“ A 24 year old student of economics, raised by a half Swedish and half Danish family in a typical Swedish neighbourhood ”. 
This is how I usually describe myself. However, I have always faced one problem: My looks don’t match. I look Arab and feel Swedish. 
Imagine me among a bunch of Arabs? I look like them but don’t know how to act like them. It’s funny, but sometimes really painful. A pain that has always reminded me of a missing piece in my soul. 
In 1978, my parents here in Sweden were having problems in having a second child. They heard of a Swedish family that had adopted two Lebanese children some few years earlier and this is how it all started.
This family introduced my parents to a Lebanese adoption consultant, called Edla Chemayel. She is old today, living in Amsterdam, Holland. I still phone her from time to time mostly because she is an important source in my research. 
Early 1979, Edla informed my Swedish parents about an available child for adoption (me) in Lebanon. They went down to Lebanon for initiating the process. 
They did not have and never got any idea about my origin, even though they asked Edla several times. All the formalities for getting the adoption’s approval were arranged by Edla in advance. Since she was used to adopt Lebanese children to Scandinavian parents, the whole process (collecting birth certificate, health certificate, legal acts) was done smoothly and the child (me) was handled to them at their hotel room. I was 5 or 6 months old.
At my age of 16, I lost my adoptive mother in cancer. My life made a turn around. Of course I missed my mom who had always been around me, but I felt there was an inside urge to search for my origin, for my biological parents. 
I was 18 when I started my own research. The frustration of reaching dead ends paved the way to different scenarios in my head: Maybe my parents were killed during the war? Maybe I was kidnapped and soled to the western world? Maybe they are searching for me? Maybe they don’t want to remember anything about me? Lots of maybes and no answers!
During my search (I was once in Beirut mid 90’s), I heard about a TV show in Lebanon that might help. All I had was an email address that brought me hope after despair. 
I first wrote to Zaven early 2001. I had no response. A close friend of mine, Zeinab, also wrote explaining the situation. I lost hope in getting any reply but I continued mailing.
Almost six months after my first mail, I got a phone call from Zaven out of the blue. It was an amazing moment in my life. Even though he did not want me to have much hope to be in his show, we kept in touch, thanks to the Internet. 
I used to celebrate every time Zaven’s mail appeared in my Inbox. These moments became great success in my search focusing now on convincing Zaven to make my case visible in media. 
“ Don’t let a biological orgasm dictate your life”, Zaven once wrote to me. “ Celebrate what you have. It is almost impossible to reach anywhere with the little information you have. Too much hope might ruin your life”. 
I continued writing. At least I felt that I did my best to get his attention. His replies were sometimes late. 
One day at my university, I found an email from Zaven asking me to contact him as soon as possible. He said he lost my numbers. I nervously did.
“Emil, I have a crazy idea! I want you to be in the show”. 
I can’t describe the feeling. All my life passed in front of my eyes. I finally made it. Though Zaven said that the final decision depends on the OK of another Emeriti guest, I called all my friends and family instantly, they even started to prepare my suitcase. I must confess that I had some sleepless nights before my invitation was confirmed.
The show was set for December 23 (Christmas special). My life seemed perfect with the best possible gift I could ever think about.
December 19, I left the cold winter in Sweden to meet people I had never met before, in a country that meant more to me than ever. 
I was welcomed at the airport by wonderful people and my first meeting with Zaven that night was great.
Between preparations with the stuff for the show and visits to places I have heard about in my research, I enjoyed the company of Zaven and his wife Laury. We had dinner together and a visit to the supermarket for Christmas shopping. Quickly I felt like I have found a brother and a sister. 
“ Please Emil no big expectations”, Zaven kept reminding me all the time, like back to reality calls.
Monday 23, I am live on TV in Beirut. 
With other stories and guests from Lebanon, United Arab Emirates and Central Africa, I felt that I was given a generous piece of the program. I had all the time I needed to express my most inner feelings. 
The show was very emotional. The whole audience was in tears at a certain time… even Zaven. I tried to stay strong in order to make good use of every moment I had on TV.
I made it clear that I am happy and that I am here to give my biological parents a chance to find me if they were searching. 
When Zaven announced the end of the show, I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t control my tears anymore. Zaven took me in his arms. We both cried. I will never forget this moment. 
After the show, Zaven and myself had late after hour snack in the hotel. It was a like a very early family Christmas dinner. When he left, I was all alone in a city I wished I knew better. I couldn’t sleep all night. I had to catch an early flight back to Sweden for Christmas with my family.
It all passed like a dream. I didn’t feel that it was all true until I watched myself on tape back in Sweden.
Still having to work out the feedback that the program had received, 
I wish my appearance on TV gave inspiration to adopted individuals and parents in pain for a loss children all around the Arab world. 
Will I find the couple that gave birth to me- the ones who got a forbidden child, the ones who died and left me behind, the ones who could not afford to raise me, the ones who argued about the best for their child?
I suppose not. 
Was I expecting them to call? I don’t know. 
Were they watching and didn’t know that it was me? I hope not.
Will I be able one day to look in the eyes of my children and tell them who I am and who I am not? I don’t know… but I will certainly tell them that I did my best!

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