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.



happy past year? doesn’t matter now. happy new year!!!

I have always wrote from Syria and always wanted people to read my posts because they were honest thoughts from someone who is in Syria, someone who no one actually cared about what she is thinking or what she is suffering… now, I am not in Syria. I ran away from that place that made me suffer a lot. The place that made me lose some precious years without even noticing. But just this morning I was thinking of my life since 2011… since I graduated as an architect, I could do nothing really valuable neither for my career nor for my future in general. But however, I am proud of myself. Actually I am very proud of how I stood strong, or how I faked being strong until I could actually be strong even if this strength is built over a pile of fragile moments.

Let me tell you something my friends; we all need love, depression, and war in our lives to peel our skin a layer over another, and to tear our hearts into pieces until we are nothing but a lonesome weak naked soul standing face to face with itself… then this soul must make a decision, what is it actually that you want in this life… what is it that missing piece of you that makes you don’t want to wake up and live another day…

On September 2013 after a whole year of depression and lack of enthusiasm, I was sitting on a balcony gazing into the horizon and listening to Frank Sinatra. It was drizzling and the breezes came straight from heaven, it wasn’t hot or cold. For a long time I thought I didn’t breath. I inhaled all the air in the balcony. My lungs expanded until I felt all my body is lungs now, it is all full of this air, and it hits me in the core that I am alive.


That was the thought I had in my head back then. Life is too precious to waste such a heavenly breeze go without being taken by its beauty. I want to breathe. I want to inhale all the happiness in this world and not exhale it until maybe I explode of happiness!

That is a decision you make. It is something that enlightens you and once you reach the happiness you were looking for you don’t regret any of those moments when you were dead inside, because out of death comes an enlightened  life only when this moment of clarity soothes  your body.

I tried to do everything to set me free from all the shi* around… I created my own bubble and lived in ignorance about everything happening around. I don’t need to know about people dying by poverty or war or anything. I meditated, I expanded, I made my self be aware of my soul and how I can be in control of my destiny which is something I wish I knew a long time ago, but this is how I was supposed to learn…

Was living in this bubble enough? Yes for a while but then war is like water, unpreventable and unstoppable… In one week I decided to pack and leave this country torn into pieces before I am torn like it… I don’t know where or how I am just looking for happiness… not the fragile happiness I am making up, No , a real one, an unbreakable one…

Now that I left, and found a job and bla bla bla … am I happy? Am I a “Runner away” ? do I always run away thinking I will find it? I don’t know… is this an unbreakable real happiness? I don’t know. I think happiness is also like water, it doesn’t have a shape, a smell, or a color and as a group of small drops make the river, so is happiness, a series of warm moments. sometimes it is to catch a beautiful view while walking.


it is the end of the year and I was just arranging some memories and thoughts from the past few years in my head trying to come up with a conclusion, but as always I am not sure of anything, I am still composing my theory about happiness, and I know it will never be complete… Never.

Happy new year my friends!