To Syria’s young men.
To those serving their eighth year in the military against their will, not knowing if they’ll see tomorrow. To those working three jobs to provide for their families, to those who risked their lives and crossed the ocean illegally to escape execution, to those who have been disappeared and forcibly arrested and continue to be tortured in prisons.
I write to those who died helping their friends, and to those who continue to live with guilt after they’ve witnessed the death of their children and comrades, the destruction of their homes, the collapse of their country.
I write to those who are being ridiculed and harassed in strange lands, to those who are experiencing the hateful bite of racism in Turkey and Lebanon, to those who haven’t seen their hometowns and families in a decade because they’re on the “wanted” list.
I write to those who have fought damn hard to start new lives in faraway places and were forced to denounce their heritage and identity, to those who couldn’t bury their family members because their racist country wouldn’t allow for their return, to those who are never again allowed to return to their birthplace.
I write to those who had to learn three new languages just to survive, to those who work day and night to send money to their starving families, while living in poverty themselves. To those who continue to sacrifice everything for their mothers .I write to those who are keeping the revolution’s memory alive, especially those staunch ones with the courage to start protesting again in the hope of reigniting a revolution.
I write to those who continue to dare to have hope whilst living in hell, to those who still dream of oneday returning and rebuilding their homelands, to those who look upon the stars whilst eating stale bread and find space in their hearts to give half of it to someone in need.
I write to those who died fighting, from every side, because in War, men are disposable, their souls mere strategic chess moves in a battle that no one can win.
To you I say: I have never seen a more resilient people, nor more noble. My heart breaks for every single one of you, and my soul softens a little more when I lay my eyes on one of your beautiful faces. There is nothing I could do to alleviate your pain, except to talk to you with my pen. To tell your stories and share your wisdom. And so I write and I write until my wrist hurts and my head bursts. So that maybe one of you receives this message, and just maybe my words make you feel loved.