Under the rabbles we rise

A passage of compassion to Beirut


I have a habit of writing down my daily events in a journal that I keep safe, every night. For the past couple of days, however, I could not find the energy, or the mindset, to write in my journal. Last night, I decided to break the chain, gather my strength and write down how I feel.


The world is becoming harder to grasp by the minute. The writing mode is becoming easier to switch on - after all, who does not want to escape a harsh reality through a wonderful world they created themselves? sometimes, there is an urging feeling bounding on my chest telling me to give up. But, at most of other times, there is also a loud voice that is telling me my job is not done and I must go on.


What’s happening in Lebanon stroked my core. There are many catastrophes around the world, and many countries are under attack, famine, hunger, political corruption, and economic declination. I sympathy, and help whenever I can. But with Lebanon; it hit me differently. I felt my soul is collapsing, and although my body was functioning - sharing links, helping out, and trying to live- my mind was barely working. I wake, and sleep with an aching heart but a hopeful soul that the city of Beirut will rise from the ashes.

I want to share my memories with this city. They are short lived, but they are staying with me for a long time. Below are extracts from my diary- there is nothing that can express my feelings better than my own words.

No words can give my heart justice




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