Echoes of Cries From My Country

25/10/2024

I wake up startled at 12:26 a.m. I fell asleep. I fell asleep while the bombing has not stopped. How did I fall asleep? Is it true that with time this will be so normal that I can sleep through it? I open my phone the second I opened my eyes and I check the news messages:

8:04 p.m.: Bombing on Beirut Suburbs - Jnah8:09 p.m: Bombing on Beirut Suburbs - Ouzai8:15 p.m: Bombing on Beirut Suburbs - Haret Hreik8:19 p.m: Bombing on South - Nabatieh8:33 p.m: Warning to evacuate 4 areas in Beirut Suburbs8:41 p.m: Bombing on South - Kfarshouba8:54 p.m: Bombing on Beirut Suburbs - Jnah - Press office9:01 p.m: Bombing on Beirut Suburbs9:10 p.m: Bombing on South - Jbaa9:22 p.m: Bombing on Beirut Suburbs 9:22 p.m: Two Bombings on Beirut Suburbs Now9:24 p.m: Four Bombings on Beirut Suburbs Now9:35 p.m: Bombings on Beirut Suburbs Now9:45 p.m: Bombings on Beirut Suburbs Now9:55 p.m: Big explosion in the area of the last bombing

This continues until 12 a.m. How can I sleep through them while my family hears the sound of these bombings? I do not want to get used to this. I do not want to feel less scared or less anxious. I do not want to let this be just another night like it is normal for this to happen. My people are scared meanwhile I have the priviledge to fall asleep. So I remain wide awake, just like every other night, trapped in a cycle of dread, my eyes fixated on my phone. Each notification feels like a jolt of electricity, sending waves of anxiety coursing through me. I refresh the news repeatedly, praying for silence but anticipating chaos. My heart races with every update, fearing the next wave of destruction that might bring unimaginable loss. I can almost hear the distant echoes of bombings, haunting me, as I grapple with the helplessness of being so far away while my loved ones remain in danger. At 4:00 a.m, the bombing seemed like it stopped, so I go back to sleep.

I wake up to my alarm at 7:00 a.m, and I directly start mentally going through the things I need to do today. First, gather my documents and head to the appointment for the ID card. Then, go to work, send some emails, starting reading papers, work on the code etc. The day seems like it is going okay. As I make my way to the appointment, I glance at my phone for the latest news. My heart drops as I read the headline: "Three journalists have been killed." They had been threatened, forced to abandon their posts in a perilous region. Seeking refuge, they checked into an hotel, hoping to find safety in their temporary sanctuary. They went to bed that night, believing they had escaped the danger, blissfully unaware that their last moments were slipping away. That night was their last night. They died away from their family. I wonder how their last night was. Did they call their parents? their partners? I imagine them making last calls to their partners, laughing off the fear and saying "Don't worry, I am safe here". It is odd how last words to loved ones are rarely as full as we want them to be. I wonder if they said goodnight to their kids. Did they tell them they love them before they went to sleep? They say a parent's heart just knows. Did they know it is the last chance to talk to their kids?

This is my stop. I have to get off the bus. And just like that I close my phone and with it closes my thoughts about the journalists. I step off the bus, and the city air hits me like a wave—thick with smog, carrying the stale scent of exhaust and damp concrete. The chilly morning breeze seeps through my jacket, prickling my skin, adding an edge to the weight I already feel pressing on me. Cars honk in the distance, a siren wails from somewhere down the block, and people bustle past, their conversations blending into a low hum that's somehow both distracting and comforting. All this noise, this chaotic life around me, feels so out of sync with the war still raging in my thoughts. Every sound feels like it's trying to pull me back to the present, yet my mind clings to each news notification, haunted by the relentless echoes of bombings from home. I glance up, catching a glimpse of the grey sky, clouded over, offering no sign of calm or hope. It's just another cold morning in the city, indifferent to my fear, my dread, and the unimaginable distance between where I am and where my heart remains.