I’ve heard that in some countries people don’t know who their President or Prime Minister is. Life in these countries runs smoothly, people mind their own business, rarely anyone bothers to watch the news, flowers bud, children play, the sky is blue. That sounds much like a Neverland to me. And for those who find living this unruffled life a little boring and wish for some adrenaline rush, well, there is an answer even to that. They can hop in a virtual world of Alice in Bomberland and see how good they are at escaping bombs. In case one gets tired or just needs to pee, no worry, they can simply press pause or the exit button.
I once got carried away thinking that I could be Alice and that I could press the exit button myself and boycott politics in my life by ignoring the everyday torture of endless political ramblings on TV screens realising that I have no influence on it whatsoever. I needed to break free and tried to push it out of my life. Soon after, I was woken up from my reverie and brought back to reality by the bombs falling “out of nowhere”. My friend who was with me when it happened was no better. She had mistaken the first one for a thunder. The only thing that didn’t quite fit in was that surprisingly the lightning came after the thunder and that it came out of the perfectly clear starry night. If we had watched the news that evening we would have seen the bombers taking off in the direction of where we live. From then on I prefer to be informed.
Our reactions to the bombs were very different however. My friend stood in wonder, watching the sky, still trying to figure out whether it was the lighting or some sort of unsuccessful military experiment, whereas I didn’t waste time. I started running towards the nearest building looking for the shelter. Only some time later, the blood freezing, apocalyptic wailing of the sirens announced the beginning of another hard period that would last for months.
My first moment of wonder and fear paralysis happened years before while Mum and I were watching the news in our first out of many places of refuge. We were staying in a flat of some people whom we in turn let in our home on the opposite side of the battlefield. In an unfamiliar town, with only few acquaintances, we anxiously watched the news hoping for a miraculous turnover when it happened. Well, not exactly the kind of miracle we hoped for. There was some violent ground commotion as the night lit up for a few seconds and went back to darkness with a deafening noise. A minute later we were standing in the corridor confused. We were supposed to join the quick steps running down the stairs but I wondered how to talk my knees into it as they declared autonomy from the rest of my body and were shaking uncontrollably. However, it didn’t take me long to progress from a terrible knee shaker to a speedy short distance runner.
Years later, I stopped running. We all did. We got tired. When the sirens announced themselves, people would get out and climb to the rooftops to watch the anti-air artillery producing firework effects on the sky. While others were out watching the spectacle, I used the rare opportunity to have a nice shower with enough water to run up the shower head. In the lack of electricity and popular entertainment provided by the computers, phones and TV sets, young couples made a lot of babies in the longish dark nights, kids played volleyball in the moonlight, parents talked to their kids and even recited some long forgotten verses. A rare car that would appear on the streets would stop to pick you up even without you asking for it. I have never seen more solidarity and good will than in those days. So, along with a record number of antidepressants sold daily, lethargy and indifference to whether a bomb will find you or not, even some good came out of bombing.
On one of those summer days, hot from the heat and the omnipresent threat of bombing, I opened my doors to some unexpected visitors whom we rarely had at the time. I saw my three friends standing in front, smiling at me with their pink, sun-burnt cheeks while holding a small gift for my birthday. They had been riding miles on bikes through the bumpy fields on a scorching summer day, simply to wish me a happy birthday. I framed that picture in my mind and I bring it out whenever I remember bombing. Perhaps I didn’t have a choice and couldn’t escape the reality at the time, yet now I can choose how to remember it.
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