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Nous du Collège - N 302 - Mars 2025
Dossier L’école sur fond de guerre Introspection

Utopia dystopia Eight billion people on Seem oblivious to the deafening silence that surrounds

Photo prise du Grand Collège par S.R. and only ninety-five and the people who exist. The people who only await
earth, one hundred me, a citizen with a family and a home that awaits me,

countries. However, for the curfew and dread the awakening. Are they really
10 452km squared, oblivious? Or do they choose to be? Choosing may seem
and
5million hypocrite, but sometimes it defines a coping mechanism.
three hundred and A coping mechanism that makes the obliviousness okay,
fifty-four lives, make that make them human. Though as human as I am, I feel as
Yes, if the ground became quicksand. The air surrounding me
one
That
one! country. three began menacing me. My breathing labored. I felt exposed.
letter-quite-boring But no. I felt bombed. Not physically. Though sometimes I
number is what flows wonder if it would make us all united. In a world where the
through our blood, ‘survivors’ and the ‘spectators’ don’t exist for more than
what makes our dawn, where death make us one, and not two. Fortunately,
heartbeat, and even or not, that reality only exists in dreams, or nightmares.
our ears fume, that Which makes it ironic enough, because in fact it is not a
is Lebanon. Though reality and cannot be one. I could feel my body torturing
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sometimes, you might me. I could see, but barely. My mind could only focus on
feel as if this country the children. On the children who once lived innocent,
makes two, this ‘two’ now simply exist. My brain could only function so much,
unfortunately divided making me realize that these children were not completely
us by war. I might be blunt, but dishonesty will only divide robbed of innocence. A part of them was still awake.
us more. Two’s enough, don’t you think? Well, I think it’s Breathing. Hearing and seeing, because they still hadn’t
too much, to the point where the ‘two’ makes it infinite. realized that they longed to feel it again. Even worse, they
Though infinite only becomes important when flipped, still couldn’t understand that it had been taken away from
which quite frankly sums up our country, our home. Flipped them, this innocence, this pure sense of bliss that only the
is what makes our society, and society made us class based. heart of a child can fully understand. It was what made
Hate to be the barer of bad news, but normalizing people them human, and that too, was taken away. My mind
living on the streets of flames and bombs isn’t okay o-o-k. now decided to make me turn around. I was now looking
Walking through the streets of Saifi, I look to my right. at the spectators. Or not so much. They weren’t really
Usually, I see snobs smoking cigarettes and complaining looking, they were more so, boasting. Probably about
about some scratch on a Hermes bag. These people money, cause apparently money is what makes them feel
become invisible when my gaze falls to my left, and I see worthy of their behavior. Or just, worthy. Come to think
people living on the streets because their beloved homes of it, I could now only see their eyes. Through their eyes
got destroyed. These people become irrelevant when I stood a lock. An entrance to their mind makes my inner-
look better and see the dirty carpet they live off of and child exited, and I enter. I arrived in ‘Spectators’ mind
the small amount of food they survive with. The Hermes apparently, though… it doesn’t feel expensive. It feels gut-
bags make our lives what make theirs become ‘surviving’, wrenching. I look around and all I see are bombs. Bombs
and not ‘living’. I keep looking and suddenly I can’t see that come rushing to the mental. Here is an image of Basta
anymore. My view darkens and my ears ring. Though I can after three enormous air-strikes attacked it, and there is a
hear voices behind me and behind me stands the voices of newly destructed house. Seconds later I’m back, glued on
spectators, and in front of me the deafening silence of the the street, now standing so that each shoulder faces one
victims. The punished without a cause. The forced to be side. I see it differently. I can only read ones thoughts. And
accepted by bombs, and not ‘Lebanon’. Weirdly enough, I realize that we’re all being bombed. Suddenly, we’re not
the silence feels louder than the sound. The sound feels so divided anymore. Suddenly… everyone is just floating
unnecessary while the silence hits me. The silence slaps on the same trouble. Except some choose to ignore it,
me, pushes me, tackles me to the ground and makes me some try to, and some live it. Even so, some choose not to
feel glued to the concrete, just makes. me. feel. Though I feel it, some don’t feel it, and some accepted it.
wonder, the people behind me, the humans that only seem Sasha Asly 2 5
de
as a scientific discovery in that moment, seem oblivious.