Friday, August 31, 2012

Let's leave Middle East politics out of this because mine are in the right place, trust me.
But, this used to happen on average 2-4 times a week when I was ten to nineteen years old. Please watch, don't skip.




By age sixteen I didn't bother going down to the bomb shelter anymore because the idea of being stuck down there with our annoying noisy neighbours was less appealing than just waiting it out. The attacks were usually preceded by a large number of IDF planes flying over our city into Lebanon (to bomb) and then flying back. And then fifteen minutes later the missiles and sirens. The planes would fly back and forth all day, pretty much at any given time, like 4am on a school night. Our city was evacuated and empty for weeks at a time, our neighbours died, and one time late at night my mom and I drove home through a flurry of missiles in the rain, terrified and crying, and the road was peppered with giant smoking holes. She picked me up from a sleepover because she didn't want me to get hurt. 

It's infuriating to think that bored families from the suburbs, or wherever the fuck they come from, pay money to see a bunch of assholes fly in a diamond formation over my house during the Toronto Air Show. The first time I "encountered" the air show I almost barfed on my then boyfriend in his Parkdale home. I was hungover and sleepy and I thought the house was being bombed. It is the dumbest, most outdated and offensive "tradition" kept by and for ignorant, proud (and mostly white I presume) Canadians who've never experienced war. 

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