First Day…One of many?

It’s quite sad that the first thing I decide to write is depressing but I guess that’s what you get when you live in Lebanon. Right?

I’ve been pushing away the thought of writing something down for a while now, but just now I ended a phone call with a friend, he beared exciting news and actually made me smile which was something I’ve missed and I just had the urge to vent and let out everything that I am feeling.

I am very happy for my friend and what he is going to achieve, and that’s good because I am reminded that I am able to feel, to be happy for others and share their excitement. However, have you ever felt like you are stuck? Stuck in place, with nowhere to go and nothing to do? With what is happening today worldwide some might say “yeah it’s Covid, hang in there, everything will be fine soon.” But What If It Doesnt!? What if Lebanon doesn’t get better? What if I don’t get better and end up stuck for a really long time forgetting who I am.

49% of the people are under poverty line, inflation, high rate of unemployment, corruption eating away at the system, Mafia/Militia balance of power, sadness, anger, despair. That is all i hear and see every day each day. An amonium nitrate explosion, third biggest explosion in the world teared up the whole capital leaving nothing but bricks and stones and wounded survivors scarred for life alongside a broken population trying to pick up the pieces of their deceased families, their broken lives and their traumatized spirits.

I, like many others like me, cannot afford to leave and start somewhere else, we have no rock to lean on, we just feel helpless dwindling away every minute every second and losing ourselves in the process. My spirit, my energy, everything is slipping away and I am looking at it all feeling helpless, wondering how others are able to rise from the ashes. “We are phoenicians”, that’s what they say, we rise from the ashes, we are reborn. But how many times does it take to get it right, how many times is enough?

I am sick of feeling stuck, sick of adjusting, sick of seeing others control us, just sick. Is hope enough? Does it matter if we have hope? Because others before us had hope and look where that got us. Nowhere.

I thought writing might make it a bit better relieve some of the heartburn I am feeling but all it did is make me face reality even harder. It’s true that words can be harsh even more so when written.

My rant has come to an end, after weeks of saying i’ll write something I finally did. It’s not beauiful, it’s not well written, doesn’t make sense, no smooth transition, no angle and definitely no lesson learnt. It’s just words, words that make sense to me and maybe to others.

I am not sure if I will write a second time because what’s the point, they were able to destroy what I love doing the most. And for that I feel even weaker.

But you know, hang in there. Right?