I was chasing a dream-a life of opportunity, freedom, and self-determination-when I boarded a plane from Beirut to Ottawa. I imagined a country where snow dusted everything like powdered sugar, politeness reigned, and where I could carve out a future as vast as the Canadian wilderness. What I didn't know was that I wasn't just leaving Lebanon behind; I was leaving a way of life.
Community isn't a virtue in Lebanon but the air one breathes. It is in the unannounced drop-ins of neighbors bringing in enough food to feed an army, the relatives insisting that you always consult them before you make any decision, however personal. It's an unsaid pact that no one- none, however headstrong-stands alone. Moving to Canada was not only a geographical shift but a transition from a world based on collective support to one that celebrates individualism.
I thought I was ready. Spoiler alert: I wasn't.
The Comforts of Collectivism
Growing up in the Middle East, life was always centered around the group. Whether it was your family, your neighbors, or even your grocer, there was always someone to share your joys, shoulder your burdens, or offer unsolicited advice on how to cook your rice properly. The individual existed, sure, but always within the context of the collective.
But probably one of the most vivid memories of this kind of communal spirit happened during one of Beirut's infamous power cuts. In one instant, the lights went out and our street was plunged into darkness, but within minutes, candles flickered on balconies, and neighbors overflowed into the courtyard. Somebody brought tea, somebody else fetched a deck of cards, and before long, the whole evening turned into an impromptu party. By midnight, I fell into a deep sleep while people were giggling and whispering stories. Community changed this inconvenience to a celebration of camaraderie.
Philosophically, Aristotle's view of the polis was alive and well. Man is only fully alive when he is part of a community, reaching his full potential in the company of his fellows, united in effort and purpose, said Aristotle. In Lebanon, it wasn't a high ideal; it was life. Decisions were rarely, if ever, made in isolation. Need help moving? Five people will show up before you've finished asking. Facing a personal crisis? Your hairdresser and neighbor and butcher will have suggestions. It was chaotic and confusing, but it was also consoling in profound ways.
The Hidden Shadows of the Community
But like every coin, collectivism has its flip side. The same closeness that provided security could feel suffocating. In a culture where everybody was deeply invested in everybody else's business, personal boundaries were often non-existent.
Take career choices, for instance. I remember well declaring my intention to study law. In a matter of minutes, half the homo sapiens around me were weighing in: some congratulating me on such a great choice, others suggesting I ought to study medicine since I had better grades in biology and chemistry than in literature, and one well-opinioned friend insisting that engineering was the only "real" profession. It wasn't advice; it was expectation. In a collectivist society, your choices are never entirely yours but a sort of communal property subject to collective approbation or censure.
Add to that the silent compulsion for conformity at the expense of harmony over individualism. Authenticity often gives way to maintaining social cohesion. This is, philosophically, a tug-of-war between the common good and the rights of self-expression by the individual. Community provides belonging but at the same time can enforce uniformity without space for rebellion or self-discovery.
The Alienating Allure of Individualism
Coming to Canada was like coming into another dimension. The streets were quiet, too quiet. I didn't hear the sound of neighbors talking with each other, kids in the street playing around. It was just silent; the only thing I heard was the sound of the wind rushing through the corn fields in June. And for some time, I thought, This is peace. Soon enough, though, peace became translated into isolation.
Canada celebrates the individual. The ethos of this country is based on self-reliance and personal freedom. It was both strangely liberating and deeply alienating. All of a sudden, I found myself doing healthcare, taxes -a lot of taxes- and even grocery stores without the safety net of a dozen advice. It was a philosophical leap from Confucian harmony to the "I think, therefore I am" of René Descartes. The self was no longer defined by its relationships; it was sovereign, autonomous, and frighteningly alone.
One of my early lessons in Canadian individualism came at the grocery store. A friendly cashier asked, "How's your day going?" I launched into a detailed description of my day, only to realize she wasn't actually listening. In Lebanon, such a question would have sparked an actual conversation, possibly ending with a dinner invitation. Here, it was merely a polite formality. It was a small moment, but it underlined the cultural gap I was navigating.
It was in an individualistic society that my dream vision truly came to life, specifically during the winter semester of my first year at law school. This period marked a significant turning point in my academic journey and personal development. Watching my criminal law teacher deliver her lectures was not only enlightening but also profoundly inspiring! Each class was a masterclass in legal reasoning and passionate advocacy. Her presence in the classroom was magnetic; she commanded attention with her articulate delivery and deep understanding of complex legal concepts.
Back in Lebanon, during my initial legal training, female academics were a rare sight, often overshadowed by their male counterparts. I can still picture it like it was yesterday in my international public law class. There I was, locked in a fiery debate with a male colleague, when suddenly the teacher chimed in with a gem, saying VERBATIM, "A lady shouldn't crank up the volume of her voice, or else she loses her argument !", I was excpected to accept being yelled at by a peer student and take it with stride. I never attended another class in this course (and ended up with an A).
The legal field felt overwhelmingly male-dominated, and the few women who did occupy academic positions were hired in their title of their husbands or fathers or otherwise and often faced significant challenges in asserting their authority and expertise.
However, here, in this new environment, I watched the female teachers stride confidently into class every day, owning their knowledge and material like no other. While your average canadian student is seeing yet another teacher, I am seeing a woman who didn't have to apologize for her assertiveness or conform to stereotypical personality traits that a patriarchal society often imposes on women. Instead, she embraced her individuality and intellect, embodying the essence of empowerment. It was then that I felt empowered to choose my own path, even if it was unconventional! This newfound sense of agency fueled my ambition and solidified my commitment to pursuing a career , now in my own terms.
There's a catch-22 with individualism-it frees you from the burdens of other people's expectations, but simultaneously burdens you with life's weight on your own shoulders. Unsolicited advice that I resented became unsolicited advice I painfully missed in my loneliest moments. In Lebanon, I knew I wasn't ever alone.
Grappling with Loneliness
Loneliness is a weird thing; it doesn't trumpet its arrival. It just seeps in and takes over spaces that once rang with the community. The first winter holiday I spent in Canada wasn't particularly hard but only because my aunts and cousins -my biggest blessing in life- made sure it would just be like back home: loud family gatherings, endless feasts, chaotic joy of a house bursting at its seams.
But when the shindig wraps up and we stumble back into our regular routines, everything feels topsy-turvy, as if the world has been turned upside down in the most disorienting way. Gone are the carefree days of synchronized breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, where each meal was a joyful gathering filled with laughter, shared stories, and the comfort of companionship. No more calendar coordination like we're running a multinational corporation, meticulously planning our schedules to ensure that everyone was on the same page, all in the name of maintaining that delightful connection we had during the festivities.
It might sound like I'm being melodramatic, but it honestly felt like I was adulting at 30 with a shiny new set of skills that even a toddler could master, skills that should have been second nature by this point in life, like learning to study alone, solve my problems without receiving 3478398420 opinion in advance. The sudden shift back to the mundane routine, where each meal is now consumed in isolation or amidst the chaos of daily responsibilities, leaves a palpable void. The vibrant energy we once shared dissipates, replaced by the stark reality of work commitments, personal obligations, and the unrelenting pace of life that demands our attention. It’s as if we’ve been thrust back into a world that feels both familiar and alien, where the simple joy of connection is overshadowed by the responsibilities of adulthood, leaving us to navigate the complexities of life with a newfound sense of longing for those carefree moments.
Nonsensical alienation, I think, still pops up unexpectedly these days in law school. And very often, I wonder whether it is because of my collectivist roots or simply because of an innate love of people that makes me compulsively reach out and connect with others. I am always the one organizing groups, sharing my outline without being asked, striking conversations with strangers standing behind me in the coffee line. In my world, a stranger becomes a best friend after one coffee date. There is a reflex, almost instinctual, need and desire to create community wherever I go. The catch is, while my efforts at connecting come organically, the same reciprocity hardly ever does.
For someone steeped in collectivist values, where relationships are nurtured like precious plants, this can feel like a personal betrayal. When a group I carefully pieced together dissolves because everyone is "too busy," or when a friend doesn't reciprocate my enthusiasm, it cuts deeper than I'd like to admit. It's not just disappointing-it feels like a rejection of the very essence of who I am. I often find myself asking: is this a remnant of my upbringing, or is it just me? Is it because I grew up in a society that defined you based on your relationships, or is it because deep inside I really believe in the magic of human connection?
I do not yet know the answer, but what I do know is that such experiences, while painful, constitute my resilience; they have taught me to treasure the connections that endure even when they turn out to be fewer and more sporadic than one may wish. And in the tension between the fantasy of friendship and this reality lies the sharp contrast that exists between collectivist and individualist ways of thinking. In a collectivist culture, with any relationship comes the sense of loyalty automatically; relationships are not optional but a necessary part of life.
Here, it's a transactional feeling when relationships are bounded by context: work, school, or any temporary common interests. I feel it's borderline sociopathic, but that too is a hard truth to learn and accept. This is a reality I am trying to navigate-one coffee date at a time.
Finding Balance
Over time, however, I learned to wear both collectivism and individualism as my strengths. Canada taught me the beauty of self-reliance. I picked up hobbies I probably never would have back home, like hikes alone in the woods, reading curled up with a book in complete silence. I started pride in everything that I do; taking ownership of decisions became about carving a space totally my own.
But I never abandoned the collectivist values that shaped me. I still call my family members for advice, even if they're thousands of miles away. I always dance with glee every time I get invited to dinners inspired by Middle Eastern hospitality, where no guest leaves without a full belly and a warm heart (and if it is my aunt you are visiting, a full box of your favorite dish you had as a parting gift). And I have found my chosen family here in Canada-friends who feel like siblings, my extended family in here who help me in my errands without being asked, and colleagues (mostly Lebanese immigrants like me) share my love of community.
Philosophically, in an attempt to make sense out of my life, I have come to view this balance as a reflection of Aristotle's golden mean-finding virtue in moderation. Each of collectivism and individualism has its strengths and flaws, but together they create a fuller, richer way of life.
A Philosophical Rebirth
The interesting thing in retrospect is that my journey was not so much about emigrating to another country; it was one of self-redesign. I am no longer the person I was in Lebanon, nor am I, really, traditionally Canadian. I'm a hybrid-a product of two philosophical interpretation of a member in a society-and wouldn't want it any different. And most importantly, it taught me that no culture is perfect-but when you blend the best of both, you can create something uniquely your own.
Anything but linear, this journey has been deeply, profoundly and hopefully worth it.
References
Aristotle. (2009). Politics (B. Jowett, Trans.). Dover Publications. (Original work published 350 BCE)
Berry, J. W. (1997). Immigration, acculturation, and adaptation. Applied Psychology, 46(1), 5–34.
Tsolidis, G. (2001). Migration, diaspora and identity: Cross-national experiences. Peter Lang.
Khalaf, S. (2002). Civil and uncivil violence in Lebanon: A history of the internationalization of communal conflict.Columbia University Press.
Traboulsi, F. (2012). A history of modern Lebanon. Pluto Press.
Cacioppo, J. T., & Patrick, W. (2008). Loneliness: Human nature and the need for social connection. W.W. Norton & Company.
Sennett, R. (2012). Together: The rituals, pleasures, and politics of cooperation. Yale University Press.
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