Tags
Beirut, bombing, first world problems, journal, Lebanon, nonfiction, travel, war
There was a bombing in downtown Beirut, in a very commercial shopping area that I went to with my cousins and aunt and uncle a few times. It happened about six hour ago, and so far 5 people have been killed while more than 70 have been injured.
Last night I was angry because I was tired and wanted to go to bed, but Dan wanted to stay out with our friends. We went from bar to bar, drank too make, and were harassed by loud music. To top it off, at the end of the night, I noticed my purse was missing. I went to be in a foul mood.
But waking up this morning to a flood of concerned texts from friends who didn’t know I was back in the states–and having my own wave of panic as I wondered if my family was anywhere near the site when it happened–put me back in perspective.
I was out with friends, having drinks, tired and worried about my purse being stolen, just hours before people were killed and maimed in a shopping plaza.
In other words, my problems are not that big. Really, I don’t have problems–no real “What am I going to do?” issues. Every problem I have has a solution. Sometimes those solutions mean sacrifice, or discomfort, but rarely ever too much of either.
Really, I should call my problems inconveniences. That’s all they really are. Not like losing your hand at a shopping mall, or constantly living in fear that if you leave the house, you’ll put your life at stake. Not living in a perpetual “no-win” situation, just because you live in the “wrong” neighborhood, the “wrong” country, or you’re the “wrong” color, gender, religion, etc.
Yeah, I don’t have problems.