My story as a syrian refugee

I am a woman, like all people in the Arab world I grew up listing to Lebanese christian singer and unreachable star, Fairuz.

Being accompanied by her music while drinking my coffee in the morning I completed my education. Her music, my surrounding family and friends charged me to go on, to archieve my goals. I was born and educated in the arms of my family , in my magical lovely city Homs.
I studied informatic engeneering, which was a dream coming true after hard work. Simple live I used to have. I didn’t had at that time a clear understanding to recognize the large gap I had because of the lack of rights in my country. How could I know about it while it was blocked from us since our first livelight we witnessed when we were born.

How naïve I was, I wonder how much time it would have taken me if I wouldn’t have had witnessed that Arabic spring and discovered that I miss freedom in my live. All political conversation even the ones that are related to our live problems, all the laughts, all the jokes that we made about it we used to whisper it because we were afraid from the consequences. We all knew that it is dangerous. Lot of examples of being dangerous we witnessed intentionally in order to be driven to the flog of sheep’s. Our daily concern was to find food and our livelyhood. We didn’t have the choice of objection. How to have it while we don’t know the culture of opposition and excepting the others opinion.

“The country of security and savety” was the Mantra in Syria, it describes our country which our regime was bragging about. But what was the price? It was forced consent and consent and concent – just obay without any objection.

I am not a writer and I have never experienced writing text like this, is the first time. But my stories will speak for themselves. I was lucky that I had circumstances which allowed me to escape the war but I will be the voice to tell the stories about whom I left behind.

We are an orphant peoples. Our “sister”-countries didn’t play any role in supporting us, rather the opposite. Since the beginning of the Syrian revolution all the Arab countries closed their doors for us. Painful reality since we were the people which our doors where always open to support and accept all people with pleasure. And there is a lot of bruses about this. Maybe the civil war in Lebanon is a good example. We opened all our homes and Lebanese refugees stayed in our families.

Our Syrian passport becomes a curse following us the only moment when I realized that my passport is a treasure in my hands was when I chose to flee to Europe.

Big wonder all over the world about our silence and fears to speak out the truth, till now.
But for me it is very clear, because the consequences is not only following the person but it will affect his whole family and even more the whole area where he comes from.

First example coming to my mind is Malek Jandali, sensitive Syrian musician saturated with talent comes from my city Homs, the capital of revolution. He studied in Germany and he is living abroad from Syria, in Exile. Malek spoke out loud and since the early start of the revolution he felt that his responsibility as a syrian artist was to deliver the voice of the poor people all over the world through his music and stunning choruses. He traveled all over Europe playing his new compositions which where named after some Syrian revolutionary heroes and role models. He donated the money from his concerts to the striking families that were at the demonstrations for the Arabic spring in Syria.
Malek didn’t carried any weapons, he didn’t committed any crimes. His only weapon was his upscale art as a composer and musician. But it seems that the sound of his weapon, his voice and words were louder than the voice of the gun. His music shook at the throne of the tyrant and he replied by sending his dogs to ravage the flesh of Maleks old parents, living peacefully in the city of Homs. Al Assad Forces broke into the apartment of Maleks’ parents.

They tortured his old father and mother, beating them and leaving them for dead on the floor. Later the neighbours “heard the whinning” from Maleks parents even so that I believe that the whole neighbeirhood had witnessed what had happened but noone would dare to do anything to prevent I because they where afraid to face the samee fate as Mareks parents. The neighbours brought the old couple to the hospital from which they left thereafter Syria to join their son Marek.

At the end a very clear message was sent from the regime to all the revolutionary spokespersons that to spoke out for Syrien people “We can harm you wherever you are – be smart and be silent”

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