How did you feel what you saw the merciless rhapsody of the orange flame and black smoke against the pale-looking skies of Paris? My eyes were transfixed in terror to the news live feed where I watched the gore of the gothic structure unfold, shattering and shredding the Notre Dame de Paris – Our Lady of Paris Cathedral. When the spire fell, I let out an actual cry and gasped. It was many hours before I collected myself and poignantly succumbed into the understanding that horrible things happen and it is also a part of life.

What really bewailed me was how much this impacted me. I love the arts, sure. Cathedrals, mu

seums, forts and tombs are my favourite places to visit. My jaw drops at magnificent tall buildings, monuments and memorials. A simple stonewall or a mighty monolith, they are a feast to my eyes and a delight to my heart. But Paris, Notre Dame and 13th-century architecture is something I don’t often ponder, so why such pain?

I guess it’s the cognizance that an 850-year-old symbolic landmark that was a witness to the French revolution, Nazi occupation and world wars, which stood unmovable against the odds of economic depression and climatic catastrophes, which welcomed millions of people to be ravished and inspired by just towering strong in one place, was now meat to the monstrous fire.

I think I felt defeated. I felt powerless. I felt beaten.

As an artist, art and history lover, a curiosity connoisseur and someone with a general appreciation for sculptures of yonder, this was inconsolable and upsetting. I slept through wet lashes and scattered tissues, and when I woke up, I felt the weight of a thousand bricks against my chest. Long after I mustered the courage to read the news, and shared the solemn grief with the world, I felt somewhat comforted. The news about the world coming together and the French govt. vowing to bring back the Cathedral to life blew new life into mine. For once in a long time, I felt the solemnity with the people of the world in our shared love for the exquisite and timeless beauty of Paris.

It is true that there is beauty in ashes, and even though what I will come to witness at Notre Dame in the years to come (when I visit) will not be the same as to what the people before me have seen, I will take courage and comfort in knowing that she cannot be ruined and that she will never cease to amaze me. I also contemplated if my donation to the rebuilding of the Notre Dame de Paris is even sensible, as it is such a mammoth task costing millions of euros and the amount I can send willnot add up to anything in the pile. But, it’s not about being significant in such matters. It is about doing your part and paying your respects (bad pun), and I am determined to do my part, how much ever small it may be, it will not be irrelevant.

See you soon, Notre Dame de Paris. You were and are, and will always be a timeless beauty.