Stories through photographs
Pt 1: Curated content. The Good, the Beautiful, the Standing.
Smelling a lemon in Aleppo whilst wearing lemon earings in front of the Armenian Orthodox church 📸 @rami.b.hussein 
Khan Asad Basha, built during the Ottoman era in the 1700s, Damascus. 
Mira’s wedding in Hamadiye neighbourhood, in the old part of Homs. 
Nawair (water wheels), first vertical water system in the world in one of the oldest cities, Hama. 
A camping trip on a lake, Mashquita, Lattakia. 
The final resting place of Takla the saint, Maloula mountain and ancient Christian town. 
Al-Assi river, named this way because it’s the only river in the region that flows away from the Mediterranean, Hama. 
Bab touma, one of the 7 doors of old Damascus. 
When I found my letter in a love heart next to an olive tree, Sadad, outskirts of Homs. 
The sun setting over Saidnaya, a town on a beautiful big mountain overseeing Damascus.
Pt 2: Memories. The Suppressed, the Painful, and Recreations.
Our balcony in Damascus, overlooking Mt Quassioun. Once a refuge and a safe space, it became terrifying and dangerous during the war. My sister took this photo when I first stepped back onto that balcony after ten years away. 
My mother and I on that same balcony in 1997. 
Grandmother’s house that was sold after she passed away in 2015. We couldn’t come to the funeral because the Australian Government wouldn’t let us go back to a place that we were seeking asylum from. 
Me at my Grandmother’s house. 
Kneeling at my grandparents’ grave. The only way I got to say goodbye was to leave grandma’s favorite flower at her grave and burn a 500 Lera piece of money for my grandfather who was a staunch anti-capitalist. 
My sister and I in our room in 2002. 
Laying on that same bed after a decade. 
Finally being old enough to drink at the bar where my parents fell in love. 
Broken windows in our staircase from one of the many bombings. Everyday while I was in Syria, I chipped away a small piece of it until there no more broken glass and all you could see was the mountain. 
The door to our house.
Pt 3: Ttuth. The Bad, the Ugly, the Collapse.
You might have noticed that I’ve been dishonest.
The “Syria” I’ve been showing you here is a very curated and filtered version of the truth. Why? Firstly, because I wanted to grab your attention. The image that pops into your mind when you hear the word “Syria” has been carefully planted by global media outlets. I wanted to show you a different perspective.
Second, I realised It was too dangerous for me to show the reality because of the corrupt dictatorship the Syrian people are living under, which poses a threat to the safety of those who dare to write. So, now that I’m safely out, I want to start sharing parts of the truth.
Watching the sun setting over what remains of Aleppo 
The old city of Aleppo, dating back to the 2nd millennium BC. Significant parts of this ancient city were destroyed during the war years, and the earthquake demolished what was still standing. Aleppo is dear to the heart of every Syrian, and it was so special to be shown around and told stories by a dear friend who was born and raised in Aleppo and knows its streets and allies like the back of his hand. 
Harasta, a suburb that once was. Located on the outskirts of Damascus, it was ferociously bombed until no building was left standing. My auntie’s house used to be here, and her baby daughter developed Diabetes as a result of the fear and trauma they went through. 
A child searching through dumpsters in Damascus. A very common scene throughout the country as a new generation of Syrian children grow up in extreme poverty. Since an entire generation of men has almost been wiped in Syria, child labour is extremely widespread to replace those who died, who were captured or who fled the country. 
The Syrian flag painted on shop doors. This flag has become associated with the regime and across the country, shops were bullied into displaying it as well as photos of the president and threatened if they didn’t do so. 
The amount you pay for a sandwich and a cup of tea in Damascus. With the Syrian economy collapsing, inflation is going through the roof. I don’t want to spam you with numbers, but just to put things in perspective, one USD was worth approximately 46 Syrian Pounds in 2011, today the USD is trading at 15,000 Syrian Pounds. Just let that inflation rate sink in. 
Public transport bliss. 
Vintage Syrian cars. Contrary to what you might think, people drive these cars not because they’re cool, but because there are very few new cars in the country due to economic sanctions and ridiculous tax on new cars. Also, what’s the point of having a car since there’s practically no fuel. 
Checking on my sister’s wound after what should have been a simple, painless operation that turned into a source of intense pain for her. Healthcare is scarce and expensive in Syria, because most doctors have fled to Germany, especially new doctors. You’ll also notice that I’m wearing a head-lamp, that’s because the electricity comes on for an hour a day. 
Candles lit in a church visited by very few people. Most Christians in the middle east have fled to Lebanon and Europe in the last two decades, and while churches stand and masses are abound, instead of preaching peace and tolerance, some are unfortunately teaching hatred towards other religions, widening the gap between Christians and Muslims in an already divided society.