It’s been one year since you are just surviving. Since you are barely breathing. Numbing all your emotions everyday only to go to sleep at night, devastated and angry, with tears falling from your eyes. You take a minute of silence and let all the memories flash before you.
You start off with the good ones: when you were young, free and careless. You had no worries; taking everything for granted, you used to do that every day, complaining and being ungrateful even though your life was near perfection. As you play those sequences in your mind, the images and scenes become blurry, making it impossible to see the next few hours of this day through. Traumatized and speechless, you start to get a peak of the final images.
People were dining happily in the restaurants, sipping their cup of espressos in the coffee shops.
Others were coming home from work, or running on Rawche’s famous sidewalk.
Some doctors were undertaking heart surgeries; others were delivering newborn babies.
Every Lebanese citizen from North to South was busy and LIVING their own life.
Those were the perfect sequences, and suddenly the trauma began.
Images of people on the streets dead or killed, others injured.
People running in pain to find shelter, others unable to move at all, paralyzed and being under shock.
Doctors running in the hospitals to rescue patients, putting them ahead of themselves.
Strangers reaching out to poor children and aged people, helping them without even knowing their names.
Unconscious victims being lost under the shattered glasses of Beirut’s fallen skyscrapers.
Loud cries and whining voices, while streets of extreme silence where people were actually suffocating.
Grey smoke made it harder for people to process what just happened, as it meant focusing on the sounds, whereas their ability to concentrate was only on the trauma they were enduring.
Four shared losses occurred: our hope in this country, our citizens, our home country, and last but not least the safety feeling.
We always hoped to recover from the COVID-19 pandemic and to watch our economy rise again. We took the Lebanese people for granted: the men and women, the firefighters, the doctors, the hard working hospital staff. We were so sure that tomorrow will be another day, another boring routine, a day when the dollar rate, as well as the number of people infected from the coronavirus, will rise exponentially. Only for us to see our beloved country trembling from North to South and never being the same ever again.
The fourth of August was the end for every Lebanese citizen. It was the day when several people lost their love to party till dawn in the nightclubs of “the city that never sleeps”. The last sane day for a whole population who will endure the rest of their lives traumatized. It was the last day people got to see many of their loved ones. How did they die? Simply murdered.
Losses. There is no other word to describe this horrific day. People, home, shelters, places, safety, faith and hope? You took them all away from us!
You left a whole population traumatized because of your irresponsibility. You ruined childhoods, adulthoods and relationships.
You destroyed mothers’ hearts: from seeing their children in the morning to never again once the evening came.
Daughters and sons were deprived from their fathers and mothers because of your selfishness.
Angels flew high up in the sky on that day, unlike you who will dive in the midst of hell because of what you did.
Regardless of whether you were directly involved in this horrible event or not, you played part in this genocide. Yes, genocide. You massacred your people. You banished your so-called country.
After a while of picturing these tragic events in your head, you feel tired. You numb your pain away while faking a smile, wearing your high heels or sneakers, wiping away your tears. You are getting ready for another “normal” day of survival, asking yourself if you will ever remember how to live again.
To all my Lebanese people who lost so much, everyone will get what they deserve in the end. Those traitors are on their high chairs right now, but trust me it will not be for long anymore.
We’ll build a new Lebanon all together in heaven; the one we always dreamed of far away from hell, I promise.