A Smile in the Middle of the Pain

I am amazed at the people returning to their homes in the South and in the Dahieh. People seem to carry a smile. A smile while they look at damaged houses, at destroyed roads, at the left over churches and mosques.

I envy that smile. I envy a person able to smile for the small gift of returning home. I respect their power to see the white linning behind the black clouds.

For my part, there is no return. There is no more smile when I think of Beirut. For me the return would be a duty not a passion anymore. For me their is no light behind the dark. For me, a part of me, the Lebanon in me, died with the voice of the survivor of Qana. "I have no one, my mother, my father, my sisters, all our family... Only my cousin remains... My cousin, became my father, and mother, and brother, and all that is left for me..."

The resonance of her voice will never part me for as long as I live. And that resonance will always remind me not to return, not to turn back...