Beirut

Beeping of car horns break my focus, as I scoot through the narrow lanes between cars, to get to work. The air is filled with despair, a hint of anguish with a whole heap of sorrow added to the mix.

What happened to our country?. Our beautiful lady Lebanon. Full of ancient ruins for tourists to see, beautiful crystal blue lakes and snowy covered mountains.

Once upon a time in the golden era of Lebanon , we were once called " The Paris of the middle east ". We had it all.

Now its just a far distant nostalgic memory that people wish that they could go back to.

Electricity is cut again for the millionth time, as I write to Biscuit she knows and understands my situation. So she tells me she curses at the electricity being cut, she's from New Zealand, there's a lot more going on here, than poor electricity. She doesn't know yet but still tries to understand how things are here, she always adds positive messages as we write back and fourth to each other, I have improved my English though. Shes become my informal English teacher, she often gives me tongue twisters to practice my vowels.

As I collect my thoughts back to where I am I arrive to work. Its another day another dollar, in this empty airport. But I do feel some relief being here. As I go through the usual routine check scanner and make my way up the escalator, I see some books I would like to tackle on my work break.

People choose to handle hardship differently.. With me, I indulge myself in literature every day. Each page I flick through is a new fuel to cognitive state. The voices narrate the story as I stand and read at the shop counter. No customers today, just the empty echo the cleaner dropping a mop to the tile floors.

When will this end, as I take a puff from my smoke. I close my eyes. August the 4th changed our lives forever. What we thought was a fire ended up being a dangerous nitrate explosion... Compared to hiroshima. Countless bodies scattered. I take another puff, and remember the fear I had as I searched for my father seeing what the explosion took away felt almost like a movie. I couldn't care less how many mirrors I took down while driving reckless in search of my father. Nothing mattered, everything is broken already. Houses, cars, even our bodies, and our souls... BROKEN.

I asked Allah please let him be okay if you can hear me please under your guidance let him be okay...

I saw him, unscathed, I wept. I wept for Allah heard my prayers. I embraced my father and wept for his safety. We both knew what we had to do.

We pulled bodies out from the rubble, helped other families search for loved ones, the cries of child who's in search of her mother could be heard from a distance. MAMA! her voice quivered, as we searched.

"The books need restocking, and shelves need dusting, I'm gonna go on break" said my manager, I take one last puff replied to him.. "no problem" . A quick nod that I will get the job done, I put out my cigarette against the cold surface of the rubbish bin.

The memory still lingers in the back of mind that fateful day, it's embedded in my brain. We all thought some hope could come out of this... But still we are suffering, there hadn't been any progress to rebuild our country, we are living in constant fear of what could happen next,

My phone received a message. Its Biscuit.

'' How's work legend? '' how's things in Lebanon?

I always appreciate her concerns, there's never a day I can go without talking to her. She tells me about New Zealand, her life including what she eats. Some times she holds back her excitement because she thinks about how I would feel. But I tell her it is okay I don't mind. It better to listen and imagine what's it like to be there than think about what's currently happening here.

Biscuit got her nickname because when we first met as penpals she sent a photo of herself eating a box of cookies and described how she was attending an important event but she got hungry, so she went to her car and scoffed down a couple of chocolate cookies and her best friend happened to take a picture of her. As I'm replying to her message I tell her am not sure how long I would be at work. She replies with full concerns.. '' why?? What's happening??

I tell her the protests are getting out of hand, there's burning tires, peoples emotional rage fills the air, I get worried riding my scooter incase someone throws something or more worse just get caught up in the whole thing.

I tell her I will wait for a few hours than I will go home, she replies, '' that's a good idea please be careful ''. She than changes the subject to how she managed to find a buffet in her city called Auckland. '' ALL AUTHENTIC LEBANESE FOOD ''! She tells me with full excitement, luckily it's through a text message, if she was next to me she would be like a battery charged play toy that won't stop talking about food in a hyper way. I chuckle to myself every time she mispronounced a Lebanese dish.

She than goes silent.. '' I wish you were here.... She finally writes back. '' you can teach me how to make these foods plus Arabic, wouldn't that be fun! ''

I tell her.. '' I wish I could biscuit.. I also wish to see how much food you consume because 10 months of knowing you our phone calls and messages always consist of food "... She laughs. '' I need to get back Biscuit to work so I can dust the shelves down and relocate the books ''

With a swift good bye and talk to you later, I go back to duties.

Do you ever pick up a book and sometimes the person on the front cover voice can be heard, narrating the book?...

That's what escape feels like. You pick up a book and there is your one way ticket to whatever page you want to get lost in. Cliché as it sounds, escaping in book pages... But it's the only way I can escape the realities of my country.

The news is on, as the voice echoes in the airport of what's happening in Lebanon, sometimes its hard to escape through the pages, because you know as soon as you finish your shift and stop reading , you are exactly back to where you are.

It's been exactly 2 hours since I've finished my shift. I have a cheese sandwich and wash it down with coffee. It's safe to ride home now... I think.. Well hopefully. I put on my helmet, turn the ignition on.

Things are getting worse. People crying. Crying to be heard. Crying for what was once a place that thrived from exportations, crying for politicians to see what's happening, and why isn't anything been done. Crying because their whole livelihoods is been stripped away, food shouldn't be begged, and fridges are empty in peoples homes.

As I get home I look up into the sky I see another international flight disappearing into the clouds. This only means one thing people are leaving.

Like what can you do in situations like this?...

Nothing.

I go to bed, as I close my eyes and hope for a better tomorrow.

(Sound of the alarm clock goes off)

I sit up on the edge of the bed.

Nothing much has changed .

Nothi