sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!
Yesterday a dear friend of our family – worried about the situation of our tormented land – came from her adoptive village back to Syria to be near to her relatives and to the people in these tragic days.
I could sense at once that she had been very disturbed by her trip.
She had gone as far as to risk her life in order to bring some help to Syria. We was sleepless for nights, but – thank God – she managed to get through all the checks.
Her eyes had filled up with tears seeing the airport’s desolation. She had never seen it that bare, that dreary.
No one going around, no running, no rushing. She could find only some workers and some poor men begging for a tip to live on.
Despite realizing all the risks she’s been taking, she has wished to see first-hand the state of things these days.
She agrees with us that everything has changed, deeply changed.
I knew that already. It’s more than a year now that we’ve been paying such changes with our blood.
She received a hard blow from only visiting the country, while I’ve got to live with all this every day.
But we both cry for that nice country that now exists only in our dreams.
Poverty is spreading day after day, and unemployment is ever increasing. Our economy has come to a halt. Killing people is what only matters to this government, the well-being of citizens being the least of its concerns.
She was shocked at the increase in prices of basic goods, compared to when she had gone to the market last.
And in addition to depriving us of the necessary, they’re spoiling our future.
Our children are not guaranteed fundamental rights anymore, those needed to live any decent life. And even if they manage to escape death and the aggressions from the army, what is their chance of living any simple, peaceful life? Their parents are trying their best to protect them from the many dangers lying in the streets in these sorrowful days, but the only way to do that is confining them at home. No one has the courage to let them out to play with their friends anymore. Even having some brief walks can be dangerous. Streets are no longer a safe place.
Apprehension, obviously, raises as far as girls or young women are concerned.
Girls like me, or like my sisters.
God only knows how much violence some washed (beasts) have been using on us, the daughters of beloved Syria.
And for the army all this has become the normality. They twisted the laws of Heavens, the ones forbidding the hurting of boys and girls.
Sadly, the land that my friend remembered has now gone, and perhaps forever.
But don’t you worry, I’ll be back with news.
You’ll hear from me soon,