Via Abdulwahab SayedOmar Three years on, we do not cry anymore... We used to cry with joy when we felt, deep in our chests, the first glimpses of apostasy from a regime ruling us for half a century. The joy of saying, nay shouting, a word or phrase that our own parents prevented us from even uttering before … a re-birth if you like. We used to cry with joy when we succeeded in running fast enough and avoid the shabiha after a demonstration outside a mosque, university or on the street. We used to pat ourselves on the back when we would come up with a really catch “name” for next Friday. We used to watch every video, photo & live stream of every little act of disobedience and immediately think of how to top it We used to listen, memorise and repeat every song or slogan that those more artistically inclined than us would come up with… and cry whilst singing “Ya 7ef” We used to jump with joy every time we would shout “Ya Bashar toz feek” and everyone who jumped up & down around you was immediately your friend even if you never met them before We would rejoice as we came to learn the names of towns & villages that we never knew before and be happy to know that there too, like us, people were saying “Toz feek” We used to stand, arms on shoulders, and gently swing from left to right whilst singing “Janna ya watanna”… with a small tear at the corner of one eye But slowly the tears changed… no longer tears of joy We started crying for the loss of innocent lives whom we didn’t know of at all. Then we started crying for the loss of people we do know, loved ones. To the point where nobody, absolutely nobody in Syria, can claim NOT have lost someone close Then we started mourning the killings en masse. No longer one martyr or 2. Then we started learning more and more names of villages & neighbourhoods. Not because of a protest but because of a massacre or even their destruction… and again…we cried Then came the false promises, we rejoiced in the idea that one can rely on mankind for help and for a brief second that small glimpse of hope… made us cry Then came the confusion, who is a friend? who is a foe? Who is really with me and who is secretly against me? Now we are under siege. If not physically then mentally. We no longer sing or chant. We don’t rejoice nor even blink. We are no longer afraid of mortars, tanks or planes but we are no longer celebrating.. anything. Whether for joy or for pain… Three years on… we do not cry anymore.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Mar 2014 10:46:34 +0000
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