Paris attacks : how terrorists have tried to ground me, and failed.

Neither I nor my parents know how many hours we’ve lost, bickering about my “devil-may-care attitudes”. A typical day at home involves criticizing my alleged reckless life of luxury and debauchery. “Darling, you go out way too much, so stop saying you’re tired”. “Honey, you’re overdependent to your friends: whenever they snap their fingers, you rush up like the sad little stopgap you are.” “Sweetie, you think you know better when we actually do”. My parents are 37 and 42 years older than me. I strive to live my life to the fullest, while I am under the impression they tend to follow my grandfather’s motto : “youth has to pass”.

I’m a 26-year-old Parisian journalist, precisely obsessed by youth going by. Fortunately, when they say I go out too much, mathematics proves them utterly wrong, allowing me to relativize their omnipresent fear. I literally work 32 days per month (thank you, freelance status). Once, I dreamt that the government came to fetch me because of unconstitutional behavior and treason to a country where I was obviously ruining the unemployment stats so dear to my President. In short, hermits look like heavy party-goers to me. But as my time outside is directly subtracted from my bed time, my parents consider it lethal.

The problem is that since Friday the 13th, this word has become irresistibly appropriate.

When we left Algeria in the midst of a civil war, my parents hoped France would provide us a safe heaven. And it genuinely did. But to their pure horror, they quickly realized their child could die not only from terrorists, but from pretty much EVERYTHING. My overprotective Mum considers stereotyped Jewish mothers lax. My Dad dreads that my compulsive lateness will inevitably lead to a subway hitting me in the chest (please don’t ask me how it is possible. He doesn’t know either.).

So a mere week after the barbarian attacks, it was no surprise that my low-toned “I’m going out with my best friend tonight” unleashed two ferocious beasts. Screams and criticisms paved the way for more reprimands on my dauntless, irresponsible behaviour. I felt stuck, infantilized, unable to answer with my irrefutable arguments. Time was running out, I was already late, and we all know what happens when I run : I get hit by a vicious subway in the middle of the street.

And then, it struck me (no, not the train). Terrorists had tried to ground me for my “perverted life”, and my parents were undeniably their involuntary accomplices. Their advice to abide by the government’s security measures amounted to a small victory for Daesh. Mum admitted she regretted those good old days when she could have locked me into my room. Dad added : “go get killed, as it seems you don’t give a damn about our opinion, experience, and fear”. Oops. In such a terrible context, how can we go on with our lives without hurting those who love us the most ? Short answer is : we can’t, but that’s no excuse.

Fathoming a war (or an act of war) surely remains an unreachable goal. But for everyone to grasp the idea that we all have our ways dealing with it seems harder than expected. Personally, I was adamant about not changing ANY of my plans although I was obviously ready to adapt. For example, passengers riding empty trains now paradoxically deal with an all too well expected “terrorism commuting fee”. No matter how long your trip is, add an extra 20 minutes for “various security incidents”. This is annoying, but way less degrading than subduing, “staying at home until it calms down”.

If you stop today, you never get back on track. If you dishearten, you allow terrorists to curb your whole life. They’re vying for the right to control our behaviors, lifestyles, and values. Life remains an incredible haphazard, where one should mix both hunches and logic in order to stay alive. Our parents’ fear is as legitimate as irrational, and will remain so forever.

In the end, terrorism is just another caveat, just like sexual predators, car accidents or pianos falling from the sky. And because of that, our challenge is way more taxing than the one terrorists think they’re presenting us with. Our goal isn’t to thwart fear nor to put things in an oversimplified perspective, but to prove our loved ones that our overestimated confidence is merely … a paradoxical proof of maturity. Giving up on our hopes and hobbies would basically amount to a cultural suicide.

Yet we live in an shrewish and frightened society, where “lone wolves” can attack anyone, anytime, anywhere. Of course we’re not 100% sure that we’re not gonna blow up in a subway station. Nor are we certain that we’re not going to die stupidly by falling in the shower. Obviously we recall the survivors’ testimonies every time we #occupyterrace. But at the same time, Friday 13th has opened our eyes on an insidious threat, and made us rediscover long forgotten French values.

Those who seek to protect us won’t stop worrying, but really, did we ever expect them to do so ? How dare we stay paralyzed by fear, while reading stories from Baghdad or Aleppo ? So let’s all turn off TV and stop listening to befuddling discourses on terror. It’s more than time for Parisian families to be gutsy, and celebrate together France’s true motto : liberty, equality, fraternity, party.