Smile Syria.. Smile

on Easter all i can say to Syria that Smile though your heart is aching.. Smile, even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You’ll get by…
A song I recorded in my humble voice and on my humble mobile recorder .. with my sister on the piano.
this song has the most encouraging words but still always makes me cry..
in the time of war there must be a reminder for us to smile
From Syria and to Syria ..

And then they said; let’s Somalize Syria



Being lonely in a dark room in a dark house located in a dark city is enough reason for me to write tonight. The whole city is drowning in darkness. I have nothing specific in mind but this blank page at least lightens the room a bit.

Electricity is down in the whole city, the laptop battery will survive for the next 30 minutes, and I don’t know how more I and my city will survive.

Tonight I’m not writing to tell the world anything

Tonight and in many other nights I spent hours staring at my reflection in the mirror, nothing is really clear but the Panda spots around my eyes because the candle light isn’t perfect if you want to feel your beauty.. Anyway beauty doesn’t really matter.. I was staring at my eyes that I hardly recognize..

I used to stare at people’s eyes when I’m in the bus or walking in the street.. it’s strange how you can know a lot by staring at these eyes, these helpless eyes..  these colorless eyes.. I recognized at this dark night that I have the same eyes now.

At first some Arab said : we will Somalize Syria..

It was something unbelievable for us, kind of funny.. I remember at that time I smiled and ironically said : ah as if we are Japan.. we are not really much better than Somalia.. Image

Then after two years , I’m here .. In the dark room of the dark house in the dark city staring at my black face and colorless pale eyes thinking.. I became like those people I used to look in their eyes.. and the word “Somalize“ is much worse than I thought..

Architecture school.. no words I can say


Have you ever asked yourself what does it mean the word “homeland” to you ?

it’s indescribable, inexpressible, if you were born and lived your whole life in the same city, then this city will live in you not only you live in it. Damascus, the city that wrote my diaries and my whole life. Now day after day, the chapters of my story are being destructed.


school of Architecture-Damascus

Today, my college.. A mortar shell fell in the Damascus School of Architecture today and killed 15 students, more than 25 are injured.. I was watching the photos after I have chosen to kill my emotions.. but how can I !

I spent five years in this college. And it’s not like any other college you may know, it was my home actually.. I spent almost nine hours a day there.

Who wants this to happen in the universities?

The side who wanted in a way or another a strike in all parts of the country?

Or the side that wants people to go to their work and go on with their life?

It doesn’t matter for the mothers of these young guys .. they won’t ask this question now. But soon it will prevent them from closing their eyes a moment at night.

Students of the university of Damascus are now divided into two parts, some of them are asking the management of the university to cancel all the lectures for now until they find a solution for this mortar, the other part refuses to stop going to university, they refuse to obey the will of those who want Syria to die.

In the end, this blood will write a history..

Will tell the world about the students who had to leave so early because the US and its Arab and Turkish allies thought we don’t have democracy..

We had democracy when me and my friends of all sects sat on this table every day, spoke about everything, studied, spent the best times ever.. now .. this blood is not democracy.

in the end I will use a sentence that I heard “when a revolution is made up out of the mosques, it will surely kill students out of university”


Architecture school- students’ cafeteria – Damascus

my childhood questions about war to be solved


On this cold evening, there’s still time for memories and some good oriental music (Naseer shamma). So the scene is like this, my laptop is in front of me, the sound of oud is near and tender, the sound of war is far a little bit but not as far as the sound of peace, I am staring at the white ceiling with a blank mind. Then this image of my memory popped up :

When I was a little girl there were that Chinese cartoon movie I liked very much and watched it over and over again. It starts with the daily life of a little family , two little girls and their parents.  They were naughty happy girls, until the war came to their city .. I remember how I watched this movie every time with tears filling my eyes for these girls. When the war came they had to leave their home which was taken by the enemy and I can see in my head now the part that made me always cry when the little sister died of fever because they couldn’t find a doctor or medicine for her.

Oh God! While I’m staring at the ceiling, listening to oriental music I recalled this Chinese movie that I used to watch FIFTEEN years ago .

At that time I always imagined these girls as me and my sister and maybe that’s why I cried too much watching that movie. I thought if war ever came to my country I’ll never leave my sister because she might die like this in the movie, if she dies I will die too. And I thought; what do people do in war , how do they live, can they still watch cartoon ? oh I wish war doesn’t come here because I love cartoon too much and if I had to leave I won’t be able to watch .

I am smiling now, cartoon and my sister were all that mattered at that time.

I still don’t have a full answer for that little girl that was me, but I know I won’t die when someone I love dies, I continue living stolidly , I wake up every day , look around , recognize where I am, and recall in my mind that they’re not there anymore ..  but dear little girl you may watch or not watch cartoon and that won’t matter much.

Dear little me, you may listen to music in war, you may sing, you may runaway, you may lose people you love, you may cry and be torn apart, you may die a thousand time and revive again, you may hide your head under the pillow when the clashes get closer.. you also may choose to stop feeling, you see a dead body and don’t show emotions but still cry when you watch a sad movie. You surely will become another person .. a stronger from the outside and fragile inside,

Dear little me, you will always have a tear waiting in your eyelid to be dropped, And you will always choose to keep it for you know you will need more tears in the future.

But keep it in your mind sweetie, you won’t die unless you choose to die, and this choice is always available.

displaced Syrian child

displaced Syrian child

peace way


It’s really cold outside, though the spring is on the doors but the wind whistles outside makes me up all night. I’m not saying that I’m used to calm nights no of course , I’m used to clashes and heavy weapons sound but I can’t sleep when the wind whistles .

A pale white light is lighting my room.. I opened my laptop and signed in to facebook. Oh my lord what’s going on there? Why do people suddenly remember something called “Arab league” ever since I was born nothing came out of this useless bunch of crappy fat people. Now what’s new? Some people are mocking, some are angry, some are happy.. I think this is the first time they get this attention… oh wait what’s going on ?  aha now I get it .. they gave the Syrian seat to some new puppet and changed our flag without even asking us! How rude !

That means , they changed the president, the flag, and the government without even asking the F*** people they claim to defend…

it’s really the first time i feel how a Palestinian felt when Arabs made those conferences and spoke on behalf of them, sold their land and  begged for humanitarian aids.

Now we have a government inside the country that runs everything and a government outside that does nothing except taking their salaries from foreign countries and giving promises of future investments in the “virgin land” . a president inside the country that we know exactly who he is whether we love him or not , and a puppet president who came out of nowhere. And two flags, the one that I loved and drew in my 4 year old drawings the one that grabs my attention and catches my pupil when seen in the sky, and the other one that I know nothing about except that it was hung  behind every bunch of murderers  who slayed and tortured a Syrian.

How come they still DARE to call what’s happening in Syria a “civil war” !!! hell no it’s not a civil war. It’s a war made by those  big pigs behind their desks starving for blood and gas and oil. No it’s not a damn civil war, it’s their war by our hands.

You know what ? after all the hands that are playing inside Syria, after all the blood and tears, this is how the peace way looks like the illustration above. 


Curses you be born with if you are Syrian.


this is how i look like

There is always something you can’t see in the news. There are always people who were born with the curse of being a complementary part of a sentence, or an ornamental column that would change nothing if removed except the to decline the amount of drama in the scene. Like this:

“Dr. M. Sa’id Ramadan Al-Bouti was murdered on 21/3/2013 in Al-Eman mosque in Damascus by a suicide bomber while giving a religion lesson. 48 others were killed by the terrorist attack.”

 Another curse that you may be born with, the numbers curse. It means when your whole existence, your whole story, dreams, and fears all become a number on the news headlines. Look at this headline:

“25 Killed by Rocket with Chemical Materials Fired by Terrorists in Aleppo Countryside.”

You may be born with the curse of being a part of a group you don’t belong to. But you still have the fears of this group because if you accept it or not you are a part and you will be treated as a part. If you are born Christian you ARE a Christian then, no matter if you believe in it or not, if they force migration on the Christians then you must leave.

sectarian slogan in Idlib

this slogan says: Sunnis are not a sect, they are the nation, while all others are sects.

Want to know another curse?

The curse of being born as an Arab. You don’t get to choose to be born here in a land that has a huge amount of oil and gas, a land that has the most important routs in the world to grab the attention of those pigs who never get enough, but at the same time a land that is ruled by idiots.  The perfect recipe (gas, Oil, idiots, and pigs) for destruction and misery.

The curse of being bordered by (Turkey) a country with a bloody history and an Arab like look stupidity.

The curse of being partner in the same country  with someone you can’t understand his language or his ideology.. and if you understand it you’d hate him even more.


Al Qaeda in Syria

these are our American backed partners.

So why did i add that illustration above?  I feel so much like that little turtle. I have 3 choices, either to throw my self from this peak or to keep watching the planes until i can catch one of them and leave or to go back and fight. 

so I can count many more curses, struggling is way much harder…  but as we were born with these curses you can add now the last one “the curse of having to struggle against all other curses” .  


what’s left of a whole story

what's left of a whole story

“dad don’t go please “said the little girl with her sweet voice.
“baby just one hour, I will go pray for the lord to protect you and will be back” said the father.
ok then, but If you don’t bring me chocolate with you I will cry all night” said the cute little girl.
and then .. this is what’s left.. yes.. she will cry all the night.

Chemical, Chemistry, terminology transformation


little girl has the true Syrian flag around her wrist

Chemistry,  to me .. this word that was always related to the magical world, to the stories of Alchemists who along thousands of years never gave up their dream of getting gold out of cheap metal. When I was a little girl I was surprised to see a blue liquid turning into fuchsia or orange and since then the word chemical has had a special place in my mind dictionary.

Today, was the day when this word “chemical” grabbed its luggage and moved from the “magical” words department in my head to the department of tragic horrible words.

“Chemical” is no more a word for pharmacy or agriculture or even industry, this word in my country is a keyword for death and destruction.

What made this terminological change in my head ? it was this

25 Killed by Rocket with Chemical Materials Fired by Terrorists in Aleppo Countryside.

Just today I could smell the dead bodies from Aleppo to Damascus. Staring at those faces.. what do they feel? Do they even still feel? is it the betrayal or the fear or the loss that hurt them the most.  I gazed into their faces for tens of minuets.. blank minds maybe just as blank as mine..


Someone came from abroad promising of freedom.. and then suddenly he shows his fangs  and freedom seems to be a nightmare, a sick memory .. a man who lost a whole family, a little girl crying in a hospital longing to see a face she recognizes, a woman with dizzy eyes looking for her kids, and a soldier came from his poor village, left his old lonely mother and his young beautiful beloved girl, carried his rifle and a pride that none of the readers can imagine and then faded away in his way to defend the big homeland.