An unrelenting weight on my chest. I tried Yoga and breathing exercises. I tried changing my sleep positions, places, moving houses. I stopped drinking, quit smoking. I started running, working out. Maybe a glass of whiskey before sleep. I tried all kinds of soothing herbs. Picked up smoking again, to calm me down. I tried to find the perfect recipe for respite. The words from the film Beirut the Encounter echo in my head: “Endless noise. I switched friends, changed cities, and still this noise haunts me.”

The same events keep repeating themselves in different ways, from one catastrophe to the next.I started making paper clippings from Lebanese lira, it’s value equaling the money I once had in the bank. I started pouring resin, shredding rubber. I spent days collaging pieces of Beirut’s dark map. I rubbed off so many faces until they faded. I erased all our faces from the pictures of the protests. I kept rubbing them until our features disappeared. We were all gone; only the intelligence agent and his camera remained.
Mixed media as evidence, as testaments of the last period..

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