I have a dream… A dream that one day I will not have to fight tooth and nail to land a job, that I will not have to prove myself twice as hard, wait twice as long, and pray for a visa to do what I was born to do. I have a dream that my dreams will not be delayed or denied just because I hold a Lebanese passport.

By Murielle Hebbo Kalash
This passport is more than just a document. It feels like a shadow that follows me everywhere I go. It is with me in every interview, every application, every airport line where I stand clutching papers that prove who I am, what I have achieved, where I am allowed to go, and for how long. It is the silent reason behind every “we regret to inform you,” the invisible wall that rises the moment relocation or sponsorship is mentioned.

It feels like carrying an extra weight on my shoulders that no one else can see, a constant reminder that no matter how hard I work or how much experience I gather, I am still one question away from being disqualified.

The Reality No One Talks About
People talk about job hunting as if it is just about submitting CVs, but they never talk about the heartbreak of being told you are perfect for the role and then being dropped because of something you cannot change. They never talk about the months spent waiting for HR to reply, only to hear that the company no longer does sponsorships.

They never talk about the nights when you stay awake, refreshing your inbox until two in the morning, waiting for a reply that never comes. They never talk about the moments when you celebrate an offer with tears in your eyes and then find yourself crying again the next day when it is taken away because of your passport.

It feels like a cruel lottery. A game you never agreed to play. And you lose not because you are unqualified, not because you are incapable, but because of where you come from.

What It Means to Be Lebanese and Syrian
When I look at Lebanese people, I see some of the smartest, bravest, and most creative individuals in the world. I see people who build businesses from nothing, who lead agencies, who create art and music and movements that inspire others far beyond our borders.

And it is not just Lebanon. Our neighbours in Syria carry the same weight. They, too, have faced wars, crises, and displacement, and yet they rise every single day and rebuild their lives from scratch, over and over again.

There was a time when the entire region envied Lebanon and Syria. When Beirut was called the Paris of the Middle East, and Damascus was celebrated as one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. People came to us for education, for art, for fashion, for medicine, for culture. We were the place people wanted to be.

Today, the world looks at us and sees problems to solve, visas to deny, and applications to reject. But we are still those people. We are still the minds and the hearts that created, that built, that dreamed big when everything around us was falling apart.

The Exhaustion of Begging
I am tired. I am tired of explaining why my case is exceptional, tired of writing cover letters that go unread, tired of hearing “unfortunately, we cannot proceed with your application because of visa requirements.”

There is something deeply dehumanising about having your dreams reduced to a single line in an email. There is something that breaks inside you when the world quietly tells you that you are too complicated, too much paperwork, too much trouble.

My passport should not decide how far my talent goes. It should not determine whether I belong somewhere or whether my dreams remain stuck in waiting rooms, suspended between one country that breaks me and another that refuses to let me in.

Saying It Out Loud
Today I am saying it out loud. This is not just my dream. This is the dream of every Lebanese and every Syrian creative, engineer, doctor, writer, student, and dreamer who is tired of being told they are too much effort to hire.

We are not complicated…We are not a burden…We are not a risk… We are the solution… We are the ones who get things done with half the resources, who innovate when everything around us is falling apart, who know how to survive because we have done it a thousand times before.

Every time the world closes a door on us, it is missing out on some of its most brilliant minds, its most relentless workers, its most resilient souls.

And I will keep dreaming. I will keep applying. I will keep knocking on every door until one stays open, not just for me but for every Lebanese and Syrian person who deserves a chance to turn their dreams into reality without being punished for where they come from.

If you are reading this and you have the power to hire, to sponsor, to open a door, do it. You might change someone’s life.

Murielle is a Lebanese writer and senior bilingual copywriter based in Dubai. She writes about the quiet side of expat life. With over 8 years in creative agencies, she’s now more drawn to stories that can’t be pitched. Her work explores identity, disconnection and the search for meaning in foreign cities. Murielle believes the most powerful writing doesn’t impress; it connects. Her first contribution can be found here.