wisdom series
Reflection of a 14 yr- old syrian girl
Cayanne, a 14-yr old girl from syria speaks about what haunts her and how war has changed her life.
One year, 365 days and an endless number of seconds, transformed my
life 360 degrees, made it go from color to black-and-white, turned
laughter into tears.
I now no longer perceive
the world as a 14-year-old innocent girl who takes everything for
granted, more as a victim of a terrible experience that'll never fade
away, always reminding me of what others go through and a memory that
will forever stay with me.
Before the revolution, I
remember how, on cold winter nights we would sit together as a family,
around the crackling fire sipping hot chocolate. I remember the smoke
from the fireplace, wafting upward, leaving a scent of burning wood in
the air. I remember looking into my sister's eyes and that glimmer they
always had, the smiles my parents would share.
I remember how I used to
love breaking the silence of the moment by rushing into my father's lap,
tracing the narrow path of velvet veins on his hand, as I
enthusiastically told him about my day at school, my second home and my
friends, my second family.
We don't live those days anymore. Now no one's eyes can lie, and the only sound I can hear is the screaming of sorrow.
March 23, 2011 was the
first day I saw a demonstration in Syria. I was driving to a friend's
birthday party, through streets that were packed with people carrying
flags and calling out chants in support of the regime.
I was oblivious to my surroundings, I didn't know what was going on. I thought it was just a demonstration that would blow over.
"Barely any one is
coming! Their parents are too scared to send them because of what's
happening," my friend cried when she saw me. I looked into her eyes and
saw the tears slowly forming and streaming down her red cheeks,
streaking her dark make-up.
As weeks passed by it
kept getting worse. One day I jumped out of bed to the sound of
something loud shattering the windows of my room. Breathless, I got up
too quickly, barely noticing the glass sparkling on my dull rug. I ran
but came to a sudden halt as I felt my head spinning and my vision
darkening.
My mom was crying and
hugging my sister tightly. "A bomb hit an area nearby," my mother
stuttered, switching through the different news channels while trying to
block us from seeing it.
I managed to get a
glimpse of it, on the TV, something I wish I had never seen. I remember
my eyes feeling assaulted by the brightness on the screen, a sight that
haunts me every night; dead bodies, bits of human flesh, were spread out
like dispersed glass.
I closed my eyes and
opened them again, hoping I would go back to the life I was used to,
where unicorns and rainbows existed along with Prince Charmings and
forever afters.
Unfortunately now, the
dark days, and the nightmares take place on a regular basis, devastating
my country and reluctant as I am to let it in, taking over my life, and
controlling my mind.
From then on the world
changed for me. Instead of learning it slowly through experience it was
taught to me harshly through the sound of gunshots and bombardments. I
discovered how cruel life can be, and how in one second a smile can turn
into a tear, peace into war, a friend into an enemy and life into
death.
I lived in a blur, not knowing what had happened or what I was to do.
I woke up every morning
to the sound of gunshots, bombs or the roaring helicopters accompanied
by the sad news of the death or kidnapping of someone we knew.
"I learned that though mom may be older, taller and more experienced, deep down she needs me just as much as I need her."
-----Cayanne
Some evenings, I hid under my blankets, covered my ears, and thought of the past trying to feel safe again.
I silently peeked out my
window to continuously stare at the moon in its different forms casting
a dim light, to stare at the sky and the stars emerge taking their
place in the night. The image drawing me further and further from
reality, into the life I yearned to go back to.
My parents tried to stay
strong teaching us to do the same, until one night it all fell apart. I
was sitting in my room, the place I hadn't left for a long time,
talking to my friend about our memories, and suddenly, I hear a cry,
whispers, the sound of my mother's sobs, then her yelling. "I'm going
out to find him!"
My family has its own business and my father was late coming back home, not answering his phone.
"But it's too dangerous!" my aunt screamed back at my mother. "I don't care!" my mother shouted back.
I ran down the spiraling
staircase terrified, afraid of what was happening. Everything went
black, like a starless night. I felt like the walls of the house were
closing in, suffocating me.
The background noise was
blocked out and all I could do was stand and stare in dismay at my mom
in this state for the first time. She lay on the stone courtyard just
outside our front door, crying, holding her phone with a shivering hand
dialing my dad's number like her life depended on it.
Everything stopped. It
was like someone pressed the pause button in a movie, and now the
seconds felt like hours. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart
screaming over my mom's voice.
I don't know how long we
waited, or how fast my heart was beating, but when my dad's car turned
the corner, I gave everything I had left to run and hug him tighter than
ever.
"I get angry when other people my age complain about their life, about the silliest things.''
----Cayanne
At that moment my senses
returned and I realized how cold the ground was under my bare feet. I
carried my mom inside, and from that day on I learned that though she
may be older, taller and more experienced, deep down she needs me just
as much as I need her.
Now, the one thing I
looked forward to was waking up every morning and creeping into my
parents' bedroom to look at my dad's thin and frail face making sure he
had made it in safe the night before.
In school, only half my class was left. "At least we have each other," said one of my five best friends with a comforting smile.
However that didn't last for long.
Devastating news kept
coming at us, beginning with the death of my friend's uncle. "In one
second I lost my uncle; a part of me," she whispered in a heartbreaking
tone.
I looked at her
hopelessly, trying to comfort her, but I knew no words could bring him
back. Every morning for one month, no words were spoken by anyone
besides the ones of regret.
"If we knew this was coming, we would have done things so differently," we would tell each other.
We wouldn't have taken so much for granted, we would have appreciated what we had. Instead it was ripped away.
Grades dropped, smiles faded, students left, and all that remained were the memories that we would safely lock away.
As my dad protectively
drove us to and from school, the only places we could go to, I noticed
the row of soldiers on the streets. They reminded me of domino pieces.
Their presence radiated darkness.
Each one had a solemn
appearance, frightening eyes that looked right through you below their
crunched frown. However, what always caught my eye were their large
guns, the color of the dark pine trees they leaned on.
I went from looking at colorful flowers and singing birds every morning, to dark killer weapons.
April 5, 2012 was my
last day of school. My parents decided to move us all to Lebanon. I had
known it was coming all along. It wasn't a surprise. Everyone was
moving.
I sank in my seat that day at school, buried my head into my hands and cried like I did every day.
I remembered how when I
heard the news about Egypt and the violence in Tahrir Square and
thinking to myself that I was far from harm's way. Now I was considering
how hard it would be to move away from my home, my dad, my friends and
family -- not knowing anyone or anything, possibly never being able to
contact them because of the broken phone lines.
My mind wandered back to
10 years ago when I first stepped foot into the school, only worrying
about things like my friendship bracelets, and now I was expected to
leave everything I ever knew behind. The people who knew me inside and
out, who had carved a place in my heart.
Memories flashed
accompanied by more tears as my friends gathered around me and I opened
my swollen eyes trying to picture the scene hoping it would last
forever.
I am angry and I feel
hatred to the people that are ruining my country, anyone who is holding a
gun and shooting no matter which side they're on. Those who stole my
childhood and that of so many others.
My dream was to apply to
universities with my friends as well as cry tears of joy when we threw
our graduation hats in the air. Now that was crushed to pieces. One part
of me, knows that this isn't good bye, and that no matter where this
crazy world takes us when the time is right we will return.
Another part of me is
scared that more people will die, even if they are not close to me.
Everyone has a family, friends and they suffering. I am scared that I
will lose the hope that I now have about being able to return, and being
left with nothing but memories.
Mathew 24:6-8
6 And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
7 For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.
8 All these are the beginning of sorrows.
