Tinzakar w ma tin3ad

Following the moving accounts of Jamal and Kais about their personal war(s) recollections, I felt compelled to write my own version… Although it's one week overdue, what are seven short days compared to 31 years?
When I think about the war, I feel as though it was always there, lurking in the shadows hand in hand with death and destruction. I was born to the lullaby of shells falling everywhere, and raised according to a simple Pavlovian principle: the moment your parents tell you to run to the shelter, even if it's in the middle of the night, you run, no questions asked. It was a conditioned reflex, just like brushing your teeth before you went to bed. Maybe it was because I grew up with it, maybe it was because I was too young to understand it, but the war never scared me, or at least if it did, I do not remember it. It was just a part of our daily lives, which made us skip school for days, listen to that horrible flash news jingle on Voice of Lebanon over and over and over again, and try to peek from behind our parents to see those shells they talked so excitedly about ("Did you see that?!" "This one sounded like it was fired from next door!"). The most vivid recollection I have of being really terrified is in 1989, when my sister and I got stuck in school with a bunch of other students and we all had to wait in the underground library for our parents to risk their lives and come pick us up. I was 10-11 years old, trying to act sisterly and brave in front of my younger sister who appeared unconcerned. I cracked when I heard my father's voice on the phone and started sobbing uncontrollably because I was so scared I wouldn't see my parents again. I'd never been separated from them before… I also remember the assassinations of Rene Moawad, Dany Chamoun and his family, Toufic Youssef Awad and his Spanish ambassador son-in-law, the day my mother didn't let me go with my school friends to cheer for Aoun in Baabda (even though I had absolutely no idea why people were doing this--cheering for him I mean), the candlelit evenings when I did my homework…
Perhaps one of the most marking recollections I have are not directly related to war per se, but to one of its consequences: power shortages. I think I was in the 4th grade when my family moved to a new apartment that had a marvelous view but one major disadvantage: it was on the 7th and last floor. More often than not, we had to use the stairs instead of the elevator to go up and down because "ma fi kahraba". There was an old power generator in the building, but since it was really ancient and we were the last ones to come to that building, all the owners unanimously decided that it couldn't stand any more pressure and we therefore couldn't use it to light our house. This is why we had to borrow power from our neighbors in the next building to light up two lamps. However, the owners in our building went even further by declaring that although that prehistoric generator was connected to the elevator, they were the only "shareholders" who could use it, and so they turned it off whenever anyone from my family wanted to go up to the 7th floor. Although they knew my father had a heart condition, three of the tenants who were doctors (you know, those people who take the Hippocratic oath to help others) not only encouraged this practice, but also hid outside our front door with flashlights to see from where the light of the two lamps was coming from (!!!) Yes, the war does teach you a lot about human nature…
I thought the war was over for good and I was over it for good until the Israeli raids that took place in the middle of the night a few years back before their withdrawal. I used to stay up in the middle of the night, trembling like a leaf, with my teeth literally chattering and my heart almost jumping out of its thoracic cage-- just at the sound they made. I honestly don't remember being more frightened than during those instants… It's terrible when you feel like your death is imminent. When my mother told a doctor about it, she was surprised to learn that many young people from my generation experienced the same symptoms. In any case, I'm certain that many others have different, perhaps more traumatic consequences/memories related to the war that tore Lebanon apart. We all have various perspectives, but in the end we have a common history. No matter how much we adhere to the "let's pretend it never happened" policy, I believe we'll never overcome it if we still follow blindly the same warlords-turned-politicians. New blood please! New breed, rather. In any case, since I'm profoundly apolitical, I'll leave politics to others politics savvy bloggers and end with a thought to all those women who have lost a father, a brother, a son, or are still waiting for their return... W tinzakar ta ma tin3ad.