On Identity
As the trees begin to adorn their autumn colors, the release of a new Alaa El Aswany novel brings a mix of emotions. Au Soir d’Alexandrie, purchased but not yet read, sits on my shelf. There’s excitement because El Aswany is one of the few living Egyptians whose creative voice resonates internationally. But there’s also anxiety.
Have you ever revisited a work of art or literature that left you with conflicting feelings?
His earlier novel, The Yacoubian Building, once gripped me, but it hasn’t aged well in my mind. While the movie adaptation stars Hend Sabri, one of my favorite actresses, my relationship with the book has soured over the years.
When I first read the novel in my late twenties, I couldn’t put it down. But something about it left a bitter aftertaste. Revisiting it 20 years later, I came across a passage that stopped me in my tracks. On page 102 of the French translation, it reads: “To this painful solitude was added the feeling of alienation and the personality disorders suffered by children of mixed couples.”
Later, the assumption is made that all children of diplomats grow up with “silver spoons in their mouths, cut off from the hardships of ordinary people.”
As a child of a mixed heritage and a diplomat’s son, I know firsthand how false these statements are. I’ll spare you the hyper-masculine commentary on sexuality and the disturbing, racially charged scene between a Sudanese servant and a 9-year-old boy. But as I reread those passages, it became clear to me that the novel’s appeal was rooted more in its sensationalism than in its insights. Instead of challenging stereotypes, it cemented them.
There’s the old adage: “truth hurts,” but Aswany’s portrayal feels reductive, limiting the experiences of children of mixed heritage to alienation and disorder. Does every child of a mixed couple suffer from identity crises? Are those from single-ethnicity backgrounds truly more immune to such struggles? These sweeping generalizations frustrate me because they dismiss the nuances that make each person’s experience unique.
My Journey with Identity
My own journey with identity has been far from simple. When I first began singing, very few people supported me. My godmother, Barbara, was one of the few who believed in me, encouraging me to perform at her glamorous Parisian parties. Strangers on the street would stop and listen when I sang American standards, offering the validation I needed after years of academic disappointment.
At the age of five, I was promised greatness after excelling in the entry tests to my highly sought-after Jesuit school. But as the years went by, I fell further down the class ranks. Rearranging interiors, learning movie dialogues, and singing became my ways of coping with the hardships of my parents’ challenges—my mother, raising us away from her Lebanese family during the war (are we really still there today?), and my father navigating strong tensions in his diplomatic career.
As a young adult, many questioned my path. They doubted my background, my looks, and even my ability. Fortunately, the arrogance of youth helped me navigate beyond a daze of impossible circumstances till I crashed but only after having achieved enough to make it worth the fall.
When I eventually entered the national charts three times in a row with Warner Music, as the first Franco-Egyptian Lebanese artist singing French pop-soul tunes I had written, everyone suddenly became a supporter. “We knew you always had it in you,” they said. Close ones can rarely see who you truly are because intimate relationships dim certain lights. The public on the other hand responds to truth. They don’t care whether you’re French, Egyptian, American, or Lebanese. They buy the record because they connect with the music and the emotions behind it.
From Music to Design
Much like in music, my foray into design was met with skepticism. True, I hadn’t formally studied architecture or design, but I had been selling out entire collections, and my work had been recognized by masters in the field. Vocation often defies rational explanation. As much as I respect Descartes and the French tradition of logic, I’ve come to realize that passion and luck are just as important as hard work. When every second of your life becomes infused with attention to details as you strive to emulate your masters there comes a point as Goethe wrote when « at the moment of commitment, the universe conspires to help you. »
Pablo Picasso famously said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” Staying connected to that childlike creativity, I believe, is the true meaning of identity.
Identity, to me, is as fluid and personal as one’s relationship with beauty. Classic Hollywood director William Wyler, who directed Funny Girl, famously redefined beauty standards with the iconic presence of Barbra Streisand. Through masterful direction and exceptional talent from its leading actress the film helped show that beauty could shine in unexpected places, for those willing to see it.
Shifting Perspectives on Beauty
When I began using Egyptian alabaster as a medium of expression, it was initially rejected because of its yellowish hue. I had to introduce the whiter sections of the stone to make it more palatable to buyers. But over time, people started to embrace the yellowish tones, seeing in them the spirit of Egypt’s desert mountains. They actually are exactly that—geologically.
Like Streisand’s nose or identity itself, beauty is often about shifting perspectives—helping others see what has been buried, forgotten, or simply undiscovered.
I barely touched what I wanted to achieve in my singing career, not because the public stopped caring but because life got in the way—record company politics, puzzling paper issues, personal challenges, and the difficulties of being far from family. Yet, my creative journey continues. Like the visions I strive to honor through my designs, identity is not something fixed or easily defined. It’s shaped by what we do, what we believe in, and how we persevere in the face of doubts and naysayers.
In spite of my bitter recollection of The Yacoubian Building I love Aswany’s work. I heard the new book is a masterpiece. I can’t wait to find time to read it. Here’s a quote from it:
« You know, the problem of Egypt as a whole is contained in one word: lies. Where do lies come from? Lying is caused by oppression. When there is justice, when everyone knows that their rights will be respected, there is no need to lie anymore. »
Truth can be hard but it’s at the core of long term solutions to most problems. With that in mind, what is your take on Identity? Do you think you know who you really are?
Happy October
Omar
