Beirut Sunset

I stood on my balcony this evening and watched the sunset over Beirut. From my vantage point all seemed calm and strangely normal. There were no plumes of smoke, no unwelcome sounds; in fact, there were hardly any sounds at all.

I gazed towards the Mediterranean Sea, wishing I could just hold back time. Wishing I could prevent the inevitable sinking of the red glowing ball into the blue waters on the horizon. This seemingly perfect scene had sinister implications. This was the last sunset I would witness before the unavoidable hours, days, perhaps even months, of precariousness ensued.

It is now pretty certain to anyone interested that there will not be a presidential election before the end of Lahoud’s term. So, what does this mean to the regular folk of Lebanon? To those people who are just trying to live their lives amid crazy traffic, increasing prices, and a seemingly (until this week’s rain) endless summer? It means stress, anxiety, fear, confusion, and even tears, as we try to carry on with “life as usual.”

But nothing is as usual. Our lives are on hold. Who knows how this will play out? We’re back to the days when you ask yourself the question each time you leave the house, “Is this trip out really necessary?” Each morning going to school we’ll be wondering if anything will happen to make our journey home into an interminable 3 hour jam instead of the early morning 20 minute drive.

Yes, so as I watched the sun this evening you can understand my desire to push the pause button. To have just a few more hours of “normalcy,” the calm before the storm.

In Lebanon it just doesn’t work that way…