It’s my son’s prom tonight. His school days are now officially over. His grandfather lend him his fancy car, I got him the tie, his dad got him the suit. His life is in front of him, all roads are open, no responsibilities, only opportunities for years to come. The world is his.
I am jealous. Because I spent my Saturday driving my daughter to and from the many social events she plans during the week with her friends without my consent. I just get a list presented on Friday morning. ‘Life as a Prima Donna’; she can write the book already. And so I was all over town, running from one place to another, while trying to attend to my own errands as well. My world is taken over by my daughter.
Boy, I wish it were Sunday. We had planned to go to a sandy beach somewhere down south. A friend of mine won’t join us because “they announced they were going to bomb Dahiyeh (southern suburbs) on Sunday.” Oh really? I missed that bit of information. The security department of the company had mentioned that. They work for a foreign multi-national, and so the security department sends out these warnings that they actually believe. I am not sure who ‘they’ are either. In this place, it could be anyone.
I mention this to another friend. “Wasn’t that supposed to happen yesterday at 3? That’s what I heard.” That’s more like it, some good old fashioned cynicism. If you are going to stay home because of threads, you’re not going to leave your house anymore in this place.
And so beach it is. Everybody is urging each other to go to war. I don’t care anymore who bombs who and where and at what time. But if I’d have any say in the matter, 5 o’clock in the afternoon would be good, so the roads back to the city will be nice quiet and empty. In which case we’d also have to send my son outside for his university. Just like his father before him. This place is getting old.