A man called Bashir.

A man called Bashir used to walk our street. In the middle of a bombardment, he would start walking the streets laughing, the distinct laugh of a man who had lost it. Lost his mind. gone stark raving mad to walk the street under heavy bombardment, laughing at it as if he were a kid enjoying fireworks.

He was such a pitiful site, yet he survived the bombardment and the civil war that ravaged our country, Lebanon, alive, mad as he is. Many called his survival an act of “god”. But why do you think this man went stark raving mad in first place? He survived his family, his wife, his children; they all died in one of the many bombings we were subjected too. They died needlessly, this family which he belonged to in such trying times.

He survived while they died. He lost all that he had and loved and cherished and belonged to in such a frightening time, ceased to exist, for no humanly possible valid reason whatsoever. All that this man knew and cared for in this life had ceased to exist. Was no more. One moment here and the other not. A sudden void that was unfathomable, incomprehensible, unrealistic, of proportions so vast that the human mind, advanced in knowledge as it is, could not accept it willingly when it presents itself at this epic proportion. An event that leaves one wondering for what reason has he been spared this atrocious end. Why did those he considered his only source of hope in such despairing times suddenly vanished, and he survived. Why? Why did he go insane like that? People ask. Why should he not. I answer.

Life became meaningless for him the moment he saw the dismembered, disfigured dead bodies of his most loved people, his family, his sole reason for existing, all gone with the pull of a canon's trigger, in a dishonorable war being waged between competing warlords and war criminals. Think of it as multiple mafia bosses competing for the same territory and the crank that up by a thousand fold and you come close to understanding how dangerous it really was.

And he survived this when everyone that he knew and cared for, his flesh and blood, the love of his life, vanished, extinguished from, existence. He survived! He should thank his lucky stars, some may say. But is he so lucky that he now became absolutely and desolately and painfully alone?

I don't know if Bashir still lives or not, but I very presumptuously, wish to speak on his behalf, that yes he was stark raving mad, but only because he knew that there was no divine intervention, that whatever reason he survived for, it was not worth losing all he ever cared for. His wife, the love of his life, and his children, the product of their flesh, blood, and passion. Especially when people have not yet understood what the problem is, and why they are guilty of murdering his family by continue to support the very feudal lords, who capitalized on sectarian differences to elevate their personal interests above their constituents whom they regarded as inferior to them, and allowed strife to continue even in peace.

I don't know if Bashir still lives or not but I can still hear his maniacal laugh.... and the frightening thing is that I understand the absurdity of it as I see the same old stupidity and selfishness re-manifest itself once more, depriving wonderful people of their lives, their souls, their gift to humanity, their love. Loneliness in a time of extreme turbulence and hardship is a terrible, terrible, feeling. To stand there in pitch darkness with just one spot light shining on you. Alone, on an island surrounded by an ocean of agony and despair. A speck of dust in a vast, vast universe of unimaginable proportions. Alone, in all this vastness. Alone, and walking the streets laughing like a lunatic under heavy bombardment.