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In the heart of Lebanon, where the echoes of war fill the south, I am living a life caught between conflict and the idea of a better life.

Roads turn into rivers with flo´Ç»å²õ every time it rains, and my supposedly upscale neighbourhood feels dry and empty without water for days. Even the water gallons stored at home as a backup run out, adding another layer of frustration to our already challenging lives and disrupting our daily routines.

After a long day at work, all I want is a simple shower to unwind, a chance to wash away the stress, but it’s a comfort I can’t have. Do I even have the right to make this statement when I am not directly in a conflict zone?

This relentless shortage of water isn't an isolated issue. It's tied to Lebanon's old and damaged energy infrastructure system, which was badly affected by the civil war from 1975 to 1990. After all these years, it is still struggling and cannot generate enough electricity, which means there isn't sufficient power to pump water, making the water shortage even worse.

According to a 2021 report by UNICEF, more than 70% of the people in Lebanon were dealing with significant water problems. Nearly 1.7 million people lived off only 35 litres of water per day, a stark contrast to the pre- 2020 average of 165 litres per person.Ìý

"This system, dominated by elites who prioritise their own personal interests over those of the people, has created an environment where corruption thrives and power remains concentrated in the hands of a few"

Then, there's the economic collapse and high inflation that hit hard in 2019, which pushed many into poverty when the local currency lost more than 90% of its value, leaving even the most essential services beyond reach.

None of this is an isolated or happenstance issue, it is part of a much bigger issue that Lebanon has been grappling with for decades: a deeply ingrained system of political corruption.

This system, dominated by elites who prioritise their own personal interests over those of the people, has created an environment where corruption thrives and power remains concentrated in the hands of a few. The attachment to these political elites extends a cycle of corruption and neglect, impeding progress and intensifying the hardships faced by many ordinary Lebanese.

As I drive back home, surrounded by drivers who have lost their patience, and who can blame them, the walls seem to close in, magnifying the daily challenges that affect every part of my life.

It's not just about the water, it’s about the weight of the never-ending obstacles that just seem to keep increasing. Even the thought of a date with someone or a carefree evening with friends feels like a distant dream, lost in the noise of constant stress. How can you even think about one or the other when everything around you is in chaos?

A French magistrate has issued an international arrest warrant for Lebanon's central bank chief Riad Salameh

It comes after Salameh failed to appear for questioning by French investigators who want to know how he amassed sizeable assets across Europe 👇

🎥:

— °®Âþµº (@The_NewArab)

And then there’s the question that lingers: when will there be emotional strength left to sit and work on aspirations when the rest of your day is spent running around, seeking a place to shower? Should I leave in order to create a better future for myself or stay?

Lebanese people are known for their creativity and resilience in the face of hardship; they shine wherever they go and achieve success against all odds.

But how do you chase dreams and work on personal growth when basic necessities occupy so much of your time? How much longer can we endure this? Why must we always be resilient?

But, in the midst of frustration, there's a deep emotional longing for moments of relief, moments when life feels somewhat normal again. Simple, joyful hangouts with friends become beacons of hope, a reminder that laughter and being together can help us cope with the stress.

As I grapple with these challenges, I can't help but ponder a broader truth. I have a job that brings me joy, and by most standards, I am considered to be living comfortably. If I, in my relatively fortunate position, feel this way, what then are the experiences of those earning much less?

With Lebanon’s economic collapse, costs have shot up while wages haven't increased enough to keep up with the soaring prices. How can we accept a reality where even the most basic necessities become elusive for so many?

We sometimes witness two extremes here in Lebanon: people partying and spending lavishly on outings, seemingly living carefree lives. Can we blame them? Perhaps not. But for those unemployed or earning below the minimum wage, a mere $90 per month, there are no moments to forget the hardship of daily life.

The bottom line is everyone is tired and frustrated. The instability of the country is taking a toll on everyone, both locals and expats who have decided to call this place home. Now, with the ever present threat of Israeli bombs, we know the fate of Beirut can change at any moment.Ìý

History really does repeat itself.

In these moments when it all feels too much, I pause to think about the Palestinian people in Gaza facing a much more brutal and harsh reality. This, in return, brings up the guilt; a guilt for wanting simple pleasures when our siblings in Gaza face genocide, starvation, and ethnic cleansing.Ìý

"This isn't just about personal struggles; it's about the emotional toll that political instability takes on our communities"

In a region rife with war, poverty, and political instability, the people oscillate between feelings of outrage and helplessness at Israel’s violence against Palestinians and simply trying to get through each day.

This isn’t just about personal struggles; it's about the emotional toll that political instability takes on our communities. It’s a mix of feelings - frustration, longing, guilt, and gratitude - playing out against the backdrop of a tough reality.

Today’s economic and political situation in Lebanon is the result of deeply rooted, systemic issues that have persisted for generations, including decades of corruption, negligence, and political instability.Ìý

But rather than succumbing to hopelessness, we must let these moments serve as a call to collective action. Support those most marginalised, embrace kindness, and recognise that everyone is battling something.

In a country rattled by politics and war, prioritising our collective emotional well-being becomes a shared commitment.

Kristina Tayar is a Lebanese architect born in Nigeria. She has a passion for design, writing and visual storytelling.

Follow her on Instagram:Ìý

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Opinions expressed here are the author's own, and do not necessarily reflect those of their employer, or of °®Âþµº and its editorial board or staff.