So this is it, the end of the line. Beirut to Bethlehem. The story of my life – crossing borders. No tangible achievement apart from enough rich experiences to render a chaotic oeuvre of non-fiction. Once a chemist, once a man of the law, once a trader of spurious assets and always a salesman and purveyor of words – people may assume that I could be unsatisfied with my stations in life, or not committed enough or not fastidious in my ways to stick to one career path. This might be true to a certain extent, but it might be to do with where my talents are, if they exist at all. I won’t go into the reasons why I studied chemistry or law, but it had something to do with a mixture of a lack of career guidance and instinctive attraction to the disciplines and trades associated with the subjects. We are all dissatisfied and push for change, except that my change was haphazard and perhaps did not go as well as planned. This could be the result of a lack of planning on my part, rushing into professions without prior knowledge of the difficulties and realities each occupation entailed.
Perhaps, it could be to do with a lack of stability that has resulted in my inability to stick to one life-project. This of course is mostly my fault, if I wanted stability, I would have married the girl who loved me and dealt with the vagaries of a boring existence. This is now an issue of love, rather than career choice, but love, hate and career choice go hand in hand to some extent. Getting on the career ladder has not been my magnum opus, it has not given me the stability I needed, but then again, it could have made me more creative as a person and as well as made me less employable. I have made my mistakes, some of them big mistakes, where I have hurt the closest people to me, pushing people away as a result. But I probably did them for a reason, not a good reason maybe – but a reason.
I am not a psychologist – but I may be at liberty to invoke the ancient story of Oedipus. We all have an Oedipus complex – most men are attracted to women, and women are all mothers. Mothers of creation and the birth of man. Describe it as you wish… erotic love, companionship, affection or friendship – we need it, but from whom I ask? That is potentially another problem of mine since I have very little personal recollection of her. It doesn’t matter; I was loved enough as a child until the age of nine so I had my fair share of breast milk. Those were my thoughts when I was in police custody at the age of eleven. My father told this fact to the senior police officer and I do remember a look of pity thrown my way, or was it a look of fear of an unguided juvenile and a potential repeat offender. The crime was petty and so was I – I was grounded and smacked and tried to finish my education in a household with the arrival of two different step-mothers. A lack of love may also be called depression, but I prefer to call it a ‘lack of love’ – this can be a cause of great physical pain and death. My father died a slow death by virtue of ‘a lack of love’ eight years after my mother. I grew up in a love-lacking household. Does that mean I’m lacking in love? Au contraire…. I have love that fills oceans, perhaps love that shoots like a flare-gun, a love of literature, love of sport and the love of life. But I am also my own worst enemy like everyone else in this world. I have reached an untenable position in my life. I need to simplify it, strip it down to its bones and rebuild it to become the kind of man I want to be. This is why I am joining the Foreign Legion as a soldier. I didn’t like the British Army – it was too stuffy. But military credentials are something I always regret not having. In many ways, it’s such an easy nodding-yes-man path, but in many ways – it’s a risky, servile profession. I want this because right now, I seem incapable of doing anything else. Maybe I will excel in the French Foreign Legion, they will recognize my languages and communication skills as well as a reasonable level of fitness. But maybe I could be too different for the Legion. We’ll see when I arrive at the recruitment centre in Aubagne. This means that this will be my last blog and last piece of writing for a while, maybe years… I will be the full-time writer I and a lot of other people wanted. The stories are there, they just need emotional and financial funding.