Maybe you’re not exactly like me, but when I fall in love with something, I tend to get a little obsessed. Whether it’s a book, a movie, a series, a music genre, or a niche area of expertise, I want to know everything—the lore, the culture, the creators, the nuances—and figure out if and how it fits into my life or worldview.

Growing up, I’d weave Tolkien into my life—my fashion, my interests—just like I did with Star Wars, Biology, Hip Hop, Trance, or whatever else my teenage brain fixated on for a few months at a time. As I got older, I toned it down—not because my passion for new things faded, not at all. It was because of a familiar phrase I’m sure most, if not all, of you have heard at some point in Lebanon: Ma t3isha. 3ayyoush. Or some variation of it.

In today’s article, I want to unpack what this phrase really means and why it felt like hitting a brick wall when trying to express oneself—especially when that expression came in the form of passion or enthusiasm for something others around you, whether at school or in your neighborhood, didn’t share.

The Social Policing of Passion in Lebanon

At first glance, "ma t3isha" might seem like just another offhand remark—something friends say to tease each other or an older sibling throws out to shut down a younger one’s enthusiasm. But beneath its casual delivery is a powerful social cue: Don’t get too carried away. Don’t live in your own world too much.

For many kids and teens growing up in Lebanon, it serves as an invisible boundary line, shaping how they engage with their passions. Whether you were obsessed with The Lord of the Rings, deep into obscure hip-hop subgenres, or fully committed to memorizing the entire lore of a video game, you might have found yourself hearing "ma t3isha" whenever your excitement became too extra for those around you.

But why? What is it about deep enthusiasm that makes people react this way?

Cultural Pragmatism and the Fear of "Wasting Time"

Lebanon’s history of instability—wars, economic crises, and social upheaval—has shaped a collective mindset that prioritizes adaptability, resilience, and pragmatism. The expectation, whether stated outright or implied, is that you should invest your time and energy into things that matter—things that are useful, profitable, or socially acceptable.

There’s a subconscious social filter at play:

* Loving football? Cool, because it’s widely accepted and part of group identity.

* Being into music? Fine, as long as it’s mainstream enough to be shared and understood.

* Diving deep into an obscure fantasy world or niche electronic music scene? Eh… why?

"Ma t3isha" often kicks in when someone’s interests or passion don’t neatly align with these practical or social norms. If what excites you doesn’t seem immediately useful or relatable, the reaction is to brush it off, sometimes even with a hint of concern: Why are you spending so much energy on this? What’s the point?

For Lebanese teens growing up in a culture that values resourcefulness, passion for something "unconventional" can be seen as impractical or, worse, a distraction from real-life priorities. The phrase "ma t3isha" is a social nudge back to reality—a way of saying "Don’t get too lost in that. It’s not serious."

A Tool for Social Conformity

Another reason "ma t3isha" holds so much weight is its role in maintaining social cohesion. Lebanon is, at its heart, a collectivist society, at least in public. Even though individualism exists (7arboo2), social belonging is highly valued, and that means there’s often an unspoken pressure to not stray too far from the pack.

Expressing too much enthusiasm for something that others don’t share can make you stand out—and not always in a good way. Whether at school, in the neighborhood, or even among cousins at family gatherings, being too deeply into something niche can make others feel disconnected from you. "Ma t3isha" acts as a subtle way to steer people back toward what’s socially acceptable and shared.

It’s why being a massive football fan or a die-hard Fairuz listener is totally fine—because these interests are widely recognized and collectively celebrated. But start talking about how you’re obsessed with medieval history or avant-garde cinema, and you might get a "ma t3isha" thrown your way. Sucks, I know.

This isn’t necessarily about intentionally discouraging individuality, but rather a reflection of how Lebanese social circles function. If an interest can’t be easily shared or understood by the group, it’s often met with resistance.

I can’t deny that some people simply enjoy taking the wind out of your sails, trying to put you down because they think it makes them look cool. For those people, I genuinely feel sorry—but they’re not worth much discussion.

How It Impacts Passion and Self-Discovery

For those who hear "ma t3isha" enough times, the impact can be subtle but significant. Over time, it can lead to:

* Self-censorship: You learn to downplay your enthusiasm, keeping certain interests private or only discussing them with select people.

* Shifting passions: Instead of fully diving into what excites you, you might choose to invest in things that feel safer to talk about in social settings.

* A delay in self-acceptance: Some people don’t fully embrace their unique interests until adulthood, when they’re in spaces that allow for deeper self-expression.

But it’s not all negative. Many Lebanese teens eventually find their people—friends who share their passions, online communities that validate their interests, or even spaces abroad where they can fully embrace their identities without fear of dismissal. I count myself among the lucky ones. Today, when I get carried away in excitement, the people around me don’t shut it down—they share in it, ask questions, and sometimes even adopt the passions that have taken hold of me. And that feels f*****g amazing.

The Unspoken Rule: Enthusiasm is Cringe

If "ma t3isha" shaped how many Lebanese kids and teens expressed their passions, it didn’t stop there. As those kids grew up, the cultural pressure to not try too hard evolved into something even bigger—a generational attitude that mirrors broader Millennial and Gen X cynicism, where effort itself often becomes uncool.

One of the defining traits of Millennial and Gen X humor—both in Lebanon and globally—is irony, sarcasm, and a general detachment from overt sincerity. Whether it’s through self-deprecating jokes, hyper-awareness of trends, or a reluctance to appear too invested in anything, there’s an underlying belief that trying too hard is embarrassing.

This is where "ma t3isha" and generational cynicism intersect. If "ma t3isha" is about not getting too caught up in your own world, then the Millennial and Gen X equivalent is not looking like you care too much about anything at all.

Think about the way passion is treated in certain social settings:

* Being effortlessly good at something? Cool.

* Being visibly excited about something? Cringe.

* Showing too much sincerity? Even worse.

Much like how "ma t3isha" discourages young people from diving too deep into their interests, the broader generational mindset of detachment—whether in pop culture, internet humor, or real-life social interactions—creates an environment where being deeply invested in anything can feel socially risky.

Where Did This Attitude Come From?

For Millennials, growing up in a world of economic instability, failed institutions, and an oversaturation of media meant that detachment became a coping mechanism. Trying too hard felt pointless when so many systems—whether political, financial, or social—were failing around them. Irony and self-awareness became survival skills, shaping the tone of everything from memes to workplace culture.

For Gen X, their cynicism was rooted in rebellion against the high expectations and corporate optimism of their Baby Boomer predecessors. Rejecting traditional paths, embracing alternative subcultures, and treating mainstream enthusiasm with skepticism defined much of their cultural DNA.

In Lebanon, these generational shifts blended with ma t3isha in a way that doubled down on the idea that sincerity is embarrassing, and effort should be effortless. If you were too into something—whether it was a fandom, a career aspiration, or even personal development—it was safer to play it cool, joke about it, or act like you didn’t care that much.

Looking back, there’s a knot in my stomach when I think about how many years I spent living like that…

How This Affects Creativity and Ambition

For many people, especially creatives, this attitude can be stifling. Passion, by its nature, requires effort. Science, art, writing, music, activism—none of these things thrive in an environment where caring is met with skepticism. But when you’ve internalized the idea that being too enthusiastic is a social risk, you start to hold back.

* Instead of fully committing to a creative project, you might downplay it with a “Yeah, I’m just messing around with it” attitude.

* Instead of celebrating personal achievements, you self-deprecate to avoid seeming too proud.

* Instead of chasing a dream, you hesitate—because what if people think you’re trying too hard?

Why We Should Never Say “Ma T3isha” Again

If I could go back and tell my younger self something, it would be this: Never let someone shame you for being passionate. Never shrink your enthusiasm just because others don’t share it. The people who change the world—scientists, artists, musicians, writers, scientists, activists—are the ones who embrace their obsessions, no matter how niche, weird, or “pointless” they might seem to others.

And beyond that, I’d remind myself—and all of us—to never be the person who kills someone else’s excitement. The next time you see someone—whether it’s a kid, a friend, or a coworker—getting way too into something, resist the instinct to say “ma t3isha”. Instead, ask them about it. Let them share. Encourage them to go even deeper.

Because passion is contagious. And the world doesn’t need more people who don’t care enough. It needs people who are unapologetically alive in what they love.

So go ahead—live. And if someone tells you "ma t3isha", smile and say, "Yeah, I do."

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