This is my online workshop space for digital storytelling. Thanks for visiting.
If I do say so myself, I’ve been to some pretty exceptional places and worked with some pretty exceptional people. And now? I’m writing the stories as candidly as I can, and sharing them with you.
All photos and writing are mine, unless otherwise stated. Like the photo on this page, by Lina Jemili.
(Click here to see more work experience on my LinkedIn profile.)
P.S. Why am I so interested in cultural studies?
“Daou” is the Lebanese word for “light.”
Daou was my first word, but I don’t speak fluent Arabic. Growing up in suburban southern California, some things fall away; when your father is a Lebanese immigrant, but your mother is an “all-American” Daughter of the Revolution.
Mom’s family has been in this land since way back before our great . . . great grandfather Captain Tuttle fought for independence in the Revolutionary War.
Dad’s family moved here in the late 70s to escape the Lebanese Civil War. They were among those fortunate enough to be able to leave.
I’m a California girl, but small things remind me that, although I know almost nothing of the Lebanese experience, I come from somewhere else, and this melding of opposite sides of the world–that happens in my bloodstream, every breath I’ve ever taken. The process of assimilating is one I don’t know how to do, and yet I do it every day by rote of getting up and doing whatever I do. I am, by definition, integration–the process of finding of an integral–still in motion.
So I’ve absorbed a lot of Barbie, a lot of Disney channel, a lot of McFlurries and California burritos. But I remember knowing, even before kindergarten, that the thick dark hair on my arms and legs didn’t belong to the world of the twiggy blonde girls in my class, who I so longed to be. No one told me blonde hair and blue eyes were superior, but I knew anyway, and wished for those for myself, refusing to play with my brunette Barbies, because they weren’t pretty.
My dad has an accent, but I didn’t know that until high school. And I don’t speak his first language.
I assumed everybody had both Grandma and Granddad, and Teita and Jeddo until I joined Girl Scouts and became a daisy with girls who had PB&J in their lunches.
It’s taken me until now to realize that I am navigating this process, as are my brothers, and especially my parents. And, in unique and vastly different ways, every single “American.”
This blog is a multimedia move to appreciate the multicultural world in which we live, and the multicultural world within us. A perk of having both feet in neither door: an eagerness to understand and an appreciation for realities other than my personal everyday life.
Looking for a blog post that will help ease you into the whole thing? I recommend this one.