Take my hand.

Come with me.


Some time ago, Mum came here, to Montreal, to see me. I readied everything before her arrival. There was nothing much to do, really: I live in a tiny apartment. I did some last groceries, folded what was left of the laundry, took out the garbage, and went to the airport. I had asked Mum to bring me a rakwe for Turkish coffee, a spoon specifically for the purpose of stirring the coffee (if you’re Lebanese, you’ll know what that means), and some fnejin. During the time Mum was here, we’d wake up every morning to drink our coffee – together. Never did we miss out. But when it was too rainy or snowy to go out and tour, I’d ask Mum if she wasn’t bored, to which she’d always answer, “I came here to see you, nothing else matters.” Then I’d prepare another rakwe. My mother had crossed the globe to just sit with me, and it indeed did catch me by surprise, when on the train back to Montreal, that she’d tell me, “Home is always a person.” Mum had read the text I wrote, but never made me uncomfy about it, she never brought up any insensitive subject, or tried to corner me. Rather, she prepared food for me, filled my fridge with delights, bared my nasty temper, scrubbed the floor for me, did my laundry, a woman in her fifties who needed not do all of that – but who did – out of love – because “Nothing else matters”–. Then Mum left – my friend and I took her to the airport, and waved at her until she was past security, and I did not shed one tear, because, well – I just didn’t. But after Mum left, I never prepared Turkish coffee anymore, and I never again used the spoon she got me.

To May,

& Roger.

#rheaahh ⚓️

About my Father

Lamp post
I have never written to you about my father, but today, I will. See, my father is the eighth of nine children. He spent his childhood in a village somewhere in eastern Saïda, south of the country. But nevermind that; I’ll tell you all about it – one day. Somewhere around 1987, he married mum. I came first, then my brother – the only kids my parents will have. As for me, I never looked at my father as a severe figure of authority – but one of love. See, in twenty-nine years of marriage, not once did my father raise his hand against mum, never did I see him drunk, never did he abuse of his power. But – I did see him cry, especially when mum was struck by cancer; and I did see him apologize – even when it was us who wronged him; and I did see him, countless times come into my office, look me in the eyes, and tell me how proud he was of me – where I found it so hard to see any good in myself, it is there that my father saw it. Even when I chose to go into translation against his will – he would’ve rather I chose a course in business –, and although he was reticent at first, not once did he stand in my way, never did he give up on me; rather, he kept on repeating how I should always do what my heart desires, because there lies my peace. And I guess, I truly do – that my father wanted to see how much I held onto the things I desired, how far I’d go for the things I yearned for. Later on, when I took the plane to Montreal, he started counting down the days till my return, never hiding what he truly felt, for where some saw shame in feelings, my father saw pride; and where some let their hearts harden, my father had a love so powerful he forgave us all: he forgave me, when I let him down beyond what words could express – and I know I have. But not once did my father remind me of any of that; he looked beyond all, and trusted beyond all, and endured beyond all. Papa, you are a father of whom I am proud to bear the first and last names. As I always will be.

To Nidal.



The window this morning, Greater Montreal, -18°.
The window this morning, Greater Montreal, -18°.
Métro Peel, Montréal, 00:38.
Métro Peel, Montréal, 00:38.

Love. Graffiti sur Hôtel-de-Ville, Montréal, -12°.
Love. Graffiti sur Hôtel-de-Ville, Montréal, -12°.

When you think of some people, compare them to your standards, to what you deserve: The way you deserve to be loved, to be taken care of, to be missed, to be talked to, to be kissed, to be touched. At least for all you endured with them, the help you were, the love you gave. Let this be your motivation to just move on and remove some people out of your life, erase their memories, step by step, to make room for new others. Someone who lives up to your standards. It will take time but — you will heal. And you will overcome it all. And you will move on. And you will fall in love again. And choose more wisely. And start your life anew. And be led to an unexpected place. All things are beautiful in their own time. Know your worth, and wait. ⚓️ #rheaahh

Swirls. Pont Jacques Cartier, Montréal.
Swirls. Pont Jacques Cartier, Montréal.
Gare Viger. -11°.
Gare Viger. -11°.

Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.

– Bob Marley



Before you write anything on the pages of this notebook, I want you to promise me one thing: You’ll write only beautiful, hopeful, positive stories in it. Even when you are going through the worst of days, promise me you’ll write even about a small beautiful thing that made you smile. I want you to read and smile. Always smile. You are with me, everyday. ⚓️

Ever wondered how birds fly? They travel in packs; they leave familiar grounds for better territories. Birds who stay get locked up in the harshness of winter; they’re left behind. Why they stayed, I can’t tell you – but we can think it through, together. Do not worry about taking off, leaving your comfort zone, or letting go when time calls for letting go. Every beautiful thing has an end. How you choose to write that ending, however, is up to you. I wish you were strong, steadfast, focused. I wish you were courageous enough to stand tall under the pressure, bold enough to defend what was right – fearless, daring, dauntless. But, my little one, you were not like that. And you are not like me. This who I am. It’s a character: I never was afraid to lose. I think, and I know, you hated that about me. The people I felt didn’t belong, I just moved away from them. I created no excuses — neither that they were my compass pointing due North, neither that I was emotionally attached to them. I carried on with my life, boldly. Hurt, yes — but bold. Bold enough to walk away, brave enough to assume. Fear didn’t belong. Nor did hesitation, cowardice, falling back. But then again — this is who I am. It’s a character. There are things I can’t decide for you. I wish time proves all I said is wrong, for your sake, not for mine – I already am, me. Until that day, take good care of yourself; never forget who you are, never cease going after what is right, no matter what consequences that right bears, no matter what loneliness it invites. There is no such satisfaction as that of knowing you have done the right thing, as that of moving away from bad influence. Stick to you, fight for you, dream for you. I won’t be there to see it, but I wish from the bottom of my heart that you put to shame every single word I have just written. Oh, and, most importantly: Be Safe, Be Happy. ⚓️

Along the Road
Along the Road — I have a nomadic soul. I roam and roam without ever settling. I will never know a place of dwelling because I was born a stranger, a foreigner. I seek safety in my journey, in the strangers I meet along the road. It’s not something I chose. My summer came anticipated. And as anticipated as it was, I had to throw it away.
Make it Home
Turn the music on, the TV on, fill it with all the fake life you want, just make sure your loneliness doesn’t get to you. You are the winner in this fight. You cannot have it any other way. So yes you’re right, always ready and always on my feet. Because life is too precious to let it go by and time too precious to waste.

I always thought

Old Port of Montreal
Old Port of Montreal

I always pictured coming to Montreal would be a great spin-off to my research, but I feel, at times, that I am so alone. Let me put it this way: so lonely. I go back to an empty house, which I fill with things my own so I can make mine; I go for a walk on the street, snap photos which I’m happy with – I met a stranger on the street today, a man my dad’s age with no money for coffee – ; sit long hours on the lake; walk the distance as it is still not too cold; book for trips to fill my time; chat with my friends back in Beirut; get on it with writing my book, organizing my photography page; but then – I go back to that same empty house, which I try to fill with my soul. For the first time – the very first – I yearned for my mother to be around, and I remember, our talk in your office; I remember you talking about your Dad, that special unwavering link you both were privileged to have had, and I think of Mum: how I miss her by my side, around, cooking for me, having coffee in the early hours of morning with me, scolding me for that piece of clothing I was about to wear, giving me pieces of advice when I was in dead need of them, sitting by my side as we booked our next trip together, guiding me step by step when it came to my professional path – and I think. I think of my empty little house, and that Home, Home is always a person.

Regarde par la fenêtre and dreams of escape 🍃🍂

En couleursParce que des fois, en couleurs ça s’exprime de loin mieux.

Place d'Armes, Montréal
Place d’Armes, Montréal par un jour ensoleillé
My dearest Beirut, no city makes my heart beat like you do, and no sunset — in the whole wide world — rivals with yours.
My dearest Beirut, no city makes my heart beat like you do, and no sunset — in the whole wide world — rivals with yours.

Please don’t use this photo without my prior consent. Thanks ¡

August 13, 2016. 01:23 am. The first Perseid to rip the nightsky in my viewfinder apart. The cluster of stars below is the Seven Sisters. #rheaahh
August 13, 2016. 01:23 am. The first Perseid to rip the nightsky in my viewfinder apart. The cluster of stars below is the Seven Sisters.

Please do not use this image without my prior consent. Thanks ¡

Startrails&Flashlights_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel
Stars dance around Polaris. Below, flashlights set the road ablaze.

This is a combination of two exposures. I used an 8-mm fisheye lens + camera set to ISO 100, f/5.6, 14′. The reason why I reduced ISO to 100, is primarily because a fish eye, namely a very wide-angle lens, will gather more light than other narrower-field lenses (of course !), except that it will in lesser time. The aperture is set just right to capture enough light without rendering the photo too bright and thus, unusable.

The star that doesn’t move is the Northern Star, our very own Polaris, the compass of the sky. Beyond 75″ on an 8mm, the lens will capture the movement of the stars, creating the beautiful startrails revolving around Polaris.

The wait is long. These are shots number 10&11. But the result is mesmerizing.

Please do not use this image without my prior consent. Thanks ¡

Clouds dissipate

​​Over the mountains and ouadis, which our terrace overlooks.

Stockholm, February 9, 1977 

Eva, my love, 

It’s over. One way or another, everything comes to an end. It’s all over some day. That’s perhaps one of the most fascinating truths we know about the entire universe. The stars die, the galaxies die, the planets die. And people die too. I was just talking to you on the phone. I can still hear the sound of your voice. I imagine you, before my eyes…a beautiful image, a lovely memory I will keep until the end.

This is the first time I’ve written to you knowing exactly what to say: I love you, I love you, love you, love you. I want you to know that. I want you to know that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I want you to know I mean that seriously. I want you to remember me but not grieve for me. If I truly mean something to you, and I know that I do, you will probably suffer. But if I really mean something to you, don’t suffer, I don’t want that. Don’t forget me, but go on living. Live your life. Pain will fade with time, even if that’s hard to imagine right now. Live in peace, my dearest love; live, love, hate, and keep fighting…

I had a lot of faults, I know, but some good qualities as well, I hope. But you, Eva, you inspired such love in me that I was never able to express it to you…

Straighten up, square your shoulders, hold your head high. Okay? Take care of yourself, Eva. Go have a cup of coffee. It’s over. Thank you for the beautiful times we had. You made me very happy. Adieu. 

I kiss you goodbye, Eva. 

From Stieg, with love.

Extract from “Letters of Note”


I don’t know if adopting a different perspective to writing – a much honest, all-cards-on-deck, brutal – would have this lethargic therapeutic effect, which is what I probably – mostly – need to face-to-face my very own self. And it’s ironic, it’s ridiculously stupid, that I get to write people’s stories, I get to hear them whine, lament, exult, jubilate, display all kinds of affections and emotions – however, I can’t write my own story, Lire la suite

You spoke to your parents on the phone for a while. They are happy for you. You can sense it in Dad’s voice. Dad’s happy for you. Mum’s happy too. You are happy as well. But it’s all different kinds of happiness. What is happiness is a divergent concept to each one of us. I guess each one of us is after one kind of happiness that the other probably wished they had. Or maybe I’m mistaken. I am confused as to what happiness is. Happiness is a state of mind, or maybe – maybe – happiness is always a person. Lire la suite

I have always anticipated with playful delight driving to the stables, carefully parking my car below the rings, hastily going up the stairs into the sandy arena. The sun was close to its reddish setting; Beirut looked like endless layers, infinite magical layers stacked in the dusty distance.

I gazed into the entry and there she was, marching up the curve steadily: Her name was Yasmina, and she was the mare I rode yesterday. Lire la suite


When the sun has set, no candle can replace it. — George R.R. Martin

These tickets are 15 years old. The first time I ever saw and been up the Eiffel Tower, the very first at Disneyland and Versailles. I was 12, and I haven’t stopped wandering since.

Front to back: Eiffel Tower, Versailles, Disneyland

… and I don’t think I ever will. Lire la suite

NightSky_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel
And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.

— Lauren Oliver, Requiem


Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts, ni fertiles îlots…Mais, ô mon cœur, entends le chant des matelots !
— Stéphane Mallarmé

Chiemsee_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel


I still remember the exact date and time I captured this shot. It was on a very cold summer night, somewhere past the Cedars, and into the 03:30 hours. It was freezing. I was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, a wollen jacket and another wind blocker — all in all three layers that failed to keep the biting cold away.

These are called startrails. They draw the movement of stars as the Earth revolves around itself in the vastness of Space. Lire la suite

Plane impressions

Qanat Bakish in b&w


 … c’est les belles conversations qu’on avait, tout le temps qu’on prenait pour parler : de Dieu, des étoiles, de la vie, de nos voyages, de nos études Lire la suite

Et j’ai pleuré la paix

J’étais assise dans les champs de blé, parmi les grands épis couleur d’or. Je sentais le vent jouer avec mes cheveux, basculer mes mèches blondes qui me retombaient sur les yeux, cajoler mes joues. Le soleil de midi ne me brûlait pas, ses rayons ne m’écorchaient pas la peau. J’étais un enfant, et je voyais le monde à travers les yeux d’un enfant, rêveur, les pieds sur terre, la tête dans les étoiles. Lire la suite


La jetée des Cèdres, Liban_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel
La jetée des Cèdres, Liban


Puis vendredi, c’était vers 11:00, je bossais. Je lisais de la traductologie, de ces savants de la traduction. Ça m’occupait, tu vois des fois je bosse juste pour m’occuper. J’ai eu un creux dans l’estomac. Mon cœur a vibré. Lire la suite

Chez moi

Ferme les yeux.
De quoi tu as peur ?
Chez moi.

Chez moi, tout est beau, tu vois chez moi, je veux que tout soit beau, chez moi nous empruntons au quotidien des rails vers le ciel, vers les étoiles, au-dessus des plus hauts et des plus élevés des nuages, chez moi le soleil a des traits, il a un visage à la bouche bien scellée, pour ne pas nous brûler de trop, chez moi les nuages blancs dévorent les nuages féroces, et portent un parapluie pour accueillir tes belles larmes, Lire la suite


Ferme les yeux.
De quoi tu as peur ?

Chez moi.

Viens, mon âme, ma sœur,

garde au loin les nuages gris, efface les mauvais présages, ils n’existent pas ici, là ils n’ont aucune place, et viens, viens, prends main, vers l’infini, là où nos rêves sont peints à l’encre de l’amour, ici les meubles restent toujours jeunes et nous aussi, notre demeure est et reste, alors ne pleure pas, ou, laisse les couler, le train de minuit passera, le soleil se réveillera, tu les verras sechées, de tes glorieuses joues où le temps ne peut se presser, Lire la suite

De quoi tu as peur ?

Ferme les yeux.
De quoi tu as peur ?
Chez moi.

Mon ange, mon cœur, ma douceur,

de quoi tu as peur ?

Qu’est-ce que c’est que cette chose infame qui fait trembler les tréfonds de ton âme, là où personne n’ose s’aventurer ? — viens, prends ma main, marche avec moi ; ici, le vent est doux, la brise est douce, écoute, Lire la suite

Ferme les yeux

Ferme les yeux.
De quoi tu as peur ?
Chez moi.

Ferme les yeux, ne t’inquiète pas, je suis là, ferme les yeux,
les orages passeront, le tonnerre ne grondera que pour un instant, rien qu’un instant, ferme les yeux, laisse les rêves t’emporter, Lire la suite

Hier, je me rendai chez ma grand-mère. Cela faisait déjà quelques semaines que je ne l’avais plus revue. C’était à Ain-El-Remmaneh où, il y a de là déjà bien quinze ans, je vécus mon enfance. Je garai ma voiture et empruntai la ruelle qui me menait à chaque fois chez elle. Je reconnus la voiture de ma tante garée au bas de l’immeuble, sur le trottoir. Je pris les escaliers et pensai à mon oncle, que je devrais saluer et avec qui je devrais causer ; Lire la suite

Je suis O

J’écris mon histoire, mais je ne sais pas comment la terminer. C’était comme ça que la conversation a été déclenchée. Et je ne sais pas, je ne sais pas comment elle pu me faire confiance pour que, dès la première fois, elle me raconte son histoire. Lire la suite

Sous la pluie

En bas, deux inconnues s’assoient, sur le banc mouillé par les gouttes d’eau. Elles sont toujours assises, elles ne bougent pas. J’ai tellement voulu que ce soit toi et moi. Lire la suite

Mon Combat Avec L’alcool


C’était un mardi soir. Je me le rappelle encore très très bien. Un mardi 22 juillet. J’étais montée chez une ancienne prof. Quelques verres de punch, des shots, une bière, et j’avais perdu tout équilibre. Lire la suite

Qornet el Sawda en N&B

Mon grand-père Habib, le bien-aimé

Je me le rappelle encore, comme si c’était hier. On roulait, mon frère Karl, ma cousine et moi dans ma petite voiture rouge, direction village. On se gare au pied de la colline. Karl d’abord, ma cousine ensuite, je clôturais la file qui prenait les escaliers laborieux amenant au cimetière où reposait mon grand-père Habib. Lire la suite

Dark Skies

La réalité en noir et blanc

– Quelle est ta couleur préférée ?
– Le noir et blanc.
– Autre.
– Aucune. Ils forment une seule couleur, pour moi.
– Et si tu avais à choisir une couleur non-monochromatique ?
– Je n’en choisirai aucune.

Lire la suite

Ammiq en noir et blanc

Je me rappelle encore ce matin du 13 juillet 2015. On s’était donné rendez-vous pour une longue séance photo à Gemmayzé. Tantôt on s’aventure dans des immeubles désertés, Lire la suite

Quand j’ai rayé le suicide de mon lexique

Je ne me rappelle plus la dernière fois où j’ai pensé au suicide. Je dois admettre que je pense souvent à la mort, Lire la suite

C’était l’une des rares fois où quelqu’un remarque que j’accroche toujours à mon poignet gauche une ancre que je n’enlève jamais. Je me le rappelle encore, m’asseoir à ma table, Lire la suite

 Startrails and Perseid_Rhéa ah Hleihel

I timed my watch — 01:07. A last attempt at a startrail. All those I tried to previously record came out blurred, or out of focus. Falling into my camping chair, my camera lie right in front of me, mounting up to my knee. It was just about the wait. 30′ later, the result are trails trespassing the boundaries of the mountains. But not just that. Lire la suite

De la mort

Lire la suite

Il est des expériences

Je m’étais habituée à la défaite. C’est probablement pourquoi j’ai appris à endurer, à survivre à chaque coup, suite à chaque perte – que je devais subir toujours d’abord pour obtenir une victoire. J’ai donc maîtrisé l’art de perdre, Lire la suite

Il paraît que je vais tout te raconter

Depuis presque un mois, un jeune homme m’envoie une demande d’ajout sur Facebook. Je me suis demandée que voulait de moi un gars avec tellement d’amis. Un photographe pas de chez nous. Entraînée par ma nature curieuse, j’accepte sa demande, Lire la suite

Kids and their skates_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel
Kids and their skates, right out of the Metro, direction Old Port.

I can’t remember when was the first time I took a photo and rendered it black and white. It has probably been two years, starting with a series of photos I took in Paris. I liked the idea of black and white, Lire la suite

Viens, voir la mer. Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

J’étais assise par terre quand j’ai pris cette photo. J’avais déjà parcouru la première salle — plutôt, je m’étais attardée sur chaque photo, lu chaque texte, observé l’émotion qui s’ensuit. Puis je suis rentrée dans la salle des films. Je ne suis pas née aveugle — mais — quelque part, j’ai réalisé que j’étais aveugle vis à vis de tellement de choses, que j’avais fermé les yeux sur beaucoup de choses. J’ai donc refait le parcours, et cette fois, je me suis assise par terre à contempler les écrans qui s’évanouissaient dans un blanc une fois les films terminés. J’ai pensé à ces gens qui n’avaient jamais vu la mer, et à moi qui étais une habituée. J’ai alors fermé les yeux pour écouter la mer — et comme par magie — c’était comme si je venais d’y mettre mes pieds, dans son écume, comme si j’enfonçais les pieds dans ses grains de sable pour la première fois, comme si je venais de faire sa connaissance, comme si le bruit de ses vagues m’était étranger, hors du commun. J’ai alors imaginé la mer comme si je ne l’avais jamais connue. Et j’en étais enchantée.

Alors, viens voir la mer.

Seulement, viens.

Aidez-moi à diffuser mes petites histoires ; partagez mes textes et photos.
Appuyez sur la photo pour la voir dans son contexte original sur mon instagram
© Rhéa a.h. Hleihel 2015.

Noir et blanc

Le noir et blanc a toujours été ma faiblesse. C’est une question de perspective plus que de technique, Lire la suite


en suspens
sur les fils
d’un courant.
Lire la suite

J’ai toujours eu un faible

J’ai toujours eu un faible pour un type de personnes. J’ai toujours eu un faible pour un type très particulier de personnes. Il y a ceux qui ont une âme naïve, un cœur Lire la suite

Mais surtout, les sourires

De toute ma vie, j’ai adoré voyager, découvrir de nouveaux lieux, de nouveaux paysages, Lire la suite

Entracte Copenhaguen_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

Je suis toute seule dans l’un des bars près du port. J’ai mangé un bon plat de profitéroles, avec un thé noir. Lire la suite

J’adore les paysages urbains, les lampes qui restent allumées toute la nuit au pied d’un poteau, Lire la suite

Mar Mikhaël raconte des histoires


There is a story I’ve wanted to tell for a while, but I never had the chance to.

There is this explorer, Michael, who was spending a winter in Siberia, Lire la suite

De mon grand-père_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

Je t’avais promis que j’allais te parler de mon grand-père. Des fois, j’oublie. Lire la suite

Promenade en Suède

Exercice de mémoire_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

Je vais faire un exercice de mémoire, là, en t’écrivant.

Je vais voir où je vais arriver, plutôt, où tu vas me prendre. Lire la suite

Courage is all I have not_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

I have always wondered, what it felt like to step into Paradise, what was the price to pay to step into this holy land, Lire la suite

Je marchais à rebours_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

J’ai bien essayé pendant bien des années de me convaincre du contraire, que je n’étais ni gentille, ni sensible, ni douce. À chaque fois, je me prouvais le contraire encore et encore. Lire la suite

My beautiful dreams

My Beautiful Dreams_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

I look up at the ceiling and see a million angels flying by, I see the beautiful midnite sky, Lire la suite


Rhéa a.h. Hleihel_Femme.jpg

Je m’asseyais. La conversation prit tout d’un coup un tournant plus intime, plus personnel. Lutter ; Lire la suite


Rhéa a.h. Hleihel_SeulLa veille de son départ, Karl me déposait à la maison quand je lui demandai s’il ne se sentait pas seul parfois, sur quoi il me répondit Lire la suite

Des visages

Des visages_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel

Je vois des visages. Des visages qui se meuvent, dans l’espace, dans leurs places. Ces visages qui nous observent, qui nous guettent, qui nous enferment, de leurs regards. Lire la suite

S’en vouloir

S'en vouloir_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel.jpg

Cet après-midi, j’ai été revoir une artiste que j’avais rencontrée il y a de là quelque quatre mois. Lire la suite


Couleurs_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel.jpg

Hier, je fis la connaissance d’un jeune homme, Karl, qui avait l’âge de mon frère et qui, d’ailleurs, écrivait son nom avec un K, un grand K comme ça. Lire la suite



A year ago, a friend asked me, « If you had the chance of taking someone with you into paradise, who would that be ? » I answered right away, « My brother. » Lire la suite

Leg of Lamb and Crème Fraîche

Pots_Rhéa a.h. HleihelIt’s Sunday. And Sunday is family day — well, sometimes. Lire la suite

Tasse de café

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Hier, deux jeunes femmes nous on rendu visite au magasin. C’était pour discuter un peu du décor de la maison de l’une d’elles. Puis, Lire la suite

Si je m’endors avec les anges

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Si je m’endors avec les anges, c’est pour que tu puisses veiller sur moi. Les ruelles et les chemins de mes rêves, Lire la suite

A night out with the Perseids


« Two things inspire to me awe – the starry skies above and the moral universe within. » – Albert Einstein.

As a kid, I always was fascinated with the starry universe above. I’d look up for hours at the midnite sky Lire la suite

I think you’ll make a wonderful mum

Bracelets of the heart_Rhéa a.h. Hleihel
Yesterday evening, I joined an old friend for drinks. Time passed by as she told me Lire la suite

Laisse-moi te raconter de mon pays

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Aujourd’hui, je suis passée devant un confectionneur de madeleines. Le magasin puait le fromage. Mais moi, je n’ai pas pu le dépasser sans goûter au mazapan. Le mazapan espagnol, c’est un peu mon pays à la naissance d’un nouveau-né et au bonheur des fêtes de mariage. Tu vois, dans mon pays, on aime les sucreries et dans mon pays, on est heureux.

Alors, laisse-moi te raconter de mon pays. Lire la suite

La vie est belle

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Only yesterday, I was with one of my very best friends at Bar Sud, a rooftop in Mar Mikhael. We talked about all and Lire la suite

I am a stranger

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There are some things we don’t decide for ourselves. They fall on us like a rock from Lire la suite


I woke up early this morning to finish a report I slept on yesterday night. I showered extremely quickly, dressed rapidly and drove my brother to Art School. I had to wait in killing traffic. In class, I had to bear the fail jokes of the exam supervisor, and leave in a rush. While waiting for the elevator, I stood next to a grumpy woman. I politely said hello. She barely replied. Wish I hadn’t spent that energy on her. Then I had to bare the whole way down in the elevator. I had to be at the hospital round noon, sit in the heavy hotness while waiting for the nurses to walk her around the place. Wait, wait, and wait. All I did was wait. God how I hate waiting!

Today was a very bad day.

Today, I had to wake up early, hand a report and drive my brother to school. There was huge traffic. At university, I sat for an exam I finished in thirty minutes and left quickly. Near the elevator, I stood next to this woman I tried to be polite with. I spent some time at the hospital then went back to university for my 5 p.m. class. I returned home, walked a bit and ate.

Today has been okay.

Today, I woke up quite early to finish a report I had slept on last night. I was very proud to hand it way before due time. I drove my younger brother to Art School, seizing traffic to sing together all along. I aced my 10 a.m. exam – or so I’d like to make myself believe – and flew to the hospital. Despite the heavy hot weather, I parked my car next to gran’s house and walked all the way up. It was muscle refreshing. Back in the room, I enjoyed a good talk with my aunts, granddad and granny, whose face was shining again after yesterday’s surgery. Round the evening, I went back home and exercised. Today, I finally had the chance to wish a “good morning” to a dear person. Although the pounding situation made it hard to add any other thing, silence spoke for me.

Today was an awesome day.

All portions of this piece may not be used without my direct written consent.
© Rhéa Hleihel / Ray Rhéa / 2011.

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