Yasmina Tabbal
I was 20-days-old when my Lebanese parents wrapped me in a basket and moved us back to Beirut having intelligently blessed me with a Canadian birth. I grew up around my dad's war-collected records and my mom's ethnic cooking. My childhood was spent rollerblading, climbing trees, and playing Legos in a space that at the time hadn't registered to me as my city. The older and older I got, the more I observed Beirut grow from memory blocks classified as this-is-where-my-grandma-lives and this-is-where-my-school-is to the intrinsically complex, polluted and unbecoming purgatory it is. But who I am is far from