. You cannot reach greatness by sitting on your ass; Andrew Cunanan was jealous of every rich, famous and successful man he met, yet he never lifted a finger to accomplish anything; and this obviously stemmed from the adoration of his father who made him think he was king of the world and could get anything he wanted without even asking for it. Moral of the story: parents, your kids aren’t special. Teach them to work hard to actually become something, or else they might turn into psychopaths!
2. Not all the rich and famous are nose-in-the-clouds assholes; Gianni Versace was actually a good and friendly person who came from nothing and worked his way up.
3. Whatever you or I may think of the gay population, it was heartbreaking to watch how they were treated; from a simple humanitarian point of view.
4. The eternal question: serial killers; are they born this way or are they made? You watch their history unfold and you can’t help but wonder, if this or that went differently, would HE have turned out different?

Something to think about… meanwhile, get the series and thank me later; you won’t regret it!

Time for that New Year, New You, right? Well in my case, it’s New Year, New Book.

So mainly, I started out with the blog. Then, one thing led to another, and articles turned into a full blown novel! Surprisingly, my built-up anger towards the shallow and plastic society surrounding me allowed me to come up with a fiction that shed the light on the main obstacles paralyzing Lebanon, and preventing it from moving forward culturally and socially.

Nevertheless, my story takes place in an anonymous “country”. I wanted everyone, wherever they were located, to be able to relate to the character. And let’s make one thing clear; no country is perfect. We might suffer from cultural immaturity but I am sure that other places have their own discrepancies.

Truth is; I got tired.

I got tired of the “Instagram famous”, “socialites”, “fashionistas”, “fashion bloggers”, “digital influencers”.  With all due respect to these social media girls: people your age (twenties/early thirties) with “normal” jobs cannot afford what you flaunt in your pictures. You are absolutely free to wear designer clothes if you are able to pay for them. But stop making it seem like it’s an easy task to afford a 10,000 dollars outfit just by having thousands of followers on Instagram. And how do you call yourselves influencers and icons to look up to, when you are actually creating in your followers a sense of low self-esteem, and pushing girls to get bank loans just to have a picture with a designer dress and a brand bag.  Whatever happened to beautiful street style with affordable prices? Some of you are paid to wear couture and post pictures? Fine. Know your target audience then; women in their mid-thirties and above who are actually able to be influenced and buy what you are marketing. Not teenagers and young adults buying fake stuff and calling it couture, or getting themselves indebted just to look like you.

I got tired of the human weighing machines. What happened to “Hello, how are you?” Why do they ALWAYS have to comment about your weight the second they lay eyes on you? “OH MY GOD you lost so much weight!” “Holy shit look at you, you’ve put on a whole lots of pounds!” Are you a scale?! I think not. Do you know what this person is going through? Whether they have a health problem, or whether they simply have a fat or skinny constitution?  Keep your opinion to yourself! Enough with the shaming, FAT OR SKINNY! Find an interesting subject to discuss for once, other than each other’s bodies.

I got tired of the fake friends, the hypocrisy and the boyfriend/husband fever at 25 years old. I got tired of giving my all to my girls, being the shoulder they cry on when their lives go to shit, and then being thrown away like a used Kleenex when they put their pieces back together. I got tired of the useless outings to bars and clubs just because they have to be seen at Caprice on a Friday Night and at O1ne on a Saturday. I got tired of being looked down on if I am not in a relationship at the moment. So wait a minute, you are telling me I better be with ANYONE (good, bad, violent, ambitionless, daddy’s boy …and the list goes on…) instead of being alone for a few months? No thank you.

I got tired, so I wrote a book!

And I hope each and every one of you will find themselves in parts of it. And I hope the messages are heard and understood. Because we can’t keep falling into this pit of ignorance and shallowness. The youth, especially, needs to bounce back.

Happy Reading!

I have always been a fan of good well-made movies. But lately, I have found myself becoming more and more interested in older movies, whether biographic, dramatic, war-related… Anything with a renowned director and an amazing cast grabs my attention.

After watching Atonement, of Joe Wright, I grew interested in the director’s work, and put it on my bucket list to watch Pride and Prejudice. Now I know, most of you would think “oh you haven’t watched it yet?” or, to some of you who know me personally and know what a book-lover I am, you might be outraged that I haven’t read Jane Austen’s book. Well for the first time, I actually watched the movie before reading the book. Yes, yes, very unusual, but for once, I cannot say disappointing.   I’m not saying I am a professional movie critic, nor am I bragging that I can analyze the bits and pieces of a film due to my Master’s in Media being slightly related to the field, but I was, if I may say, “literarily” amazed by a movie in which I felt I was flipping through the pages of a book.

The scenery might have been perfectly explanatory but still left room for your imagination. The camera shots were so expressive you could read through the scenes. But what amazed me the most was the spoken English language. And no, leave your “yes of course she’s an English lecturer at a University this is what she will notice first”. It is actually what I noticed MOST.

Simply because it was BEAUTIFUL.

Hearing two people who are falling in love with each other converse with the most sought after and refined words and sentence structure, it made me feel sorry for myself and my own generation, as well as the upcoming one. Because let’s face it, the whole beauty of words and language is fading. All I hear now is people replacing “she said” by “she was like”, or girls using the word “like” as if it is a preposition for every other word, or students using “u” instead of “you” because they got so used to texting in the wrong way that it became a bad habit which they probably will never get rid of.

Seeing that a gentleman could love a girl to a point of saving her family from shame at his own expenses, and yet the most you see of that love is leaning foreheads against each other with a sunset in the background. Now I am not saying I am an extremist with medieval convictions as to a girl should not “kiss” pre-wedding. But as a hopeless romantic, it is nice to immerse oneself once in a while in the hope of finding such respect and platonic love at the beginning of a relationship.

Come on guys, I will not speak for others as I am sure many (if not most) girls do not share my point of view. But really, talking about your watch, your car, or your dad’s company is sincerely unattractive, boring, and a real turn-off. You don’t need to overwhelm a girl with Shakespeare quotes every minute of every day, but it would be nice to know that you actually are acquainted with who Shakespeare is, and that such literary conversations are not to be scratched off the list of things we share.

Something to think about…