"“That’s it, as soon as I see the light of day, were going to Lebanon"

"For my whole life I've been seen as a tourist in my own country, and spending basically my whole entire life living outside of Syria has never affected me as much as it had these past 3 years. Not until I first heard of the first bloodshed in Syria have I ever felt so connected, emotionally, to my homeland, to the land where my mother and father were born and grew up in, the land where I spent countless summers and winters and springs meeting with my enormous family and learning more and more about my heritage, culture and history. I've been restricted from visiting my country for over 2 years now, and as each day passes, I only feel a stronger sense of nostalgia for the days where I would wake up every morning in my grandmothers old, worn down, ancient Damascus home listening to the sound of birds and the salesmen eager to make a few liras to buy food for their families, and the smell of Turkish coffee and foul on a Friday morning. “Wake up teta! (grandchild) your Khalto (aunt) Hanna Salam and Basela, and Khalo (uncle) Khaled, Amin, Ammar, Jihad and Majd will be arriving soon!” Every Friday morning, I would wake up to the sound of my grandmother eagerly cleaning and cooking for the traditional family breakfast, with the crowd of 15+ people squished in the 50m-squared living room where they all spent their childhoods. Regardless of the noise, the mess, and the constant screaming and squabbling of children, they were family, and those were the moments I cherish forever. But now, its been 2 years, 2 summers wasted without being in Syria, 6 months of wasted family time, 24 Fridays that I wouldn't have breakfast with my enormous, Shami family. And what scares me? That there will be yet many Friday-less families yet to come.
Now, my Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, and every single day of the week are filled with the constant stress and the hope that safety will fall upon my family, and that I would never hear of the bad news that any of them lost their homes, or their lives.
During the Spring/Summer of 2012, my family and I had been forced to stay in Syria for 6 months. Although it wasn't safe, I will forever thank God and be grateful that I had experienced what I hope no one I love and care about will ever experience in their lives.
The constant fear and terror before you sleep, that you may have a chance of not waking up, was always engraved into my heart. I witnessed Damascus turn from the peaceful, beautiful place into a war-stricken zone. I started waking up to the sound of bombs and gunshots instead of the sounds of birds, I would see tanks and military trucks instead the daily morning trucks filled with fruit and milk to deliver to those in their homes. I will never forget, one night I spent in terror with my mother, and my then 9-year-old sister, where there were tanks circling our homes at 4 in the morning and we were forced to hide in the bathroom, in fear that the windows would shatter from the noise pressure and any of us would get hurt. However, ironically, I saw this as a joke and I screamed out of my window: “could you please do this at a time other than 4 am? I want to sleep!” and that’s the beauty of the Syrian people today, they have seen this whole war now as a joke, they are trying to turn this travesty into a comedy movie in which it will hopefully end, and the normal Syria will return.
However, one other night, was the night where it changed my thoughts on the war forever, and I realized how my life was seriously at stake.
One night, at 5 in the morning, the electricity in the whole of Damascus went out. And there were bombs. And helicopters. And gunshots. That’s where my mother said; “That’s it, as soon as I see the light of day, were going to Lebanon this all dies down.” I left to Lebanon the next day for 10 days, but only to return back to Syria, my heart missed home. There's one thing that the media is completely wrong about, and that’s the Syrian Army, the one powered by Bashar Al-Assad. They are described as the terrorists, the murderers, the ones causing all the bloodshed, however, one of my experiences show otherwise.
One night, after a day out with my mother and sister visiting the family, my mom was driving back home only for us to find a bunch of checkpoints and soldiers aiming at a building. We asked what was going on, and there was a Free Syrian Army soldier armed within that building, hiding from the Syrian army soldiers. One of the SA soldiers told us to park our car right at the checkpoint (about 50m from our house) and walk the rest of the way home, just so the FSA soldier wont use our car as a target. MY mother then explained how we had groceries, and we couldn't carry them all, and so the soldier had kindly come into the car with us, and directed my mom to turn off the headlights to ensure we were safe. He helped us with out groceries and made sure we were home safe and sound, and asked us if we needed anything, since he noticed my father wasn't around, and it was only 3 women in the house. He also kindly moved some of his men to guard our building, since we were the only ones living in it, to ensure we were safe, and he always checked up on us to make sure we ever needed anything.
I hope my story will change the opinions of those that think all Syrian Army soldiers are terrorists. There will be forever good and bad people, even if they all work for the same cause. There are good FSA soldiers, and bad, and good SA soldiers and bad. Our world is filled with bad, and that is what causes war and violence, and our only hope to fill this world with peace is to over populate the bad with good." -A.I, 17

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