The Summer of a Liftetime-ZT

On the morning of the 12th of July, I was awoken by the sounds of my friends panicking around me. I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t let me when I heard these exact words pierce my ears, “The runway was bombed a few hours ago.” My mind went blank. I immediately questioned myself: Are we going to arrive home, safe in our parent’s arms? We were in Egypt at a basketball tournament, and we were scheduled to arrive to Beirut that same afternoon. That became a distant dream since the airport had shut down.

The next thing I knew I was on a flight from Cairo to Dubai, where I would join my siblings until the Beirut airport reopened. For five lonely hours, I was on a plane by myself with no information about what was happening to my country. No one was beside me who I felt secure around. That feeling vanished when I was at home with my brother and sister talking until our mouths were dry. We were worried about our family. I spent the next month living in pain. The imagery that was seen on TV was disgusting. It aggravated me to see my beloved nation fall to pieces in a matter of weeks. The words tumbling out of my parents’ mouths were all I could hear. Their voices repeated themselves over and over at night when I couldn’t sleep. I could smell the fear of those innocent people under the rubble, waiting and praying to be rescued. I could taste their blood crawling up inside their mouths, the taste of death.

The day finally arrived where I would be once again reunited with my other half, my mother. She arrived safely to Paris and was sheltered under the roof of my loving family there. I felt relieved. That feeling was partially stolen away from me when I heard my stubborn dad admitting he wasn’t going to join us. He was still in Lebanon, living under the bombs that were demolishing the lives of the citizens of our own country. I didn’t think twice about my decision to book a flight from Dubai to Paris. My siblings stayed in Dubai, so I passed another lonely flight with my mind eager to see my mother after a hectic month and a half without her love by my side.

The time finally arrived. From a distance, I could smell her perfume that made her smell like a flower. When I got closer, I finally saw my mom. The light striking my eyes wasn’t enough to keep me from staring at her, and the moving cars weren’t enough of a force to make me stop running while crossing the street. I felt my mother’s warmth crawl all over my body when I hugged her. A tear of joy came rushing down my face, “I missed you so much!” I shrieked.

Another suspenseful month passed by, hearing my father give his strong opinion about the war. Instead of stopping him from talking about the war, I stayed silent and listened. After all, I could learn a few things on politics to express my own idea about the war. I missed my dad, and my family and I were doing everything in our power to reunite in our beloved country. Paris is a beautiful city, but all I could see was the dark sky above me. I worked to refrain myself from watching too much news, because propaganda and disgusting imagery were too much to handle.

That dark sky transformed into a sunny day when the ceasefire was announced. It was the day of my birthday August 14. That made me feel lucky, and that was the best birthday present I have ever had. Another birthday present was a magical phone call from my dad. He said to me, “The war is over, you’re coming back home.” He sounded very happy, and I felt relieved to be finally on my way home. I had to wait for a week, listening to good news and waiting eagerly to get back into my country. To be with my father, and back in my home sweet home.

Feelings of relief and tears of joy came flowing like a river on a sunny day. I looked to the positive side of this experience instead of grieving about the negative side of it. I had watched and listened for two months, and I was educated in that period of time. I heard of many experiences my friends and family encountered. I also learned more about my country and its politicians, which was a great achievement under all my stress and sorrow. I felt that I had grown up. Politics wasn’t important to me but learning about political leaders definitely helped me understand the war and its objectives.