No, you don’t know.
No, you don’t understand.
And I truly hope, you never will.
Describing the events that happened last Friday evening would be meaningless: Everyone seems to know. With news, articles, pictures and videos flooding our minds, it is easy to say that you do know what happened that night. However, unless you proved you were there, in the midst of insanity, running away from the fireworks, I would truly doubt the latter.
You probably expect my argument to state that you weren’t, but I was. Perhaps anticipate me saying that I am the one who knows what actually happened.
But I wasn’t.
And I do not know.
I happened to be in Germany that evening. Clueless, naïve and carefree. Even after hearing about the incident, I still could not grasp the idea of what had truly occurred, until the very next day. I was attending an event where I happened to be in charge of 14 young people. Saturday morning, one of the organizers of the event came up to me and said that he needed to talk. After several uncomfortable minutes of silence, it was revealed that one of those youngsters could not contact his friends the previous night. Later, he had found out that two were hospitalized, and one had died as a result.
That was the moment when it hit me. That was the instant when I realized how real and tangible the situation was. These people could have been my friends. One them could have ultimately been me. But the only thing that I happened to have as a shield was sheer luck, and nothing else. And when you realize that your only armor is Fortuna, you are not in a particularly safe position. In fact, you are as vulnerable as it can possibly get.
Without even realizing I started running towards the boy who had suffered the loss. To say that I felt worthless after hearing his story would be an understatement. Apart from feeling useless and weak, I found myself being puzzled, confused and lost. I tried listening to the story, imagining the feeling and living through every single second of the previous night. And yet, I still found myself unable to embody the sorrow of my companion. I still did not understand.
It hurts to say that I didn’t. It hurts to say that I still can’t. But at least I am not scared to admit it. At least I was willing to listen.
I first encountered death when I was 12-years-old, and my country was at war. Had I talked to my French friends back then, I don’t think they would have fully understood. Under no circumstances am I saying that they would not have been compassionate and sympathetic. But it would not be feasible for them to embody the feeling. I could only be rescued on my own. And the one salvation that I could find within myself was the magnifying feeling of hatred.
It is scary to admit it. It is even scarier to understand that the culture of hatred that we have been living in has come back to haunt us. We talk about others dwelling from hatred, but forget that we have turned despise into our closest ally. Hatred is not a straight line; it does not have a definite ending. We have formed it into a chain, a perfect circle, where scorn is turning and spinning until it reaches its initial point, only to start the cycle again.
We have been fast to conclude that the “other” side is the evident formula for the cycle, and have continued to neglect the sins within us. We have formed ourselves into all-knowing geniuses, constantly boasting about being in complete control of the here and now. But guess what. Once again, we are not.
I am not writing this piece to insult the humankind at its core. I am a part of the cycle too and thus, am just another misguided soul. But I am here to give counsel: Do not be scared to say that you do not know. Do not be scared to admit that you do not understand. Do not be scared to admit fear. The opposite would be unnatural.
Yes, I have been in the midst of an armed conflict. But simply because I have experienced tragedy does not turn me into an expert on disaster. Every day of our lives is case specific. It is inimitable. We need to stop generalizing, and simultaneously never lose sight of the bigger picture. We need to understand the irreplaceable nature of every piece, and admire the puzzle each falls into. Unless we stop pushing the puzzle pieces to fit in places that they do not belong in, just so we can rush towards finishing the puzzle, we will continue to be as easy of a target as we are now.
The tears we shed may be genuine, the sympathy we express may be real, but we should admit that we are not in control of the status quo.
Rather than complain about many not knowing about the suicide bombings in Beirut, take initiative and educate others, if you did hear about them. Awareness does not equal comprehension. You might not be able to grasp the state of mind of those present at the sight; nevertheless, you should be conscious of the fact that the incident took place. Don’t try to neglect these past events, merely because they did not concern you. Deaths of hundreds are the definite reality; luck is most certainly not.
Don’t be scared to find hatred within you. Rather search for it night and day, so you can tame it, control it and make it vanish. You yourself are entangled in the endless cycle of hatred, but so am I.
I am holding onto the golden chains that are binding me to it. I am clenching my teeth and cutting my fingers to somehow break through. And I will forever hold onto the piece that I’ve been given; so, I can bend, break and obliterate it. Until it is still intact, I will never allow myself to let it go. I will never allow myself to be turned into a meaningless piece of the cycle.
The question is:
Will you?
