Hearts Apart.. Lebanon’s Long-Distance Struggles

The question of love has never been answered definitively. One thing I’ve come to understand is that you don’t choose who you fall in love with at first sight; it sometimes feels like your heart makes the choice for you. There are countless answers and theories, but one thing is certain: when you find yourself caught in this cycle, you’re simply in it. I’m not going to lie to you—it’s a great feeling. To give love and feel loved is such a comforting and pleasant set of emotions.

But what if it’s long distance? What if you didn’t choose the circumstances, and it just happened? Where do you go with this plethora of feelings and emotions that you eagerly want to share with your partner when they’re across the world? One would argue that it’s a choice—maybe it is, of course—but when you’re in love, you just decide to face it and go all in for that person who’s multiple time zones away from you. Long-distance relationships may not be only problematic for us Lebanese people—that’s for sure—but my country chose to make it harder.

I fell in love with this girl at a club, fully aware that she was Lebanese by identity and would only come to Beirut for visits while living elsewhere. But it’s just the person that my heart wanted, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind after our first date. When you live in Lebanon and think about going for a long-distance relationship, you have to ask yourself first: Can I do it? The obvious answer is yes—maybe. But then you remember that your country is torn apart, not only by division but by crisis after crisis, which hinders any prospect of immigrants wanting to return home.

You remember that they might come back for a visit, and you wonder what it would be like if they decided to stay one day. You might start to think that maybe it’s you who’s got to be moving out of this country. However, then you remember that your Lebanese passport is one of the weakest in the world, and should you decide to try visiting them, you either have to be rich and well-off, or you have to go through the lengthy processes of visa applications in hopes you get approval for even just a few days to meet somewhere halfway.

It’s devastating how your beloved country doesn’t allow you many options. Sometimes it feels like you only have two: one, being to choose to stay and risk it all—maybe another financial crisis will strike the country, and you will lose all your money, or maybe another outburst of wars will pop up every now and then and destroy all the hopes you have of a better country. The other option is for you to leave everything and everyone behind for a better future—maybe a tougher one—away from your family and your friends from home.

As days pass by, things are not getting easier. All we see is tension, escalation, and whatever comes to your mind in terms of fear and war. You always feel like you’re one step closer to a place where there’s no escape, where the doors would shut down, and you won’t find a way out, or potentially the way out is very dangerous and scary. But regardless, the closer you feel to that, the more you feel like you’re drowning, and your partner just across the planet is so far away, and you both feel helpless, and it sucks.

Should I hate Lebanon? Should I hate the “Lebanon is well-known for its special geographic location”? Or is it the messed-up geopolitical games that have been played ever since the beginning of this piece of land that put everyone in this situation, where they can’t justify leaving or staying at the same time? Eventually, you fight your way forward for love, regardless of the costs, because no matter what, you know that once everything settles, all that’s left is love.