January 15

It was another grey winter afternoon, full of the rush of the second day of the week. So many tasks were waiting for me at work; once I arrived and immediately took to them I never looked up to see the time until-

BOOM

It was all in a matter of seconds that I leapt from my place and ran – along with other colleagues who were present – toward the opposite wall from where the deafening and heart-stopping sound of the explosion came and the first thing that occurred to my strangely still rational mind was: This was here…oh no… and I began to pray that the people I knew would tread that road were safe and immediately took my mobile to call them.

But the lines were dead.

My hands were shaking. Everyone was on their feet looking at each other with terror on their teary faces. Soon enough we heard the sirens of ambulances and fire trucks approaching.

The bomb had exploded on the corner of the lane that leads to a highway – just a block away from where I work.

It’s not an unusual event anymore, it’s been happening since 2005. But of course, none of us civillians would believe that we can be on site when it happens next – until it does.

A friend asked me what it was like to hear the bomb go off so near, and how I felt during the ordeal. I told him I was horrified but the feeling faded after a few minutes, and dramatically seconds after it happened, during which my mind calculated that I’m safe and alive and okay. Actually, I was much more terrified – and for a longer time – of other things in life, like during a simple and "fun" rollercoaster ride I took about four years ago. Back then I even thought that I was living my last moments and it didn’t make me feel safer that I had company, or that there were other people on the ride also.

So all that fear and shock and fuss – it’s all pointless drama, because it was over in a second. At least for those who were lucky like us.

It's the realization that I was only a few meters away, or one and a half hours away from death that is horrifying on a more profound level. It makes me stop, relive the moment, and reflect on my life. I won’t be living forever, but this wasn’t the first time my life was spared…And I am yet to find out why…

"Bourdj-Hammoudtsi"

“RIDICULE, n. Words designed to show that the person of whom they are uttered is devoid of the dignity of character distinguishing him who utters them.”

The Devil’s Dictionary, Ambrose Bierce

In order to comprehend the meaning of "Bourdj Hammoudtsi", one has to know that Bourdj Hammoud (in Armenian dialect), is a town in Beirut suburbs named Bourj Hammoud in Arabic. A swamp formerly, it was given to Armenians who arrived to Lebanon en route the desert of Der Zor in Syria via the death marches forced upon them by the Ottoman Empire. Over the years, the survivors built homes, shops, factories, schools and churches, thus Bourj Hammoud became the stronghold of the Armenian community in Lebanon, growing into a municipality in its own right.

I should mention for those who are not Armenian, especially for those who do not live in Lebanon, that despite its advancements in organizing the road ways - in a country that mostly treads unorganized roads, despite the way it becomes more and more independent when it comes to business and marketing, and the way it renovates its constructions and builds new and modern ones, Bourj Hammoud is still considered a rather poor town, and Armenian families keep moving out to fancier areas. Now Armenian families reside in other places as well.

So “Bourdj-Hammoudtsi” is an Armenian term that describes someone who is from Bourj Hammoud, such as myself. But don’t be fooled by the objective nature of the word, for it’s not pronounced with innocent intent by those who live outside of the area. If Ambrose Bierce* was another uninventive ignorant Armenian snob living outside of Bourj Hammoud, his Devil’s Dictionary would not be an ingenious constructive criticism of his people, but a childish ridicule of others where he would define the term as such:

Bourdj-Hammoudtsi: A low-class vulgar of ill manners and cheap expressions decorated with curses.

Pause.

Double take.

Disbelief.

Outrage.

Offense.

Now THOSE terms are how I feel and react everytime I witness firsthand, sometimes by my own friends, this way of relating to my hometown and its inhabitants, but then I overcome my shock when I realize how ignorant they are of their own vulgar ill-manners which are sugarcoated with what they believe to be sophistication. And to make it worse, they are oblivious of the fact that there are “Bourdj-Hammoudtsi”s everywhere. But of course… When there’s a thorn in your eye, the easiest thing to do is to shut your eye.

My name is Daisy, I am everything that I am, and I’m from Bourj Hammoud, a name people use to describe the worst things in others. And to all those people I will refrain from saying something that would rhyme with and sound like “got to yell”, not only because I don’t have it in me to say such things, but also because here I wish to make it a point not to live down to their expectations.

* Ambrose Bierce is a 19^th century American satirist known for his masterpiece “The Devil’s Dictionary”.