Notes before the end of the world
- Claire Amaouche
- Jun 15
- 4 min read
On war, history, humanity, and the marvels of ordinary life
#1 – Beyond the Horizon
There are mornings when one would rather open the windows to the gentle sway of the waves, the mist slowly lifting, revealing the sharp lines of the Cypriot coast, than to the turmoil stirring just beyond the horizon.
From my hotel room in Paphos, I watch this sea, still as oil — and I think that beyond this peaceful stretch of water, just a few hundred kilometers away, a people is slowly vanishing, torn from their land like a patch of rainforest. Farther still, beyond Turkey and the Black Sea, another war drags on — as if pulled from a nightmare.
And like the boat one believes disappeared once it slips past the horizon, many realities move forward out of sight, carried by currents the eye cannot always catch. Between the carefree ease of my childhood and the world unfolding before me today, only the blink of an eye seems to have passed.
#2 – A distant History
Because I haven’t lived through History. Because, to me, it only exists in books. I find myself disoriented in the face of today’s world. It is hard to grasp, in any real tangible way, that humanity has only been shaped by cycles of violence and respite, collapse and renewal. And perhaps what seems like a shipwreck today is simply a passage toward a more peaceful rebirth. And it is hard to believe that the resilience we once had still exists — or that one day, somewhere, people will rise who can lead without being consumed by power and violence.
I grew up in a world that believed only in progress. Among those who preached peace after waging war, those who spoke of equality after long denying it. Perhaps that is why violence, in its hardest forms, always felt so distant to me.
I cannot change the world that shaped me. But maybe it was right, in the end, that the veil should be lifted. Maybe it was time to understand that war is not something distant, reserved for other lives, but a deeply human reality — one we have made and unmade together since the beginning.
#3 – Introspection
I feel of no use, in this particular moment of History. Perhaps because, taken alone, my life holds little weight. But the more I try to understand the world and its pains, the more I discover myself. I begin to understand the logic of my own violence, my indifference, and the limits of my empathy and generosity. And I see the illusions that protect me: that comforting lie that other people’s realities are not mine to carry.
But if I recognize in myself the same fears, the same impulses, the same longings as those who now persecute — or are persecuted — then I can no longer believe that all this is separate from me.
And I understand that this inner battle — to keep violence and indifference from taking root — will shape my words and my actions. And those actions, bound to the ones of others, may — in their own way — shift something in the world’s design.
#4 – Biodiversity
They say that nature without diversity becomes fragile. That when we replace wildflowers and tangled groves with endless rows of engineered corn, the earth is slowly drained, until it becomes sterile. And when a single species disappears, others follow — because every life holds others in balance.
It is strange, then, knowing we are part of that same nature, that we so easily believe the loss of certain peoples, certain cultures, would leave the world untouched.
I marvel, again and again, at how swiftly humans reject — and attempt to destroy — anything that differs from their own. Or at least, what does at first glance. And yet, perhaps we have survived because of this strange ability to transform ourselves in order to inhabit the world, to create diversity to embrace its complexity.
Behind the discomfort differences bring, lie only the same questions, asked in a different manner.
#5 – Ordinary Life
We don’t speak enough of the ordinary. Of ordinary days, of ordinary people.
Yet there is beauty in the ordinary. There is more beauty in the ordinary, than in the extraordinary. More beauty in the nameless lives of history than in its heroes. In those who live simply and quietly. And God knows they are many. And God knows they are despised.
The fabric of our societies is made of the ordinary. The bonds that connect us are formed between ordinary people. You and I, in fact. And if, from time to time, geniuses, heroes, or tyrants leave their mark on History, it is always because a multitude of anonymous lives made it possible.
I wish we could linger a little on the everyday.
A spring spent in the garden, back bent over rows of lettuce.
Those long days of idleness and quiet.
And, after the storm has passed, skin that smells of the forest.
# 6 - Do something
Go vote, if you still can. Pick a subject at random, and read. Spend ten minutes a day listening to the world around you. Look at the first buds of spring. Lean into what seems complicated and, after a bit of study, realize it might not be after all. Acknowledge the work of those who still strive to keep freedom alive. Say hello to your neighbor. Talk to the birds, if you will.
But for heaven’s sake — do something.
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