Elio
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ماري لين مهسترة لأن خطيبها زحطتلها ولقلها مي مصقعة على قفاها
معليش خذوها على قد عقلاتها
Marie-Lina Hraoui ن ⚜️🦊☄️@Hraoui17
@ron_teen خسرتو ل خطيبي ما حدا بدو حكيم نفساني غير زبالتكن عم بتحرضو ع كنيسة يا عكاريت يا مجويين
العربية

مش كل ما يضرب الكوز بالجرة تفوتوا بالشخصي.
ماري حرة برأيها، وقصص الأحزاب ما بتفصل بيناتنا. وحتى لو حكيتهم بتعصيب معها حق بكتير اشيا.
بعد في ناس بالتيار فاتحة عحسابها بوقت اكتر شي لازم تعملوا هو التزام الصمت.
Fadi saliba🧡🇱🇧@fadi_1963
ماري لين مهسترة لأن خطيبها زحطتلها ولقلها مي مصقعة على قفاها معليش خذوها على قد عقلاتها
العربية

عصابات الجولاني ورفاق @charlesjabbour وعاهرة أفيخاي @DimaSadek عم يكسرو محلات المسيحيين في السقيلبية المسيحية وعم يقوصو عل العالم..
العربية

Hey @grok in 24 hours pick 2 random people from my comments to win $8000 each
Both winners must be following
Thanks you.

English

كيف ما برمتيها مش رح تظبط معك
يلي بيقاطع قدّاس للبابا بحجّة "أمنو الشخصي" بينما البابا واقف عم يقدس قدام العالم كلّو، هيدا شخص معتبر حالو أهم من الحبر الأعظم… وهيدي لحالها فضيحة.
والمضحك المبكي إنو “الهواجس الأمنية” ما بتظهر إلا بقداديس وببكركي ومع البابا تحديدا، بس عند الأعراس والمهرجانات بصير كل شي آمن للدبكة؟ فجأة كلو بيصير آمن وما حدا بيهتزّ. أكيد الموضوع مش مرتبط بأمنه الشخصي وهيدي كذبة..
سامي كليب بعدو حي يرزق، اسأليه إذا هو مخترع المقابلة أو إذا هيدي كانت أجوبة سمير حرفيا. وبصراحة، حتى لو شفتيه بعينيكي وسمعتيه عم يحكي هيك، ما رح تصدقي. لأن المشكلة مش بالوقائع… المشكلة إنو ما عاد في لا سؤال ولا محاسبة.
Aline ܐܠܝܢ@alinehge
وشو يعني أمين عام حركة التنظيم إذا بدو يقرا بكتاب خاص فيه. واضح انو على خلاف مع الحكيم هيدا أولاً. تانيا، قاعدين عم تنبشوا كلمة لا سمعناها ولا تأكدنا منها ومن مجلة السفير، ويمكن شطح الكاتب بمكان ما والحكيم قصدو مُنزل للمسلمين وهو حتى كمّل وقال بفضّل ما رد، بمعنى انو المسلمين ممكن يردوا أفضل على أمر يخص القرآن. تالتاً، بكل الاحوال القوات تعودّت القوات على هيك حملات بالشخصي وآخر همها لأنها مكملة بالمسار الصح لبناء الدولة. هيدا ردي الوحيد والاخير.
العربية

@pamelaanehme Irangate, iran-contra, iran israel weapons trade 1980’s. Iran-Assad-CIA-Israel hostage deal. S2alion
Català

@AdibChristian Isteze 💔. Kelna mnetzakaro kelna aanjad kelna kena nhebo. Left a beautiful mark in our lives
Nederlands

Ramblings About Dad
On the day of your passing, I sit and write this late at night in my East Cambridge home. It is eerily quiet outside, as students are away for the summer and young families are celebrating the Fourth of July on the Cape. Everyone is asleep. The cool air blowing over me is reminiscent of breezy May nights in Jounieh during my adolescence. I would sometimes wake up to you propping the bedroom door open to get some fresh air after a big meal that probably gave you acid reflux. I’d sit there, terrified at the thought of something happening to you. My anxiety was not entirely unfounded, as you had lost a forty-four-year-old cousin to a heart attack in those years—a nice, colorful fellow with hypercholesterolemia who was gone way too soon. He was your good friend, and his passing broke you; young me could feel it. I would lie in bed, eyes wide open, thinking, How could I go through life without you if it ever came to that? Surely it would be impossible. Who would teach all those geography classes if you were ever gone? Nobody could do as good a job as you. Then you must stay—you must, I told myself every night I sensed you were uncomfortable.
My brother and I were always the easiest kids to identify at school as your children. I, of course, relished the attention I got from your colleagues and students who loved you. The genetic gods gave me your eyes, your brows, and your loud voice. How could anybody not know who I was within ten seconds of meeting me? Once they made the connection, they almost invariably said something like, “Your dad is the coolest teacher I’ve ever had” (if they were a student) or “You have a strong role model to look up to—big shoes to fill” (if they were a teacher).
Growing up, I admired you for your intellect. You knew every last small town on the map in Lebanon and every capital of every country on the planet. That kind of knowledge came in handy often, keeping us entertained during long car rides in the pre-smartphone era. When your dad passed away, I felt you break a little inside. It was perhaps purely coincidental that your cognitive decline began that year, at the ripe age of fifty-six. Then we received the first diagnosis: mild cognitive impairment, followed by the second: Alzheimer’s. Surely it couldn’t be, we thought—until you started to wither away, seemingly slowly at first, then all at once. My dear mother took care of you until your dying breath, eight short years later—today.
As time went by, you could name fewer countries on the map and recite almost no capitals from memory. As I matured, I started looking for other qualities in you that merited my admiration. Then I had my daughter, and later my son, and my appreciation for you grew even fonder. It was no longer so much for who you were, but more for what you did for us as a family.
As we lost a small piece of you every day, I had to always remind myself that a man is never just who he is at a specific point in time, but the continuation of his past self and the promise of his future aspirations.
Rest in glory, Dad. You were an epic human being—the best that ever was and the best that ever will be.
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