Another World
My glass is (re)filled with bubbles and my plate with seafood and sushis. Around me, posh girls or wannabes are pretending to have fun while I do, observing them, wondering how many hours it took them to put such a quantity of makeup on their face.Later, another place and a DJ making a break, while imams in town are calling for prayer. Same crowd than before, facing proud skyscrapers and another round of bubbles, while I’m enjoying the music, wondering why I feel so in peace with myself.
The difficulty here is not to jump from one place to another, from a war zone to a party in Dubai, but rather to explain it to people who have not experienced this kind of life. In the same way that I spoke lately about the notion of normality, there is no common definition for the word “routine”. We all get used to our lives and all learn to deal with it. Like new parents are getting used to lack of sleep and develop their patience skills, you can get used to live with a certain level of insecurity and learn how to adapt to such contexts, leading you sometimes to be enjoying a glass of champagne in a club a few hours after you passed in front of a bombed restaurant.
There is nothing brave or outstanding in that. Or at least, not more than being able to have dinner a few minutes after having changed your child diapers...