I AM LIVING IN A TORN LAND COSETTE AWAD

COSETTE AWAD

A COSY CORNER

I am Living in a Torn Land

“You’re a child of war”… that’s what my parents used to tell me.

I lost all my beautiful childhood memories, except a gift, a convertible burgundy wedding car with a groom and bride that I used to play with, in the yard, next to the wrecks. All I can remember is bombing and destruction. And no one had told me that life is more than a playground and failing tests when I was a kid. I was young, too young to understand, but I had hope for a better tomorrow. I had a dream. A couple of years later, that dream of becoming an astronaut, has changed to dreaming of becoming a poet. So, I can change the world.

I woke up a decade later, and nothing has changed.

I remember walking in the ruins downtown, looking around at the few shops that were still open there; I used to imagine how life was before all this happen before my country became the torn land it is today. I travelled, tried to start from zero, twice, then came back home and said, “I’m not leaving anymore.”

Regardless of all the tragedies, I refuse to lose faith; I refuse to let go of the last trace of hope I have. But everything that happened after the blast of August is not the same as before that day.

And, the most challenging thing we have to endure now is the guilt of being alive, while our city is soaked with blood and our victims are buried under the ruins of what once was of the most beautiful cities in the world.

The most common thing we often tend to do is find ourselves asking a hundred “Why?” between every breath and another. And every motivational word now seems like a cliché quote, saved on our phone gallery.

I grieved Beirut; I mourned the people my beloved Beirut lost. I cried for three days, it’s a process, and I always trust the process.

Photographer: Kareem Nakkash

Instagram: @kareem_nakkash https://www.instagram.com/kareem_ nakkash

Model: Walid Rajjab Instagram: @walidrajjab https://www.instagram.com/walidrajjab

I had my shares of losses, and I never really belonged to a place, and then I realized all the places are home because everyone I love is here. I’m pulling myself together; I’m going to be strong because it’s a damn responsibility to do that when someone you love tells you, “I need you.”

Nothing makes sense, and nothing will work for a while. I’m confused now, just like you, but we will get through, we always do.

It’s a long process, you know, you don’t have to be okay now. You can bury yourself under your blanket and cry; you can hide in your room not wanting to deal with the world right now or go out and help if you wish. This may be what makes you feel better, or you can pray, or write, or reach out for help, there are so many ways, and none of them is wrong, don’t let anyone tell you how to feel... Never!

Heal in your own way; in situations like those, there is no right and wrong.

Mike Jammous

As I entered my apartment on what I thought was a typical summer day, I felt the whole building shake. I knew it wasn’t an earthquake, it felt unnatural, and before I could register what had just happened, a massive blast tore into my apartment, breaking every window and shattering all my furniture. The next couple of minutes were blurry as I struggled to locate my father and my dog and made sure they were okay, all while drowning in confusion about what had just happened. After a few minutes had passed, I went to the closest window to take a look at my street, and it was at that exact moment that I realized a massive tragedy had just hit the county.

Chills filled my body as I heard people crying and screaming in panic, but all I could see was grey smoke and destroyed properties. Having lived through the civil war and struggled through years of political uncertainty, I can safely say that nothing compares to the immensity of the Beirut explosion, nothing I have ever lived through at least. And just like that, just as we thought this year couldn’t possibly get any worse, the heart of our country blew up into a sea of rubble and blood.

DAN HADDAD

Instagram: @dannhaddad

Lilly Oliveira

All my life, I was a foreigner in someone’s country. I was eight years old when my parents decided to move from Brazil to Portugal. There I stayed until I met a Lebanese guy, and despite all the alarming advice about the country’s situation, I fled to Lebanon on New Year’s Eve of 2011. Little did I know that I would fall in love with this beautiful country and this beautiful city called Beirut?

I didn’t need to speak the same language to feel welcome. And let me tell you a small detail. I’m a Christian, getting married to an atheist from a Muslim family. I never felt different, and I remember being astonished by how in a country with so many sects, people are one hand.

Over and over, I testify how they help each other in times of need. And this was when I restored my faith in humanity. You can be different, but it doesn’t matter. They will be there if you fall in the middle of the street or lost.

The devastating explosion that happened in Beirut was a very traumatic experience for me, but at the same time, I saw the most significant acts of compassion and unity. If you ask me if I want to live in any other place or go back to my country, I will answer you, definitely no.

Bassam Iunes

I have been dwelling in your streets since my tender years, and I’d never been tempted the least to catch a glimpse of your architectural chaos, not to mention the messy ornament of your entangled electrical cables and leaking pipes. To me, you were just a big concrete jungle where dreams are shot down, and I was never conscious of the energy that makes all these people get attached and indulged in singing for you. I admit it, I’d never really loved you, and I’d never considered myself your child. I’ve spent the last five years trying to leave you with no luck. During my fivemonth stay in South America, all that reminded me of you repeatedly popped up when I least expected it.

It took 3,000 tons of explosives for me to realize that it was never about your walls, streets, and all your urban clutter; it is all about those I loved and considered my family. Yet, they

Model: Maguy Nashef

Instagram: @magzzz84 https://www.instagram.com/magzzz84/

all fled you, and I am ready to do the same; however, I would be lying to myself if I said I would not miss you, Beirut, as the plane slices through the Mediterranean sky.

Model: Lana Daou

Mirna Naddour

“Be strong.” “Man-up, we are the children of war, (as Cozy mentioned in her introduction). This is how our parents tried to help us get over what happened in Beirut on that Tuesday, August the 4th! This is how they raised us, how they lived and adapt, and how we live now, witnessing a war, a national security accident every now and then... But how can we get over it? It was not one kilogram!

Not one ton, tons! Not one building, streets! Not one neighbourhood, a whole city!

They say you reap what you sow. What did we sow to reap a blast ranked third internationally after the atomic bomb of Hiroshima, killing hundreds of people, injuring thousands, and displacing hundreds of thousands and the majority already living in misery…?

What have we planted to reap? To live in a country where our security has a responsibility to know about the presence of 2750 tons of Ammonium Nitrate, equivalent to an atomic bomb when ignited, in a warehouse in the port, the heart of Beirut, without proper safety measures for years! Not even a sign on the door, that door of that cursed warehouse number 12, which the firefighters tried to open to extinguish the fire that caused the devastating explosion, unequipped, uninformed of what was waiting for them on the other side! They opened the door of their graves with their own bare hands.

That Tuesday, August the 4th, we lost mothers, fathers, siblings, and children. We lost heroes, homes, schools, museums, businesses, jobs, memories, and a sense of security, our dreams, and sleep. We lost hope for a better future or even just a tomorrow in a corrupted country already economically, politically, environmentally collapsing with a pandemic on top of all that.

That Tuesday, August the 4th, people from all over Lebanon donated blood to their sisters and brothers and then food, medicine, clothes, furniture, and everything you can imagine, with a complete absence of any governmental support. We all rushed to reach our loved ones hoping they will pick up the phone for our hearts to cool down and our blood to run again in our veins...But even then, we didn’t feel okay, and we are still not.

Many Lebanese decided to stay against all odds to help our wounded Beirut, but so many more lost the battle of hope and left broken-hearted looking for fundamental human rights abroad, leaving behind a land, a family, a lifetime... Cry Beirut, Cry! I won’t ask you to rise! Beirut is a mother whose children got murdered in front of her. Beirut is a charming eastern woman burned in the face, not once, not twice, and not even thrice! Beirut got destroyed seven times and risen seven!

Beirut is tired… She needs time to grieve her children, her beautiful souls, herself, and her cursed fate… She is tired of always having to rise like a phoenix from the ashes; she needs to rest and recover like a beautiful, peaceful wounded pigeon, and then, only then, may she pick up her broken wings and dreams and learns to fly again…

Model: Dan Haddad

Instagram: @dannhaddad https://www.instagram.com/dannhaddad/

Model: Maguy Nashef Instagram: @magzzz84 https://www.instagram.com/magzzz84/

Maguy’s Beirut t-shirt design by @themadshad https://www.instagram.com/themadshad/

Model: Lana Daou

Instagram: @lanadaouu https://www.instagram.com/lanadaouu/

Models: Sarah & Jad

Model: Walid RajjabInstagram: