Coffee in a War Zone
There is something hauntingly romatic about a war zone to me. Yes, I realize I am able to hold this belief by not actually hanging around in one in my life. Still, there is a modicum romance of eeking a living in the cracks of a city that has fallen to ruin.
This may be bizzare and wholly unique to me but I don't believe so. I believe I have found some kindred spirits right here! (I would like to point out that the first letter is from someone in Bogota, Columbia. Which I find ironic, as an American, that someone from Columbia would have a hard time relating to someone else in a warzone. I digress.)
I think there would be something inherently re-enforcing to enact common or daily rituals within a war zone. Like a BBQ in Beirut in 1983 (or today as time repeats)...
Taking part in these activities, while the most horrible things surround you, must be cathartic to the point of religous. While unable to breath through your own sadness you might occasionally find peace or joy in something as mundane as coffee. Just a warm cup of coffee on a morning in war.
-v.
posted by T. at 3:08 PM
1 Comments:
Totally relatable. In the darkest of times, we need to find ways to reaffirm that we are still alive. Like when people have sex after funerals, or how we found comfort watching Peter Jennings while we waited to find out of Big Daddy was okay on September 11. Or the re-opening of bars in New Orleans while the water was still receding... the list goes on and on. It's the best of human nature - to look for the normal and approachable in the midst of the unthinkable.
6:09 AM
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