My hands were trembling, as I gathered the little composure I had left to take my phone and text the family chat: ‘Where are you? Are you okay? Did you hear this?’ My mom responded, ‘Yes, we are fine, don’t worry, it’s just sounds. I’ll skip my hospital round to come be with you.’
Later that night, my Instagram was flooded with videos of bars and lounges packed with people, as if nothing had happened. What a strange summer it was in Lebanon, defined by nothing other than polar extremes.
A SUMMER OF EXTREMES
Coming back from my trip, I couldn’t help but reflect on the past few months. In some ways, it was one of the most memorable summers I have had, but in others, one of the most challenging. One lesson was clear: It’s not easy to be from the Middle East, yet the people from the region are the proudest of their heritage. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my summer anywhere else or in any other way, despite the underlying stress that came with it.
Throughout the year, as the region is being devastated by war, tensions in Lebanon escalated daily, the situation was far from calm. But one thing remained constant: we Lebanese tried to ignore it, hoping things would eventually settle down. Unfortunately, we weren’t entirely right. This summer was different.
When August arrived, a series of events began to intensify the already fragile situation—bombings in Beirut, attacks in the south, threats to the airport, and daily sonic booms. PANIC and uncertainty gripped everyone. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified hearing those sounds every day, wondering if a real bombing was happening. I found myself shivering more often than not, even during moments of fun; it was far from a carefree time.
As people rushed to leave, trips to Beirut were canceled, weddings called off, and birthdays postponed, one question lingered in everyone’s minds: what do we do?
And as you might have guessed by now, the answer became clearer with time: ignore and live. ‘Life goes on’ became the motto of the Lebanese, and they embraced it wholeheartedly.
Outside, you would never suspect anything was wrong—restaurants were packed, nightclubs crowded, beaches full, and music everywhere. But then I would come home, watch the news, and be confronted with a completely different reality. I struggled to reconcile these two distinct worlds: the paradox of stable instability. How can a country on the brink of war function as if everything is normal? How can I see a friend stress over her wedding being disrupted, only to celebrate with her the next day, laughing about the unnecessary worry we went through?
I always knew that Lebanese people are resilient, but this summer, I witnessed it firsthand in a way I never had before. In reality, we are exhausted, and we can’t keep waiting for things to get better. Life does go on, and we must adapt to every challenge that comes our way.
Despite the fear and uncertainty, I found myself deeply grateful that if something were to happen, I would be with my family rather than away from them, and I’m sure many feel the same. This mindset led to a profound realization: It’s because of this that I felt like I had such a meaningful summer. Every day felt like it could be the last day of summer—who knows what tomorrow will bring?—so we made the most of each day. I cherished the ordinary moments, like dinner times with my family. Every night, we would wait for each other to return from work or our activities, and gather around the dining table to catch up. It was so simple, yet it became one of the things I looked forward to the most. The joy of seeing my mom and dad walk through the door after work, or hearing my brothers’ stories, made those moments truly special.
A RENEWED SENSE OF PRIDE
This summer has deepened my appreciation for my culture. I felt a renewed sense of pride in being Lebanese—a people who can adapt to any situation and maintain hope and optimism, no matter how much the outside world tries to undermine it. I also learned to truly value the ordinary moments and cherish even the simplest things. Lebanese people may be some of the most stressed population, but they are also among the happiest because they live every moment to the fullest.
Just when I think I have learned all I can from my country, it surprises me with a new (not so pleasant) experience that further deepen my learning.
