angry birds is NOT funny in Damascus

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Art work by Tammam Azzam

Today; the weather is cloudy with the chance of mortar rain… the temperature is much much higher than its average in this time of the year. It’s hot that your car might melt down in the street.

Every day the sky of Damascus throws tens of mortar shells randomly in the city. Sometimes it feels there’s someone playing angry birds… well.. REAL angry birds. it’s weird how the game becomes so brutal when it gets out of the screen.. When someone plays it for real and thinks if he kills all the birds and destroys all the stones he will go to heaven then. This is a surreal scene for how Damascus looks like in the day light. What’s more surreal? When you hear those who are shelling the mortars say they are doing this for the sake of the revolution and to emit this dictatorship then you see them shelling a kindergarten school bus.. Five little kids and their teacher are the dictatorship in my country. Another ironic picture is when you see the time of the shelling is exactly the same time when employers generally get out to their homes.. Really! Are those poor employers really a dictatorship?!  I am saying they are poor because most of the richies are now out of the country. Is this your idea about a revolution!

How much more do I have to worry about my fourteen year old sister because they might bomb the schools?

How much more do I have to run all my way to the hospital staring at the sky not at the road to see if anything is falling over my head?If this is your idea about revolutions!

Then really may you rest in peace Gandhi. May you rest in peace mother Teresa, may you all rest in peace great peace seekers lucky you didn’t have the chance to see those freedom fighters.

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a mortar shell on an elementary school in Damascus

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Being lucky where luck has packed and left..

Lost and heartbroken, I sit in my room, despite the death around I chose to play a Spanish song that I hardly understand.. freezing to the bones though the springy breezes and green trees making a rustle that I used to feel lovely a long ago but not anymore..

It’s another bomb attack.. in the place where I was supposed to meet a friend if I woke up
Imagea bit earlier. But I missed the appointment for I was too lazy to wake up.. or maybe too lucky to wake up?  Am I really lucky for not waking up?

Should I keep on sleeping until this all ends ?

My friend wrote about her lucky father too.. Actually he woke up, and went to his appointment which was in the same place of the bomb attack, how was he lucky then ? by being a hundred meters away..

Adrenaline rush in his blood… all his life passed in his mind for few seconds.. he fell down.. after he made sure he’s alive, he checked out his legs, his hands.. he could move them .. “Thank God I’m alive, I can move” that was his first thought..

What about the rest of those who weren’t lucky enough to sleep more and miss their appointments? Or to be a hundred meters away ?

more than 10 girls.. 10 students until this moment, of those who woke up early and went to school, will today sleep eternally without the sound of “Democracy” to disturb their deep sleep.

 

you just can’t understand a human being actions.. I mean;

Despite this destruction and this unbearable situation around you still be thankful for staying alive (like me and my friend’s father), and at the same time another human being comes from a different place, a different continent sometimes.. gives up his life in a suicide bomb attack to kill other innocent school students.. why? to go to heaven.. because these students shouldn’t have been at school .. they should have stayed at home, emptied the city for the “rebels” to end up what they came for .. they came from different places around the world to “raise the word of God” as they believe.. that God who feeds on blood Is definitely not the same God I know..

Who knows, maybe I was lucky not to wake up . maybe I wasn’t . maybe it’s life giving me more time to feel this heartache and anger of this injustice of the world..

The anger for those innocents sleeping eternally by those seeking for their God who feeds on blood and mothers’ tears..

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peace way

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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.

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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

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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..

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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. 

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