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My Syrian Diary – Part 36

Marah, a teenage girl from one of Syria’s besieged cities, shares her stories of life in the war. She recently moved to Damascus to continue her education, deciding to focus her college studies on prosthetics. She hopes to help heal the injured in her country’s conflict.

Written by Marah Published on Read time Approx. 2 minutes

Life is like a chameleon that has many colors; sometimes it looks bright and pretty, and other times it is harsh and dark to the extent that it makes you hate it. The security situation got disrupted this week; the increased intensity of missiles on my afflicted city has resulted in chilling massacres in which nearly 150 people were killed. My two cousins from the only uncle I have were among the victims. Before the crisis, we were all living in my uncle’s house and we had a very strong relationship with his children – we grew up together as real siblings. I was really shocked that they were martyred by one of the missiles that fell on Douma.

They were two young men, one of them was 15 years old and the other one was 17 years old. I called my uncle to try to calm him down, but I broke down once I heard his sad voice as he mourns the loss of his two children. Their departure has an effect on my life that cannot be neglected; it is another wound to add to my open wounds, and I am still losing people I love.

Life has been defeating me, but it didn’t stop at this point. Among the cloud of sadness, grief and pain that hit me, I had to do the rent lease procedures alone at the police station, because, as I told you before, my mother is not allowed to take a vacation before three months of being in her job. Thus, I was doing those procedures all alone. Some of the staff were surprised that the lease was under a young woman’s name, especially as I barely look like I am 15 years of age. I encountered difficultieswhen going back and forth between offices, so I asked one of the staff members to help me. After he found out that my father is deceased, he asked me to wait until the end of the working day when there are not a lot of customers in order to help me. However, I discovered later that he is a despicable person, and he asked me to stay to get close to me. I slapped him on the face, but he threatened to bother me and obstruct my apartment leasing procedures. I gathered up my courage and went to the police station director’s office and told him what had happened. The man denied it – of course. The director promised to facilitate my procedures and to punish the staff member. I left the station shocked and wounded. At that moment I felt like I live in a jungle and humans are monsters, and that it is necessary for me to be very cautious and attentive.

I honestly hope to leave Syria, because I don’t want to change the way I look at it more than I already have. I don’t want to hate it, and I want to keep my respect for its people. What has this crisis done to us? Has it changed us? Or revealed our masks? I am incapable of finding myself here; there is nothing in Syria now except for humiliation, indignity and death.

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