Lа̄rа̄, her mother Jumа̄na, and I step away from the gathering of extended family to look for a quiet corner to converse. Finally, we settle on a balcony away from the crowd with three glasses of sharab el-tūt.  Mother and daughter make eye contact, then begin to recount a few memories to me.

The home Lа̄rа̄ refers to is the one her father Naṣīf started building in the seventies, after he moved to the US. It began taking shape through money transfers to his parents back home, both of whom made the arrangements necessary to add an extra story for Naṣīf atop his family’s existing home. In 1992, Naṣīf decides to proceed with an additional third floor to the multi-generational family home. This time, the last floor would be American- inspired: with a suburban-looking pitched roof on the outside and, on the inside, split levels with bedrooms upstairs, and a walk-in closet and en-suite bathroom for each bedroom.

Ten years later, Naṣīf suffers a major back injury and has to stop working. By then, only a part of his home is complete. Therefore, while the first story of his addition was built when he was not physically in Lebanon, Naṣīf plans to take advantage of his free time and complete the construction of his home’s second story with each ticketed visit to Lebanon. He would assign leftover tasks to a relative once he had to go away. Because Jumа̄na is employed full-time and does not have a lot of time off, he starts traveling to Lebanon with Lа̄rа̄, his youngest daughter, almost every year.

When Lа̄rа̄ visits Lebanon for the first time at the age of seven, the structure of the two floors—concrete slabs and columns—was already built. As for the rest, though, only the first floor was weather-proofed, the bathrooms did not have faucets, the walls were not painted, the floors did not have tiles, and the stair did not have railings. And, because the house was planned and its construction began before she was born, Lа̄rа̄ did not have a bedroom of her own in it. So when Naṣīf and Lа̄rа̄ stay in Lebanon, they are hosted by her aunts that live across the street from the construction site.



































































In diasporic homemaking, the elements of a house are contingent upon ticketed visits: ticket prices and availabilities, the date of departure, the time of landing, and the time in between dictate how much work can be done to a house. The length of Lа̄rа̄’s summer vacation affects how long Naṣīf could only stay in Lebanon and the progress he can make within these constraints. Occasionally, from summer to summer, trade laborers ran out of time, ran out of materials, and lost track of what had already been done. Sometimes, Naṣīf could not find the same trade-laborer to complete unfinished tasks. Because of this, many elements in the house are deficient in some way and are largely uncoordinated, according to Lа̄rа̄ and Jumа̄na. For example, although it requires attention and a trained eye to notice the different specks of colors in the terrazzo, the kitchen has a row of tiles that are different from the rest. In the bathroom, grout thicknesses vary on the same wall where two different tile setters worked a year apart. From year to year, one can discern in the traces of different trips in the physical house.

Given the inconsistencies and the limited time window in Lebanon, Naṣīf tries his best to coordinate multiple construction tasks simultaneously. For example, rather than tiling the kitchen last (as per the usual order of things), Naṣīf hires tile setters to work while the concrete walls of the second floor are being cast. In diasporic homemaking, “phases”—which typically follow foundations, structure, mechanical, electrical, plumbing, insulation, and finishes— do not ensue in the typical order. By extension, under diasporic conditions, “finishes”—paint, plaster, tiles, varnishes—do not actually “finish” a project. Instead, they occur based on the amount of time a diasporic subject has, the schedule of a worker, or are even prioritized as bonding moments: Naṣīf enjoys his summers with Lа̄rа̄ working on a shared project, giving her liberties with the colors of the interior walls. In some cases, construction takes so long that one’s taste evolves, changing their mind about the choice of finishes they made—thirteen years later, pink paint does not seem like a good idea to Lа̄rа̄.

In 2006, Lа̄rа̄ and Naṣīf got stuck in Lebanon during

the July War;McGreal, “Beirut under Siege as Israel Attacks from Air and Sea,” TThe Guardian.

 the only international airport in the country was bombed, and they could not fly back, nor evacuate, to the US. Although they were held in the village with unlimited access to and time on the construction site, no work was done on the house that summer. Under diasporic conditions, accessing your home, whether “here” or “there,” is contingent upon securing an airline ticket and the ability to board a plane physically and safely.

Although the construction of Naṣīf and Jumа̄na’s home was slow in the beginning, the last push has to be rushed: Naṣīf’s injury is worsening, and this next trip to the village could very well be his last. His house, where he planned to retire, is no longer suitable for an older man with mobility challenges. Thus, Naṣīf and Jumа̄na choose to stay and retire in Virginia.

When Lа̄rа̄ says “open the house,” she hints at an expression in Lebanese Arabic. In a literal sense, the phrase neftaḥ bayt describes the work it takes for an émigré to prepare a house that has been closed for ten months for a comfortable stay, often as soon as they land: cleaning, securing basic necessities, paying accumulated bills... An “open house” also means to carry out the social function of a house by hosting guests and serving them like in a typical zyа̄ra. In the village where Lа̄rа̄ is from in ’Aley, community members know each other and value the moments they get to visit and check in with those who have returned from abroad. However, this phase of the house, which involves homemaking by the next generation of its occupants—third-culture individuals like Lа̄rа̄—was not planned for.