Beirut: we are not resilient, we are broken

I have been racking my brain for several weeks trying to find the words to express what happened on August 4th 2020 at 6:08pm

This piece was originally published on Mangal Media on September 22nd, 2020.

If I were in Beirut when the explosion happened I might have forced myself into some sort of writing trance and written about the experience. The sound, the smell, the apocalyptic scenes, the mixtures of emotions – fear, anger, desperation – that kept being overtaken by shock. At least it would have been recorded. It could have been something to pass on to those who are younger than me, or maybe just something to pass on to others looking for the words to describe what they are going through, words that always seem inadequate.

I have been obsessively asking friends and acquaintances to share with me what they’re going through. As if I was afraid that it risked slipping away. One close friend, Christophe, with whom I now have roughly half of my life’s memories in common, put it to me simply: “The Gemmayze and Mar Mikhael that you and I know, where we formed so many of our memories – they no longer exist.” Gone. How can they just stop existing? I can still see them there, with my own eyes, through the screen. I was waiting for him to tell me because he knows what sort of answers I’d be looking for in my questions, which ones would even remotely…