From the seed of sorrow new hope is born

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria, this is my cry!

Hi, my friends.
Inspite of being very busy with my exams, I’m trying my best to write you as often as possible, as I don’t want that the events now happening in Syria be passed over in silence.
My pain – our pain, the pain of an entire people – is great, perhaps too great to bear.

Dear friends, my country has been veiled over with sorrow.
Our houses, our schools, our roads, our own hearts have filled up with grief after the obnoxious massacre of Hula.
Fifty children were slaughtered without a fault, killed together with their mothers.
Destroying their houses was not enough for Assad’s beasts, who slew anyone standing in front of their blind eyes. They spared no one.

News of this has spread all over the world, and you’ve finally come to hear about our sorrow from outside of Syria.

There’s a saying of ours which goes like this: “from the seed of sorrow new hope is born” (min rahm al-alam tuladu al-amal).
Damascus’ ambassadors have been finally banned from European countries, as an accusation against this regime’s hideous massacres. They’re the only ones who can stop the bloodshed now occurring in our country.
But expelling Syrian diplomats won’t be enough to stop Assad. This criminal government won’t change nor fall. It only speaks the language of killing and destroying, and will keep doing that until it is finally put down, with or without its diplomatic figures still working.

My friends, I’m sure that this revolution can succeed if you only support it! Send your best wishes to us, us the suffering young… don’t ever turn back!
We’ll keep struggling for freedom, because it is our duty to try and seek for it, just like it’s our right to long for it.
But please, don’t have us walk alone.

Your friend,
‘Aliaa

The children of tomorrow

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria, questo è il mio grido!

You’ll want to know a little about me, I guess. Now I’m preparing for my exams, as the June session is just around the corner.
It’s not a long time since I was last able to study in a peaceful and tranquil setting. I used to spend the night awake, studying my books, and the day repeating my lessons with friends.
Now, though, fear is haunting me everywhere: at home, on the road, at university, in my classrooms.
Houses have become a permanent target of the shabbiha, the governement militia. And so have become universities, libraries and schools, places that everyone should ever respect.
Such institutes are now the main place where to arrest boys and girls.
Examination periods at primary, secondary and high schools have already started, but this hadn’t them stop. They broke into some of the schools, captured some of the children.

Can you imagine even one reason for holding an innocent 10-year-old child captive?
And they do this only because these children’s fathers are partecipating in the demonstrations.

When the shabbiha fail to track the fathers down, they turn against their sons, wives, and mothers, knowing that no man could ever let a part of his own heart go. He’d rather die than do that.
These are some of the most painful means used by these beasts, my friends. But inspite of this, it is those very children who have been captured that – once freed – are the first to get out and demonstrate again. Their shouting bothers this regime more than any demonstrations by adults.

They’re managing to kill men, but are unable to stop their sons.
And these children will grow up one day, and love for freedom and dignity will grow with them. They’re refusing to accept a future under the chains of a tyranny.
I heard with my own hears a kid saying, in all his innocence: “if I resign today, I’ll be ruled by his son tomorrow” (in istaslamtu ana al-yawm fa-sa-yahkumu-ni ibn-hu ghadan).
I expect the best for our children!

Don’t fear for me, I’ll be back with news.
‘Aliaa

The young of Aleppo

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria, this is my cry!

Hopefully you already know about the recent events occurring among our tormented people.
I’ve not been able to write much lately. My fear is high and it’s becoming harder and harder for me to keep going on.

What I’m about to tell you today is probably good news to you, but it had a grieving impact on me.
Back when the revolts began, the government didn’t believe it possible that Aleppo – the second city in the country – would rebel against the regime. They thought that its inhabitants wouldn’t share in the cries of their brothers from other parts of the country.

Oh, did they make a mistake!

What abruptly woke up was like a volcano, as all the youth of the city rose to action. They couldn’t have remained silent at a time in which – in the rest of the country – people just like them were being persecuted and unjustly killed.
The Aleppo people refused to keep on suffering passively, and chose to rebel instead, even at the cost of their own lives.

Assad’s response to protests coming from university students had no delay, and was as harsh and merciless as usual.
The governement’s forces broke into the college dormitory, waking up those sleeping and forcing everyone to get out. Some of the young chose to throw themselves out of the windows so to avoid being captured by these criminals, sure they’d be going to suffer from all kinds of tortures and abuses if that happen.

Four young students has lost their lives.

Hatred between people and the government is raising day after day, especially among the young. Universities’ doors were shut and all study programs terminated, althought examination periods are just around the corner.
This regime doesn’t care about our future. It doesn’t care that universities stay closed.
The only thing that seems to matter to them is preserving their privileges, even if this means exterminating the whole of the Syrian people.

But there’s still a gleam of hope for us.
Some friends studying at the Aleppo university told me that a group of teachers is still holding their lessons secretly, outside of university gates, in the hope that their warden re-allow them in the building.

As a student myself, hearing such news has my heart fill with dreams again, and start beating anew in the hope for a better future. And with a fast pace, as mine’s the age of burning desire, of curiosity and ambition.
Unfortunately, that very heart is still kept captive by a dictatorial government practicing only destruction and death.

Together, I and my friends have promised to continue our struggle for the acquisition of our rights and freedom. We aspire to some free and happy lives, the ones we really deserve, enriched by culture and new knowledge.
It is our task to build a better future for our country. And if fate does oppose us, we will have tried at least to bring about some change.

In this very moment my thoughts reach out to those fellows in Aleppo who are now risking their lives to defend the culture and tradition of all the Syrian people.

Don’t you fear, I’ll be back with news.
‘Aliaa

“Bashar al-Kalb”

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!

I’m glad I’ve got the chance to write to you again, dear friends.
Today I want to tell you about a very important question, something I really care about and that also concerns you and your governments. I’ll tell you about the need for an arming of our free rebels!

Unfortunately, no one is willing to support the rebels who are now fighting for a’rad al-sha’b (“the people’s honour”). The international community is not intervening for fear that the situation turn into a civil war.
Rulers around the world should know, though, that none of us is fighting out of a passion, but for a far greater and more legitimate goal: we want freedom from tyranny.

Our boys don’t get any satisfaction from killing, unlike the beasts which are loyal to Assad.
We are the young, and we need to rebel and fight in order to achieve any decent future. We love our people, no matter their race or faith; we would never be glad to face one of our brothers.

All these inactive governments are allowing Iran, Russia and Hezbollah to interfere with the destiny of our beloved country. The forces from these countries are taking part in the killing of our people; they’re driving us out of our homes and lands, with no one offering us some shelter or helping us to defend.

Wa-llahi, I swear, I’ve seen them with my eyes.
Fully-armed Iranian soldiers were blocking the streets in my quarter just to allow a wooden coffin to pass… One of those apt to carry corpses, but God only knows what was inside of it. No one had the courage to ask, no one even got close.
Their big guns were pointed to the standing people, in the wait for the odd procession to end.

How can I be sure that they were Iranian? The reason is simple: their look proved their identity.
They had long beards, which are always forbidden to Syrian soldiers. Their clothes were all-black, head to feet. The weapons in their hands were different from those Assad’s men usually face us with. Lastly, these soldiers kept silent for all the time, something very unusual for the shabbiha and the other beasts serving this government, the latter never sparing their shouts, swearing and insults against us.

The Iranians are free to kill our brothers and contribute to the destruction of our country, while rebels are not even allowed to speak out their dissent. They’re not given the right to choose their destiny, to seek their own happiness.

Wa-llahi, wa-llahi, wa-llahi, I swear on what’s dearest to me in the world: our revolution must win, even if it’s going to take forever.
Even if grimmer and more sorrowful days are to come. Our struggle will go on, because if we don’t succeed in stopping Bashar al-Kalb (the dog), he will keep committing his crimes and misdeeds.

We must do that, we have no other choice.
We’re fighting to defend our dignity and to achieve a bit of freedom. We’re fighting those who perpetuate injustice, those who’ve been filling a place that doesn’t belong to them for years.

I wish I could also tell you about me, about my family and my life in general.
It is very risky, but I’ll try that soon.

Don’t you worry, I’ll be back with news.
‘Aliaa

The flame of hope is still burning in our hearts

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!

My friends, even in these spring days my heart is filled with sadness. I should be out right now, living the wonderful days of my age; instead I’m forced here, in a dark and dusty room, crying and praying that all this end soon.

What saddens me the most is to see how life in the streets can abruptly stop every day, at about 6 in the evening, as though we weren’t allowed to leave our homes and have a walk around. Apart for a few running cars trying to get to their homes as fast as possible, streets really look deserted.
There’s much fear of being hit by stray bullets shot by the army, while blasts of firecrackers – whose only aim is frightening people – can be heard everywhere. They’re shooting li-irhab al-bashar wa-l-attahyr wa-l-hajar: to scare people, birds, rocks.

At dawn, our streets are haunted by fully-equipped soldiers roaming throughout the city quarters, reciting their damn motto: allah, suriyya, bashar, wa-bas! (“God, Syria, Bashar, and no more!”).
Anyone opposing to this risks their life.

It is this way, dear friends, that our days has passed ever since this bloody war started, but no one outside the country seems to be listening to our cries.
Despite all the tragedies and the lack of help, the flame of hope is still burning brightly, and we are the ones keeping it alive: we the youth of the country. We are the true source of such a light. Boys and girls together, with no racial or religious distinctions, all one to free beloved Syria from a bloody tyranny.
This also helps strengthening the others, and enables them to proceed along the set path, the one leading to the long-awaited freedom of the entire people.

Our hearts are healthy and generous, and sometimes I am surprised at mine’s ability to still receive joy and hope.
The flame of hope, in my case, is still burning thanks to good news, such as knowing that many young men choose to marry the girls who were raped by the beasts of this regime. To such unbelievable violence, we’re replying with love.
In our society, traditionalist and conservative in itself, violated girls are doomed to live sorrowful and shameful lives, as though they were the ones doing wrong. Within this tradegy, all the Syrian people are uniting in order to bring the tyranny down, even though the Assad’s clan is trying to foster division into groups and factions.

hayat! hayat! They won’t succeed!

Goodbye, my friends. I need to stop now: the blasts’ noise is getting deafening and I’m too scared to keep on writing.

But don’t worry, I’ll be back with news.
‘Aliaa

Barbarous times

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!

Hi my friends, another sorrowful day has just passed.

Our children are dying because of a dictator’s wicked will, but the world around us seems to be getting used to such a state of things.
We’ve got no more places to hide. Children, women, old people are all forced to leave their homes, without knowing whether they’ll be able to come back or not.

Who can ever compensate them for their losses?

Assad is free to kill our people, to steal our possessions, even to deprive our children of their most basic rights. In times like these parents are afraid of letting their sons go to school, assumed that a school still exists in their quarter and has not been destroyed already.
All this, while the sons of this murderer President are attending the most prestigious schools in Europe, living their happy and joyful lives.

In addition to having lost any humanity, these beasts don’t possess any culture either. Long time ago, in pre-islamic Arabia, people used to bury their female babies alive, without really clearing out what their fault was.
Men lived together as wolves, with no rules or moral values whatsoever.

Unfortunately, we now seem to have stepped back in centuries, as we live certain dramatic events again.
My blood ran cold when I heard about a man being buried alive only for not wanting to bow to this long-oppressing, corrupt regime.
He was buried up to his head after suffering from tortures and insults of all kinds, and all this only for refusing to sing the praises of Assad.

Rivers of tears began to flow over my face.
They’re killing us in cold blood only because we’re refusing to kiss the very hand that’s beating us.
We’re receiving no help, and no one is asking anymore how can some brothers behave in such inhuman ways.

It is not up to states’ laws or religious dogmas to forbid such practices.
It should suffice any human being’s own good sense to prevent such brutal violence to occur.

Unfortunately they’re not understanding this at all, and we haven’t got the power needed to stop them. We may try to shout out our hate for such inhuman acts, but our voices are not resounding high enough. But somebody will listen to my cries one day!

Don’t fear for me, I’ll be back with news.
‘Aliaa

Observing the repression

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!

Hi, dear friends. How are you?
You’re probably okay, and I’m glad of that.
Things here made no progress, unfortunately, and you can imagine why: deaths increase every day and the distruction knows no end!

We don’t have the oil needed to prompt the world to come and help us, the one Lybia had. We’re a poor people, though we became poor only under this merciless dictator’s government, he who denied us any crumb of honor or dignity.

But we still are – my friends – rich in values: we’re a generous, kind people. We can’t hate and we know how to forgive.
We’re simple, we’re human.

No one is interested in values, however, since they’re not saleable. You don’t start a war to defend a people’s freedom or dignity.
Some stories may raise interest, sure, but with time everything fades out and no one gets interested anymore in what is happening.

The international community sent a group of 300 observers to Syria to check a 20-millions people country. The Syrian people got skeptical at the news. It seems just a new way to delay in order to protect Assad.
They visited Homs and Hama and saw many other destroyed towns. They could breathe the smell of death and distruction which is haunting our streets.
They finally described what they saw in a report addressed to Mr Kofi Annan, and the latter’s reply was the only one possible: we can’t accept any of this.

The repression is still reaping our younger flowers, though.
As soon as the observers leave some town, the army and the shabbiha kill everyone trying to testify what’s really happening.
The other day nine young men got killed just for nearing one such observer. When the ONU men left, these boys were caught and mercilessly executed.

But don’t fear for me, I’ll be back again with news.
‘Aliaa

What future for the Children of Syria?

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,
‘Aliaa

A lesson in Good Manners

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!

Hi, dear friends.

A few days ago I went to the countryside. I wanted to check a little house of ours we’ve got there.
It was hard getting there, roadblocks were nearly everywhere. Soldiers were halting cars entering or leaving the city. They inspected each car and passenger, humiliating them even for just trying to ask for explanations.

That was a new, sad surprise for me, though I know that by now there shouldn’t be much to be surprised at.
I finally arrived at the house, after overcoming with difficulty about twenty such inspections. But as soon as I went past the gate, my blood ran cold.

A group of soldiers stood in front of me, trying to break the door to get into my house! I wanted to shout, but managed to look calm instead, with my heart beating furiously. Don’t ask me how I could do that.
I had them stop by opening the door myself, so that they don’t break it, and invited them to get in. One of them – certainly the highest ranked – followed me inside, and ordered to the rest of the group with a move of his hand that they wait out.

I started showing him the house, opening each door. My wish was that he could see the awful conditions that a former raid of his army friends had plunged the house into.
For what reason could have they done that, if not to spend some time on some cruel game of theirs? With tears in my eyes, I asked the officer who was going to compensate us for all those losses. After some uneasy silence, he looked at my angry face as though he was to offer me his excuses, and replied: “allah yu‘ti-ki kull shay’ ” (“God will give you everything back”).

I didn’t lose my temper. Instead, I offered him and his soldiers some warm tea to drink. I wanted to show them what kindness means, what humanity among people means. Values, these, that have always belonged to the Syrian people.
They liked the tea, but I don’t think they learned any lesson. They’re behaving like beasts, thinking that common people are their preys and that using violence and cruelty against them is only but legitimate.

But don’t worry, I’ll be back again.

You’ll hear from me soon,
‘Aliaa

The blood-stained land

sabaha al-khayr, ya suriyya! hadhihi sarhati!
Good morning Syria! This is my cry!

Hi, dear friends.
I was away for a while and I’m sorry for that.

Things here are as hard as always, and communications are going down ever more often. I’ve not been able to write, but technical difficulties and adversities are not the only reason for that.

I had to endure some drammatic time lately.
As you know, the situation we’re to cope with in our beloved country has become unbearable to us, but I must try and find the courage to tell you about this new tragedy.

Some days ago, a dear relative of mine was abducted from his house in front of his defenseless wife and his still-young children.
There were no news of him for three days, then his cold corpse was returned.
Another life upon their conscience, together with the gloomy destiny of a young wife and her two orphan children. God only knows how they can keep going on, now that they’ve got no-one in the world!

I was at her place yesterday.
The dark of tragedy covered everything in that house. Her clothes, her children, her parents’ faces. Her tear-wet face.

I thought, then I cried.
I couldn’t find the words to express my sorrow, my sadness, my wish to be near to her in that tragedy. But what can you say when you’re faced with grief and desperation?

The smell of death permeated everything, though he had been buried already.
It was thus that a young life’s page had been torn apart, one not having even reached its fourties. I had no chance of seeing him, but they told me what he had been done. One of his eyes had been snatched, and the reason for doing that – God only knows it – is that the regime is trading the organs of those very victims it makes.
I’ve had confirmations of this by many who lost their dear ones.

But don’t worry, I’ll be back with news.

You’ll hear from me soon,
‘Aliaa