How do wars end?

It has been eight years since the nightmare started. Does it mean we were living the dream before that? No, but ignorance is a bliss almost always. In eight years, I have changed five cities, seven homes, countless skins, two hair colours, and two souls. I lost the track of time and the sense of place, and I most importantly I lost the sense of belonging somewhere.

It has been more than a year I haven’t visited Damascus. The strange thing is that I was haunted by this city; I was in love with its old stones and narrow roads.  I thought I will always have it as my home despite the destruction and the tears I dropped there. I left my home in 2015 with a lingering wish in my heart “I will come back someday when the madness evaporates, and men come back to their senses”. This never happened… Not yet, and never will apparently.

Despite the glamourous new year’s celebrations in London, I decided to spend the holidays in Damascus. Although was not excited to visit Damascus again, However, I wanted to find solace with mom who is the only reason I would always want to go there. My mom is 63 years old, she has that smile that makes me feel safe and loved. She is the elastic bond that ties me to my country, wherever I go I find myself going back for her. Also because London with all its glamour and its nine million people still makes me feel like the loneliest person on Earth.

I travelled from London to Istanbul, then from Istanbul to Beirut, then Beirut to Damascus. The car in which I came from Beirut left me near a small shopping mall, and the other car that was supposed to drive me home was late. So, I went inside the shopping mall until the driver arrives. The shopping mall was full of goods that no body bought, because people there can’t afford to buy “luxurious” things, and by luxurious, I mean new clothes. Outside there was a checkpoint where two men check IDs. I don’t remember that I was this intimidated by guns like this before, rifles were “silly” and normal. Now is when I realized I became a “white Syrian” somehow. I learned at the age of 13 how to assemble and reassemble a gun and a rifle, but now I can’t even look at them.

As I was going through the highway that leads to my home (the picture), I saw the destruction, the dust, and ghosts of people who died there, or whose dreams died there just like me. Everything changed, only the sun still visits the place every day to show us the fiasco and disappointment we should feel for what happened.

The question in my head was; What will happen after the war to these places? This road will be built again, high rise office buildings will attract businesses, those same businesses that funded the war and destroyed these homes to forever displace the land owners and start a new era… the era of the war nouveaux riche.

For eight years we thought that war is ugly, but the realization of this trip was that post war will be uglier.

damascus

 

The world is a dangerous place to live in

There’s always a plan B when Plan A doesn’t work, but is there a Planet B, if our planet is ruined?

Most of the people don’t think about this, even I didn’t usually think about it. And then I was awaken on the sound of an explosion, I saw black clouds rising in the air, at that moment I realized my life is going to change forever. Then, along those three past years, doors for outside my self were closed and other doors that led deeper inside me were opened.

During this time I saw my country turning into a hot spot, then into a headline in all international newspapers, then into a main interest of the humanitarian societies, who knows maybe in a few time I will see it in Hollywood horror movies .

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La Madeleine á la Veilleuse
Georges de La Tour

Syria…

A country that doesn’t have many records to be proud of, but the first known Alphabet in history, the oldest inhabited city, most of the oldest churches, one of the oldest written laws, nothing new to be proud of but a nice small peaceful country.

Actually I was proud of my old city, I was proud of being a “Muslim” who celebrates Christmas , who can doubt anything that’s supposed to be believed in, I was proud of being raised as a free spirit, proud I can draw and sing, I can love.

Sometimes we need to be proud, to belong , and today I was reading an article and found out that Syria now has a new record:

THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACE IN THE WORLD.

Hmmmm. Well nothing to be proud of. : /

Aw wait, I live in the most dangerous place in the world!! That kind of makes me feel better, my depression then is normal. I’m not sick , and guess what, I am a strong woman : P

Being able to write while listening to  music and shelling sounds is a blessing, and I am lucky to be a strong lady and live in the most dangerous place , to spend the best years of my life in the most dangerous place is an opportunity that most of the world’s youth can’t have …

And I am lucky that I knew how it is like to live in a normal place where going out with friends is something you don’t usually appreciate, and being home safe is something you don’t notice.

Lucky…. Yes lucky : (

Lucky I realized when Syria is destroyed there’s no Syria B other than refugee camps. Will there be an ear to listen or an eye to read ?!

every thing I said about being lucky is a lie, don’t believe it.

what could have happened in two years!

Two years have passed.. only two years.. they are not too much if you think about numbers. But in 24 months or two years.. my brother’s friend –who martyred in the explosion of Qazzaz- could have graduated from college proudly holding his certificate in computer science.

In two years my uncle’s family (he and his wife and their six year old daughter) could have been a happy family again, their house could have been full as ever and the voices of little “Lujain” could have been bothering all the neighbors.. her little five year old brother who is the only survivor of the family also could have been playing with her instead of sitting on a wheelchair, waiting for his family to comeback from their long  journey to the “sky” as he has been told..

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Two years are not too much.. yes.. But in two years my friend’s family could have bought a bigger house instead of losing theirs in an explosion and finding no place to stay in.

In two years my basketball player friend who was killed for no reason but being so special could have won some medals. And the scientist who was assassinated with his cousin could have invented something that may help the humanity.

24 months were able to change my beloved city into a city of death and my beloved country into a promised land for the criminals and terrorists of this Earth.

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In two years Maya Nasser could have been in an important position serving his country instead of becoming a heart breaking memory and a picture on my wall.

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In two years many stories were left unfinished and the more were decided to have a sad ending. What about the unwritten stories, will we have to swallow more tears?

Sadly, Only those who enjoy watching the blood fountain in my country  have the answer.