Yasmin Ismail Dit Saheli

Let me tell you a tale; about us. We are known as the survivors: “the ones who lived.”
Another day is shattered by the sound of explosion, crisis, and unwilling sacrifices; in the ears of innocents, it’s ringing.
We sing to all the unspoken goodbyes we had.
We cry to all the smiles we forget to have.
We write to remember our scars but not to live with them.
At a time, our voices became lower, our faces were bolded, and our pens dried.
We found gaps between pages; we found gaps inside of us. Fear of success, fear of failure. Should we stay? Should we go?
Our sea is holding them; our winds are guiding them.
I will write more about us, one by one, tear by tear, and laugh by laugh. We are not who they think we are. We are more than just 3 in 1 Nescafé and chips with Za’atar man’oushe. We are all the word: LEBANESE.
We are the Light and the Elegant, we are the Bullets, Aches, and Newborn, we are the Emigrants and Sons, we are the Ecstatic.
This tale won’t end here; and it will never have an ending. It’s Sunday today, and you know what day it is: “Tabbouleh Day;” will catch up later.