Everything is Not Okay

I scanned the grocery shelf quickly, calculating the grams and prices of the tubs of halva that sat squat, side by side. The ones with pistachios were considerably more expensive, but then I spotted a plain tub with a blue lid. It was 25,000 LBP, still not cheap but more affordable than the rest. My hand reached out for it, then stopped. Could we afford it? Should I buy it? 

I put it in the cart and we continued our shopping. As we headed to the checkout, our cart a quarter full with our week's groceries, I was still contemplating putting the halva back. I didn't need it, after all. There was no nutritional value in it, except maybe from the sesame tahini that complemented the sugar content. 

I decided to check one last item. Hurrying around the corner, I headed straight for the packaged cheeses. Last week, also on an impulse buy, I had bought 250 grams of Dutch Gouda cheese for 44,000 LBP. It was outrageously priced; I could buy a block of soft white Lebanese cheese of similar weight for a quarter or less of the price. I had picked it up and put it back three times, then gone back just before checking out and grabbed the package. My Oma had just died and this was the only way I knew how to console myself; with a block of imported cheese from her country. 

This week I stared down at the empty space where, the week before, 3 or 4 blocks of cheese had sat. I hadn't realized it was a promotional item or a relatively cheap item. If I had known, I would have bought 2 or 3. The next best thing, American Cheddar, was at the deli and cheese counter for 57,000 LBP for 200 grams. I could not bring myself to spend that much money on cheese. 

So I returned to the cart and firmly placed the tub of halva on the rubber rolling counter. I watched the cashier scan the barcode, saw the amount light up on the screen, and ignored the voice in my head that reprimanded me for buying yet one more treat that would just add pounds to my stomach. I didn't need the empty calories but I did need the treat. It was the only way I would be able to get through another week; if I had that treat to look forward to. 

I had frozen in the grocery aisle again that evening. I had been getting used to the increased prices; I had accepted that things would never be priced at the 1,500 LBP rate again. I had even acquiesced to the knowledge that locally-produced products would now be priced at the imported goods rate. Yet when I saw how the prices had climbed, yet again. I couldn't handle it. I had to literally walk my mind to the next item on my list, then tell myself that whatever the price was, we could manage it, because WE HAVE TO EAT!!! I had to tell myself that I could no longer look for the *best deals* because there were none. After going through the checkout, I had sighed in relief because the bill was just 420,000 LBP for 10 small bags of groceries. That used to be our monthly budget; now we spent up to twice as much as that for a week's necessities. 

I've reached my limit. I cannot manage this anymore. I may not have a choice, even as, ironically, those who live in this country are finding ways to leave in the droves. Yet here I am, stuck like a fly to sticky flypaper, with no hope in sight. 

So I open the tub of halva, spread it thickly on white bread, and make a sandwich. For a time, I will fly back to when I was a teenager, eating halva spread on honey and stuffed inside a gritty wholewheat baladi in Egypt. For a moment, the sugar will dull my senses and I will feel like everything is okay, when really, it isn't. For now.