14 years later.

April 18th 2025.

I stood where I did 14 years ago. 

Tears in my eyes. 

A smile on my face. 

My flag hugging me gently. 

Memories of the clock massacre in my head. 

Assad is no more. 

I survived. 

We won.

With all my love for you and Syria,

Alaa Hallaq.

 

Chapter 17: This is the end.

What's a story without an ending?

I've been delaying and dreading finishing this for years. I haven't written anything about my life since 2014, simply because I've been trying so hard to forget, and move on.

After all these years, I finally realized that forgetting is not an option, and moving on is much harder than I ever thought.

It's July 31st, 2019. I'm in my bed in Istanbul, Turkey. A refugee all alone, in a beautiful city where he doesn't belong.

Seven years ago, I used to say that I'd rather die than become a refugee. I meant it then, and I still mean it now. Death is more merciful. However, suffer I had to, for some reason.

I won't go into details like I used to. I'll only write the notes that I kept, and I won't fill the blanks from my memory, since memories can't be trusted.

_____________________________________________

100 years of peace, vol: 2


The year is 2013. The location is a very crowded cell in a torture center in the Syrian capital, Damascus.

After several days of the worst treatment, beating, humiliation, malnourishment, lack of sleep, lack of medication, lack of hygiene, I had enough and asked the man in charge -whom I've never seen due to being blindfolded at all times when he's present- I asked him to pull his gun and kill me if he truly thinks I'm doing anything against the good of Syria. I did this trying to avoid more torture and pain. And it worked, kinda.

The last day of interrogation was the worst. It had no torture. Barely any beating. However it has the worst humiliation and threats. They threatened me with my elderly parents. They left me handcuffed, blindfolded, and on my knees for hours and hours. I couldn't know for how long but that was the worst time of my life by far.

Pain can be handled in some ways. But being left like that for God knows how long was unbearable. I nearly passed out several times but I pushed through. My mind keeping playing games on me. I heard things that I will have no idea if they were real or from my imagination. My knees hurt so much but the pain helped me stay sane.

After a long time, I was taken back to the cell, and told that my end was near. That they'll give me one more chance to "confess".

When I arrived at the cell, I could barely walk from the pain in my knees. My blindfolds were taken off but I still couldn't see. Or at least I couldn't process anything.

The cellmates took me and sat me down. Gave me water. Massaged my legs and my shoulders. They have been through this and they knew how I was feeling without me saying a word. They told me they were worried I was never coming back (many die under torture and don't go back).

The last session of interrogation was very different. I wasn't beat up. I wasn't humiliated. I wasn't forced to be on my knees since my knees literally couldn't hold me anymore. But I was still handcuffed and blindfolded.

They told me this is my last chance to confess. I told them I had nothing to confess. They asked me if I went on demonstrations, and I answered truthfully. I said yes. I didn't give many details. I told them about the first time. The very first demo in Homs. Where I was beat up in the street by security forces and had my nose broken, in March 2011.

They liked the story and changed it making it sound like the demonstrators were the ones who beat me.
I didn't say anything.

They made me sign five empty pages, which they filled themselves later with whatever they pleased. That was my signed "confession" that I still have no idea what it said.

Then they sent me back to the cell where I collapsed due to the lack of sleep or food for days. And I finally passed out for few hours.

Later, my name was said aloud, among others, to pick up ourselves and get ready to leave.

I was more than ready to leave. To go anywhere with soap. Food. Some empty floor to sleep on. Anything was better than this.

We were taken the same way we were brought in. Blindfolded and handcuffed. And we were taken to a different place where we will meet a judge.

I was very pleased with that, cause once I was out of that hell hole, I was able to bribe my way into getting into a cell that wasn't unbelievably crowded and crawling with diseases. I was able to pay the guards to bring me food. To charge my phone and let me call my mom for the first time since I was taken at the border.

I spent few days waiting to see a judge. They cost me a couple of hundreds of dollars. I had American dollars with me since I was on my way to Lebanon when I was taken by them.

I cleaned myself. Brushed my long hair. Used deodorant and cologne. Shaved my beard. That was all possible since they let me keep my bag with me, and I had everything I needed in it. Clean underwear and a change of clothes. I looked good according to my cellmates. Good for someone who spent his last well in a torture center that is.

We were taken yet to another place. My 4th cell.
The judge saw us 3 at a time. Asked me about my confession, and I told him I signed blank pages. That I had no idea what's written there. He asked me if I did anything beside going out on demonstrations, I said no. He said I was free to go.

The guards in this new place "congratulated" me, trying to get bribes. Bribes is all that matters. They all wanted to squeeze as much money from me as possible. Then they released me with a couple of others in Damascus.

I went to shop and bought new sunglasses to hold my hair, since the pair I had was broken when my bag was given to me.

I took a picture. And got on a bus back to Homs. And that was the last time I've been in Damascus.

_____________________________________________

The ISIS situation


A year went by, I spent it in Homs with my parents, healing, surviving, doing my best. I tried to fix the issue I had, since I was going to have to go through everything again if I tried to leave Syria, not that I was planning on leaving anyway, but I wished to feel a little bit safer.

Homs was changing fast. Assad has been winning big, with the help of all his allies. And I was far from happy about everything.

I was told than to fix my issue I needed to pay huge bribes which I couldn't afford. So I decided not to fix anything. Let things be. I'll just stay in Homs until the end. That was always my plan anyway. But now that I've asked around, certain people got hungry for the bribes and started threatening me. A person I've never met told another person that I know that they'll treat me as a wanted man if I don't pay up fast. They kept sending me warnings until I realized I had two choices:

1- Borrow the money and pay up and hope for the best.
2- Convince my parents to leave Syria to keep them safe, since I was told they will be targeted as well as me.

I went with option 2, but my parents said they wouldn't leave until I'm out of Syria. Which was quite a pickle.

I made some calls and found I man who said he can get me to Turkey through Raqqa (ISIS stronghold in 2014). He said he's been doing it for a long time and it works. He asked for money obviously. I said I'll pay when I'm there.

He picked me up from my home, I only took a small bag with me, had to leave everything behind, say goodbye to my mom and dad.
He knew all the security barrier guards, so none stopped us.

Assad's troops had made a deal with the rebels and the rebels were moved from Homs to Idlib a couple of days earlier. He drove to the rebel areas, and I saw the devastation. I've lived in Homs my hole life until that point, and I've seen destruction enough between 2011-2014, but what I saw that day was somehow worse than anything I've even seen.

And that was the last thing I saw in Homs. Absolute destruction.

He put me in a bus and left.
They told me to hide my passport well. And I did.

I was ready to end up in the torture center. Mentally and physically ready. I was wearing shorts under my jeans, to have options to wear, and not have to stay in my underwear like some people had to. I had a stupid phone with nothing inside it in case anyone searches it. I was ready.

The first security barrier between Homs and Palmyra was the worst. A guy asked me for a "travel document". I said I don't have one! I told him I'm in a bus that's going from one Syrian City to another, why would I need a travel document?
He said, come down and bring your bags.
I thought that was it. On my way down the bus driver whispered "give him a 1000 liras". So I did. And he told me to sit back down after taking the bribe.

The driver then told me to do the same on every security checkpoint. I'm glad I had the money.

The next (20?) Checkpoints straight up told everyone "Get your money ready, we're coming to pick them up". And one soldier would come in the bus and just collect all the bribes and let us go.

Then we reached Palmyra, or near it, where Assad troops are no more. And no more cellphone coverage. We were nearing ISIS territory. I was terrified.

For a while there was nothing but sand and the road, then we reached the very first ISIS security checkpoint. Two minutes prior, the bus people were getting ready. They hid their cigarette packs, and CDs. They sprayed air freshener to hide the smoking smell. They knew what was coming.

The ISIS security checkpoint was.. not what I expected. They weren't scary people. They were a bunch of nobodies. Skinny teens from East Asia and north Africa with their weapons and weird looking beards.
They were far from being intimidating.

A couple of checkpoints later and I realized that ISIS was really just a bunch of idiots who were allowed to get strong and spread wide. They could've been eradicated in weeks if the powers that be wanted that.

The bus people were making fun is the ISIS idiots between checkpoints. Playing music and smoking while they're not around.

And at every checkpoint there was a little hill of broken CDs and cigarettes.
It made me laugh thinking ISIS's number one enemy was music and tobacco. But I was glad I didn't have my smartphone that is always full of rock and roll and heavy metal. They would've chopped my head off if they've known what kind of music I like.


I spent few hours in Raqqa. I walked around, used a satellite internet connection to call my mom and let her know I made it there safely. I talked to the people, the Syrians under ISIS occupation, and they all said the same thing. ISIS was a joke. ISIS could've been dealt with before it spread and had fangs. They all told me how dumb all the ISIS people were, and that they were angry that the world allowed ISIS to exist.

ISIS weren't hiding. They had their main buildings painted with their colors. Everyone knew where the were. It would've been very easy to bomb them all, but for some reason world powers didn't want that. They wanted ISIS to grow bigger. I guess I know why. Letting an enemy seem like a much bigger deal than it actually is to gain support and scare the masses.

After that I went to a minibus that people take to the border, to reach Turkey. And that's where I had my worst ISIS experience.

A security checkpoint under the command of a Moroccan ISIS terrorist, one who was actually like the image of ISIS most people have in their minds. He took our IDs and actually tried recruiting all the men, saying that they're coming to Syria to take our place since we're leaving, and that we should instead join them. No one said a word. Obviously no one joined them.

He looked at me and I had a goatee (as I usually do), but I had to cut my hair cause I had a surgery on my head not long before that. He asked me directly "Which prophet had a goatee? Did any of them have one? If not then this is something that will send me to hell"

I was actually scared. An ISIS terrorist telling me my goatee will send me to hell. That's worrying. However, I have my moments where my wits kick in. And this was one of those rare moments.

I replied with "I was in Assad territory and they don't allow beards (truth) and that now I'm away from there I finally started growing one (a lie).

He let us go. And we were on our way North.

We reached the border but it was closed due to skirmishes. So we went west towards Aleppo. We reached it and went North from there. That was out of ISIS territory. And they will never be missed.

Now we started going from one area to another and see one flag after another. And none of them I can call mine.

From ISIS flag, to nusra flag, to ahrar Al sham flag etc. One armed bunch after another. I was very sad seeing Syria like this. Torn to pieces between all these terrorists. Starting with the biggest terrorists of all, the Assad regime, then ISIS then Al Nusra, etc.

Finally we reached the FSA area. Where I felt like a welcomed person for the first time in this trip, since the people there were from Homs. The same people who were evacuated from Homs not long ago. They let us pass very quickly and without any questions.

And just like that I was at the Syrian Turkish border. Me and thousands of people before me. It was a camp. And the border was closed. And no one knew when it'll be opened.

A long story short I made my way into Turkey, legally. I called my parents after getting a Turkish number to let them know I'm safe, so that they can catch a flight away from Syria, which they did.

And just like that I was out of Syria.
I would share more but I don't think anything after that matters.

The day I left Syria was the day I stopped living. And here we are.

I don't have the energy or mental capacity to read what I wrote or fix any typos or grammar mistakes, so please forgive me.

This has been my life.
This has been my truth.
This has been Big Al.

Chapter 14: The missing chapter.

The website that published this chapter back in the day was deleted. But I found a copy of it on a different website and decided to post it here. For the sake of.. not having a missing link

November 20 2012:

A strange sound woke me up, not the usual shelling or shooting. I stayed in my bed like I always do when I hear any sound, old or new.

My bedroom door opened up, a couple of armed security forces barged in dressed in their usual uniforms, pointing a rifle at my face and telling me to get up, get my ID, and go with them.

I didn’t ask where they were taking me. I didn’t say a word. I simply got up and walked with them. There was nothing else I could do.

There were at least ten of them inside my house, spread into different rooms. They turned the lights on and looked around.

As I was walking out past my apartment door I noticed how it was broken, and then I saw our neighbors’ door open as well. Other security forces were there, and that made me realise that they didn’t come especially for me. What a relief, since I’ve imagined that they will come drag me this way so many times before, but they were always looking for me specifically in my dreams.

One of them stayed with me and led me out of the building.

It was cold outside but it wasn’t dark anymore. I walked in front of him and saw other civilians like myself being led the same way I was.

I counted the vehicles on my way to wherever he was taking me, and there were at least six. Two long dark green ones, two short green ones, one white pickup truck, and the famous “Assad’s Syria” vehicle.

We arrived to their officer, the one they called “Sir”, and he was the worst looking one of them all.

They all had beards and were talking with the coastal, predominantly Alawite accent.

They took my ID and sent me with a couple of other civilians also in their pyjamas to another street.

On our way I saw them cuffing a guy and dragging him into one of the long dark green vehicles.

I heard shouting from a nearby building, a women’s voice.

I’ve never felt so weak and ashamed in my entire life.

They checked my ID and kept me waiting for a while, and started asking me questions. The same questions I’d been asked a hundred times before: what do you do for a living? Where do you work? Where did you used to work? And so on. Then they told me to go straight home and talk to no one on my way.

I walked home, and saw my parents. They weren’t as scared as I thought they might be. Perhaps we all died a bit inside over the past 21 months.

We sat down, talked, and I told them that they shouldn’t be afraid since I’m always careful. Yes, I lied.

It was 6:25 AM. I had a shooting pain in my gut. Maybe it was the cold weather, or maybe it was fear. I couldn’t tell for sure. I was calm like I always am in such situations, and I considered myself lucky since they didn’t even beat me up this time, unlike as was likely to happen to those who were taken away that day. God be with them and their families.

I then examined the door. It was kicked open. The footprint was clear, and I took a couple of photos to document this “Breaking and entering” which the Syrian “new constitution” forbids.

Old constitution/new constitution, what a joke. We never had a constitution or law. Those people can do whatever they want, and no one can do anything about it. Isn’t that why we went out and shouted “FREEDOM”?

After a cup of tea, and a couple of bathroom breaks, I finally rested from what I’d been through.

I looked out my window and saw the vehicles leave my street at around 8. Looks like I made it, once again.

Later that day I decided I deserved a new treat, and that’s why I baked my very first banana bread ever! The result was a bit of a letdown but I ate it anyway.

At night I heard sounds and cheers, and saw mothers and brothers in the streets welcoming most of those who were taken away that morning. Only a couple of young men weren’t released.

A person is never the same after a trip to any security centre in Syria. You can ask anyone who’s been arrested before. I was taken once, and it did change me forever.

November 21:

At around 11:30 AM, security forces spread in a nearby street and started shooting in the air for a couple of minutes. I received many stories as to why they were doing so at the time, but none made sense to me.

November 26:

Electricity was off most of the day, but the good news is that after months of waiting and hours of standing in line we finally got 200 litres of heating diesel at a fair price. It won’t last long but 200 litres is 200 times better than nothing, and nothing is what thousands of Syrians are getting these days.

November 27:

Again, we barely got power.

November 28:

I was in line to get bread at exactly 4:55 AM, and I was home with some bread at 8:05 AM.

When I arrived home, power had been out for almost an hour. At 8:30, every window in my house was shaking and a very scary sound was all over the city. A maniac fighter jet pilot was raiding at many areas and he was flying low. The sound was horrible and it caused glass windows to shatter in many areas in Homs. The jet kept coming and going and shooting. For the first time ever I was able to see the shots coming down from the sky, but they were too fast so I couldn’t even try to take my Smartphone out of my pocket to film that.

By 9:15 AM the jet was gone, but that’s when shelling started.

We had power back but it was gone once again at 10 AM and it stayed out till 3:10 PM.

3:45 PM: Shelling is back.

3:55: Electricity is gone again till 5 PM then again between 8 and 9 PM.

November 29:

No power, no internet connection, no cellphone coverage, no land line calls outside the city, no water, and no human rights.

November 30: As November 29.

December 1:

We still don’t have a clear schedule to show us when we’ll lose electricity, and that’s very annoying. After it was on and off a couple of times, we lost it for five hours between 1 and 6 PM, then between 9 and 11 PM.

December 2:

I went to an internet café around noon, and minutes later, I heard an explosion. It wasn’t the same sound we get from shelling or sniping. This one was different as the door of the place nearly broke. I went out to see what happened and that’s when I heard that a bomb went off near Java Café. I walked there as I was only few blocks away, and I saw the smoke coming out of the street where the Omar Mosque is.

Many ambulances rushed to the area quickly and picked many bodies and injured people.

Smoke kept coming till after 1 PM, and I saw the destruction there. Nearby buildings were badly affected and many cars were destroyed, but that’s all not important since 15 died in that explosion.

It turned out to be a car-bomb. The first car-bomb in this area, and possibly only the second one in Homs ever.

I thought about it. I know that area very well as I pass it almost every day and I know that no car can get in without being checked by at least two security check points. The FSA has never been in that area and I know that it’s impossible to smuggle a bomb or even a rifle unless Assad’s security forces want you to in that area. The car was parked in front of the mosque door and not near any security barrier or check point. It was obvious whoever put the car there wanted to kill people coming out of the mosque or those passing by it and not security forces members. I know for sure that the regime was behind that car-bomb.

An anti-Assad peaceful demonstration spontaneously started minutes after the ambulances took the injured and left the street, and another, bigger one, went on that street the same night. I am humbled by the people of my city, and I am filled with love and hope.

So in the past few days my house and many others were broken into by Assad’s forces, me and many young men were dragged at gunpoint from our beds for no reason, questioned and checked, and many were taken, then an Assad forces’ pilot drove the city crazy with his low flying and random attacks, and now a car-bomb near a mosque in an area that has absolutely no FSA and has been controlled by Assad’s forces for a very long time. Electricity barely comes, and communications as well. Things are changing here fast.

December 3:

The martyrs were taken to the cemetery to be buried in an unforgettable funeral, and then after that most of the city saw a strike, especially in the Waar area, which is the most populated neighborhood in Homs after it accepted many refugees from the areas that have been and are being destroyed by the regime’s daily shelling. The strike lasted three days.

I took a look at the exchange prices on the black market in Damascus and found out that the Syrian pound is dropping very quickly.

November 2: US$1 = 86.70 SYP. November 3: US$1 = 88 SYP. November 4: US$1 = 91 SYP. Knowing that US$1 was worth around 47 SYP back in early 2011. As I said, things are changing fast.

December 7:

We had a quiet morning, and that made left us glad since we’re always afraid after what happened in Hamra a few days ago, but then came a phone call that changed our positive mood to sadness. My mom broke down in tears and she couldn’t speak for a few seconds, then she told us about a new car bomb that hit Inshaat this time, and once again, near a mosque (Quibaa). We immediately called our relatives in that area and they confirmed what happened and told us that they were okay. Then they told us how their house was badly affected by the explosion, and that their daughter was injured while she was asleep in her bed when the window above her – made of glass and aluminum – broke and fell on her when the bomb went off.

Some people were injured in that explosion and many houses had their windows destroyed and much more depending on how close to the street in which the bomb exploded they were.

After checking on her again, I received some information — mostly online — that the explosion was actually a mortar shell that hit that street, but the people I know in that area kept saying it was a car bomb and said that they saw the car being towed afterwards. What I’m sure about is that many innocent civilians were affected by this once again, and that if it was a car bomb then I’m absolutely positive that the regime was behind it as every street leading to Inshaat is being guarded by high numbers of security forces and check points in which they have been searching every vehicle since last February when Assad’s forces went into Inshaat and invaded the houses there. I wrote about what happened there months ago, and I’ve been to Inshaat many times and I was checked by the security every single time. In fact, Inshaat has some of the worst security forces in Homs, and everyone in Homs knows how bad they are, not bad at their jobs, but bad at treating civilians properly and making everyone afraid of passing those streets.

You couldn’t smuggle a hand gun inside, now imagine a car filled with explosives. Just like I said about the last car bomb, it was allowed to get inside by the regime, and the fact that it targeted a mosque once again and not any security forces members were around proves my belief.

My mom kept getting phone calls and was crying that day, and one of those calls was from our relatives in Damascus, in the Mazzeh area, and they said they’ve been hearing rapid gunshots and explosions all morning.

December 9:

Jets were roaming the skies over Homs all morning and news of random attacks came in every now and then. Some people talked about an air strike that accidentally hit a pro-Assad area and that some civilians there were killed by the people they support.

More civilians fall by the hands of this regime, and the fact that those were supporters of the government doesn’t make the crime any less inhuman.

Around my area, we could hear gunfire and explosions caused by shelling happening not far away till night, but that’s not unusual as the shelling and shooting never stop.

December 10:

I was not home when the sound of a loud explosion shook my neighborhood and when people ran to see what happened. It was over when I came back and my family didn’t know what exactly happened, but whatever it was no one was hurt, I was assured by many.

December 11:

Ambulances were all over the city since the morning and we heard unconfirmed news about explosions in various areas. People are always scared now after the past two explosions in areas that the regime has complete control of. Everyone’s talking about the “next car bomb” and which mosque it will target.

The bread crises have turn real for all areas in Homs, even the ones with working bakeries and supermarkets. Prices have gone up fast and suddenly there was no bread in any store. People panicked and bought all the bread they could fin,d no matter how expensive it was. Flour prices jumped high as well.

I personally couldn’t find bread at any price, and I was offered to sign up for bread for the next day at double the price. I didn’t.

December 12:

I woke up at 4 AM, was out at around 4:30, headed straight to the bakery and found more than 25 people already in line before me. The weather was freezing cold but it didn’t matter since we needed bread.

I stood in line for hours and at 9:15 AM my turn came and I bought 50SYP worth of bread and I was home by 9:30.

In those five hours I saw things I wish I didn’t see. I saw children freezing for a loaf of bread. I saw a woman crying and yelling “I NEED BREAD! MY CHILDREN ARE HUNGRY” and trying to cut the line to get bread faster. I saw men arguing and pushing each other so no one could cut the line and take someone else’s turn. I saw a very old man who could barely walk or hear anything drop his bread in the mud after he waited hours to get them, and I saw him picking them up and cleaning them with a Kleenex because he simply couldn’t afford to throw those loafs away. I saw security forces and military people cutting the line and getting double the allowed amount of bread for us in a few minutes and not caring about the hundreds waiting for their turn, even after some shouted things like “This isn’t fair” and “You’re unjust” to the bakery workers.

After hours of waiting, I finally got my precious bread that could only last three days, and those behind me actually congratulated me on getting the bread. They laughed and joke about that I should invite them for breakfast since I’m the one with the bread. I replied with “Your turn will come when you hold some bread in your own hands, and you’ll feel as good as I feel now”. What a sad joke.

I got home and went to bed, and that’s when I realised that my backache was back. The pain was so bad I couldn’t move for some time, even though I knew that there will be cheap cooking gas tanks being sold today and that I should go stand in line again to get one, and we need the gas, but I couldn’t go.

A single thought occupied my mind that day and I couldn’t get over it: How pathetic our lives have been, and still are, under this regime?

When I was in line, I heard older people talking about being in the same position years ago, back when Hafez al-Assad was in charge and the country saw a very dark few years, financially speaking.

They were comparing Hafez and Bashar, and the similarities in our lives were too much to list. “Like father like son” is what I kept hearing over and over again.

One positive thing about this experience is how people were talking freely and out loud about everything. We could never even imagine that happening before March 15, 2011. No one can take that away again. No one.

December 13:

The bead crises continue, and the lines in front of the bakeries are getting longer. I have never seen so many people in line before, not even in videos.

I decided not to stand there since I was still suffering from a bad back, and instead I went to the market to buy food and supplies, and that’s when I noticed that the crises isn’t just about bread, but everything. The market was almost empty, supermarket shelves barely had anything, and I couldn’t find most of what I wanted. I also saw how prices kept going up quickly. I remember buying almost everything at half the price only few months ago.

As I was putting my merchandise in the car’s trunk, a refugee woman came along begging for money, I gave her some, then she looked at what I was putting in the car, and the look of her face was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I felt guilty for being able to buy stuff when she couldn’t. I wanted to give her something but I couldn’t since I really suffered until I got what I got and my family needed them. I wish I could help. I wish I had a billion dollars to spend on those good, poor people.

December 16:

I needed to stay in line for six whole hours to get bread, but I couldn’t due to my backache. I only got 15SYP pounds worth of bread and I had to go out from 5 to 6 in the morning. One hour is much easier than six.

In the afternoon, I went shopping and I found canned food that has a clear label saying that these cans aren’t for sale but a part of a World Food Program. I think some people are stealing aids instead of giving them to refugees and selling them to whoever needs to. I took some photos, but I can’t be 100 per cent sure.

The good ol' US of A.

Growing up as a little kid in Syria in the 80's, I've heard many stories about that country. Good stories. It's the country where people are treated nicely, and where people who work hard, make a lot of money, and live a good life. It's the country with the best colleges, and best cheeseburgers.

I was fascinated by the USA for the longest time, I had a dream that one day I'll visit that country, and perhaps live in it.

I watched American TV shows and movies, I listened to American music, and I learned English way before most kids in Syria do.

Listening to Backstreet boys, and watching Friends were the highlight of my day in the mid 90's.

And then I started growing up, and learning more about the world, including my country, Syria, and the USA, and that only made me like America more.

And one day, while my family and I were on vacation, something happened. Something big and terrifying. It was 9/11.

I remember that day very clearly. The TV in the vacation home wasn't working, and cellphones weren't a thing yet, nor the internet.
I remember going to a shop to call my brother who stayed behind so we know what was happening.

We were all shocked, and sad. News kept coming, and we didn't know what to make of it.

I couldn't understand what exactly happened until we got back home. That's when I realized the world won't be the same again.

People started talking, they were afraid that their Muslim relatives and friends in the USA will be harmed, and we kept hearing stories about Muslims being harassed and called names.

That was the first time in my life I wasn't sure if I wanted to visit the USA anymore.

Then came the Iraqi "freedom" war, which we all didn't believe that's going to happen. And that's when we saw the hatred that we didn't know existed.

The killing and torture of Iraqis, the hateful and bigoted things that's been said.

I started being scared. They were right next to my country, and people were saying that Syria was next.

Skipping few years, I was not scared anymore. I knew that most people in the USA aren't bigots, and that the few bad ones tend to be the loudest.

I became friends with many Americans, mostly Nine Inch Nails fans. And they were some of the best people on Earth.

Once again, I started hoping to visit the USA, and meet my online friends, as I was very close to some of them.

When the Arab spring started, those American friends were unbelievably nice and supportive. And between 2011-2013 I've made so many more online friends from the USA, even though most of them didn't know my real name since I was just "BigAlBrand" to them. Only a very few special people knew my name. I could count them on one hand.

When things turned really bad in 2012, I started losing hope in Syria, and started thinking about leaving. I didn't, because I still had enough hope, but the thought was in my head for a long time.

After my time in Assad's torture center in 2013, I knew I couldn't stay in Syria long, and at a certain point after arriving to Turkey, I seriously tried to go to the USA. I won't write details here, but things didn't work out.

During my time in Turkey, and especially since Trump vs Hillary started, the amount of hateful comments towards Syrians and especially the refugees, and Muslims in general, skyrocketed, and most of them were from US citizens. And yes, most of them were Trump supporters.

Trump said some really bad things, but I won't get into that. I'll just say that what he said about people like me, Syrian refugees, was not nice or truthful.

We're trying to survive a war between many sides, and all of them are bad.
Assad vs ISIS vs Al Nusra vs American backed Kurdish militia etc.

Russian jets bombing anyone who isn't Assad, USA jets bombing ISIS and Nusra, and a bunch of other jets bombing other things, and above all, Assad's jets bombing everything.

All the hateful things that were told to me and any Syrian or Muslim, all the horrible names I was called. I can actually post since screenshots that I kept.

So much hatred!

But still, that's not what most Americans think! These are just a bunch of ignorant racist bigots, and they are just loud.

That's what I believed.

But now, I don't know what to believe.

Trump won.

Those unbelievable hateful people got the man they adore to become president.

Does that mean that the majority of the USA are hateful bigots?

I don't want to believe that.

I can't believe that.

I'll keep my faith in people, and I'll convince myself that the majority just didn't care to vote, or that those who voted were scared of Hillary and believed all that's been said about her and that's why they picked Trump.

They truly believed he's the lesser evil.

I still love my American friends, and I'll still hope to one day visit the USA and see its beauty, but perhaps now isn't the time to do so.

Perhaps in few more years I won't feel hated as much, just because I was born in Syria, and because I'm a Muslim.

But for now, I'll stay away, and wish the USA and its people well, and a better tomorrow.

Chapter 16: 100 years of peace. Vol: 1

The Peace Palace in The Hague turned 100 years old in August 28th 2013, and a big celebration was held for this great occasion which should be celebrated all around the world in my opinion.
Nothing is greater and more satisfying than celebrating peace, and getting invited to that celebration and a week of amazing activities connected to it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for me.

A dear friend whom I've never met, and a man I look up to, Anas Marrawi was the one invited, and he suggested my name instead of his, and the good people organizing the celebration looked me up and didn't mind.
They contacted me with details, showed me how hospitable they are and how they’ll take care of every single thing. From transportation, to hotels, including the visa.I was very excited about this invitation and extremely honored to be one of ten bloggers they chose from around the globe.I received my invitation on July 25th, and the planned program on the 26th, and they were encouraging us to give suggestions and get involved with the planning of our program a month before the event. Everything was very exciting.

On the 28th, I contacted several of the young men I was invited with, and I had the numbers and emails of the people in charge of the event and helping us out in The Netherlands’ embassy in Egypt and Lebanon. I had to get a date with the embassy in Beirut to deliver my visa application and invitation since getting the visa takes up to 15 days, and when I looked online the only free date was on the 29th, meaning I had to go to Lebanon that very same night! And it was almost 3 PM.
I booked the spot at the embassy, filled out the visa application, and decided to do whatever I can to not let this opportunity go.

It was Ramadan, and Maghreb was few hours away, and since I was in Homs, I had to go to Damascus first since no transportation from Homs to Lebanon was available due to clashes near the border.

Around 3 PM, no buses either, so I called a taxi driver and packed my papers and a couple of things in a small bag. I didn't have time to shower or shave.

At exactly 4 PM I was on my way to Damascus. I knew my name wasn't in the wanted lists at security checkpoints since they raided my house not long ago and checked my ID, but what I didn't have time to do is to check if my name was in the wanted list at the border. I didn't give it any thought because, why would my name be on such list?

Few hours and tens of security checkpoints later, we arrived in Damascus, and that’s when I decided to go straight to Beirut and not have a meal in Damascus. I thought I’d get a room at a hotel, order room service, and take a shower.Until the border everything was going normally for such times, and I even bought the paper that allows me to leave Syria. I wrote my name on it and everything and gave it along with my ID to the officer who is supposed to stamp it and give it back so I can cross. That guy told me to go inside because there is something he wanted to ask me about, and that’s when they arrested me.

They took my bag, my cellphone, and my wallet. Wouldn't let me talk to the driver or make a phone call. I was yelled at and was told to sit still and not open my mouth or else.I sat there listening to my cellphone ringing, and I knew it was my mother wanting to check on me if I crossed the border. I begged them to answer the phone themselves and tell her only that I’m alive! But of course I only got yelled at more.

They brought my file, and the paper that said to what branch I was wanted, and started asking me questions. They said I was born in 1979 while I really was born in 1984. I told them my older brother was born in 1979, and they figured out that my brother is the one they want since he didn't do his military service, but they said there’s nothing they can do and they must transfer me to the branch I’m wanted in.

One of the officers started laughing at us (Me and the others on that bench) saying things like: If you can’t handle the consequences why start a revolution? Then he kept coming over and slapping the person next to me with all he’s got. He slapped him more than 6 times every time he came over.

I found out the guy next to me was trying to cross the border with his brother’s ID to avoid being taken to the military service. Every few minutes they’d come back to him and slap him with all their strength.I was kept on that bench for an hour or more, my phone ringing, and hearing insults, then they put handcuffs on me and the guy next to me.

That was the first time I was handcuffed, but in the next 7 days I was handcuffed more than 6 times and in at least 3 types of handcuffs.We were taken to a room where we had to take our shoes and belts off, then they took us to the cell. Also the first time I see a jail cell. It was dirty, it had rats running inside of it, and it had 4 other people.

When they put us in that cell they wanted to take our handcuffs off, but the key didn't work, so they left them on. Me and the other guy were handcuffed together for a while until they came back and tried several keys until one worked.In that cell there was a plastic chair and I sat on it. I asked if they’re going to feed us and the answer was no.I spent the night sitting down because the mattresses were indescribably dirty.

That was day one without food, sleep, or contacting anyone.

The next morning we were taken out of the cell, given our shoes and belts back, handcuffed, and lead to a bus. We were stuffed there in the last two rows of chairs with our handcuffs on, and I probably was the only one who wasn't beaten on the way in.

The officers then filled the rest of the seats with big bags of cigarettes they bought from the Free Zone market between Syria and Lebanon. Then they did a count for the cartons and how many each of them will take and sell inside Damascus.

They dragged every person to the branch he was wanted in, and I was wanted for a security branch called 251. We arrived there and there was another guy with me being delivered to that same branch, and he’s been to it before so he kept begging the officer to stay with us so they won’t brutally beat us on our way is like they did to him the last time.

Once we arrived the horrible insults started, we were shoved against a wall until they took our papers and then they dragged us in with our heads down and hands still cuffed.

We went down stairs and there they uncuffed us, shoved us against corners of walls, with our hands behind our backs, then they started yelling our names one by one, whenever a name is yelled that person had to go answer the basic questions and give the person in charge everything he has in his pockets or bag.

My name was called, I went towards him, and he was an old man with a small table. He opened my bag and started listing what’s in it. He took my phone and memory stick I had and put them in a paper bag and wrote my name on it. He asked me if I was sick, and I told him I have asthma and heart issues, hoping that would help me get less beat up in the days ahead, but that didn't work as I found I was assured of what I already knew, and that is they don’t care.

I was shoved back against the wall, and more insults of course, then I was dragged into another hall where they told me to take off all my clothes, they checked them and checked me, then they yelled at me to get dressed quickly, while walking towards the big cell where I will be staying.

On the way to that cell, more insults, kicks, etc. They opened the door and shoved me inside. That’s when I found out there are no cells. Just a big hall with hundreds of people like me shoved inside. No bars no windows. Just walls and a door with a camera on top of it. There was a sink with a line to get to it, and I found a place on the floor to sit. No chairs, no mattresses, nothing. Just floor and people, lots of people.The first thing I heard when I came in is a man asking me what time it was when they brought me in, but I had no idea.I spent the rest of that day talking to other prisoners and swapping stories, and watching some of them being called, taken for a while, then coming back after their interrogation during of which most of them were tortured.

The combination of prisoners was very unusual, there were several from every city in Syria, some of them were old and some were young. And by young I don’t mean 18 years old, but 14. There was a 14 years old kid locked in one of the most savage places in Earth, and there were men in their 70’s. There were sick men, injured men, and terminally ill men. One prisoner was mentally challenged, and couldn't speak or walk or eat properly. A few came back from the torture room (or rooms) bleeding, or with extremely swollen body parts, and some never made it back while I was there.By evening, they brought us bread, inedible bread to say the least, I tried a bite and I couldn't swallow it, but when I offered my loaf to others, they took it and divided it and ate it whole. I don’t know how long those haven’t had anything to eat.

In that evening my name was called among many others, and they took us out one by one to take our photo for their files, and while taking my photo they made a couple of stupid jokes about my hair (I had long hair then).

I had to use the restroom, so I had to stand in line for about 30 minutes to get there. The restroom was a tiny room with no light, the toilet had no cover and couldn't be flushed, and there was no shower, just a high valve that drops water all over that room at all times, except when water is out obviously.

All that was fine, until I found out that there is no soap. Hundreds of men, eating, and sleeping together, going to the bathroom, and unable to wash their hands. That's when I knew I'll be sick as hell very soon since I shook many people's hands in there.

Until this day I can't get over the fact that the only thing available in that cell was water, and only during the day I found out later that night.

By I don’t know what O’clock, they said it’s time to go to sleep. A couple of the old timers inside the cell told us to stand in rows with only about 30 centimeters between every two rows, then they told us to sit down in that exact position, then spread our legs and lie down, that way I had my upper half on the person behind me, while my legs were on the sides of the person in front of me and that person had his upper half on top of me. So basically we had to sleep on top of each other. Literally.

Personally I couldn't stay in that position for an entire minute and got up immediately, and spent the night standing up by a wall, and when most people fell asleep, I barely had space for my feet standing up.

That was day two without food, sleep, or contacting anyone.

______________________________________________________

Second day in this security center started with me extremely weak, and during the morning after guards started calling out names I found a place to lie down to rest, but of course that's when my name was called, so I got up, and headed to the door.

Like everyone before me, I went out barefoot as no boots were allowed, and as I stepped out of the door, I was in an ocean of insults, kicks, and grabs. They lead me to a wall, told me to pick up something from the corner next to me, I did, and it was a blindfold. They told me to put it on my eyes very tightly, and that if they found out I could see they'll kill me.

I put on the blindfold and they tightened it up more, and told me to put my hands behind my back and my head down,

After more kicks, insults, and jokes about my looks, they dragged me upstairs, stopped me facing a wall until the officer who will interrogate me arrived.

The officer didn't drag or touch me, he was holding a stick, poked me with it, told me to catch the other side of it and follow him.
In the interrogation room I was told to kneel on my knees with my hands behind my back, blindfolded still.

The officer started asking me questions, my name, my job, my family, etc.. and during these questions a security guy came from my back and said that he had good news for the officer, and that one of the "terrorists" and after only one slap decided to give up so many information. The officer told him to wait for him until he finishes with me.

I nearly smiled at that badly played charade, but of course I didn't.
The officer then told me to collaborate and that he'll help me a lot if I give him the information he wants.
I said I will fully collaborate with him and be completely honest.

Officer told me he knows I don't carry a weapon and fight (Thanks to the years I spent baking brownies and pizzas I don't have the fitness to fight), but then he elaborated with "We have recorded phone calls of you and several terrorists discussing how and when you'll deliver money to them"

He then started opening my family's file (I could hear the papers flipping) and told me that my brother is a Salafi Wahhabi who sends me millions that I deliver to terrorist groups, and my brother-in-law is a friend of many princes in Saudi Arabia and Qatar and he too sends me millions that I deliver to terrorists, and all I have to do is give him the names of those terrorists, and if I do that he'll help my case, otherwise I'll be sent to the anti terrorism court, in which I will be sentenced to be executed.

He said he'll now give me the chance to "come clean" and that I better take that chance.

My answer was that I did receive money transfers from my brother, but there were no millions, but thousands, and all were used by me and my parents to live, since I haven't worked since 2011.

Hearing that he came at me, dragged me to the wall I was standing by earlier, told me to kneel again, and that's when he started beating me with a cable or a whip, I took the first few whips but then my knees couldn't hold me anymore and I fell on the floor screaming in pain, but he kept on beating my feet and hands with that cable.
One of the security guards came by when he heard my screams and started kicking me and saying the worst insults I've ever heard in my life and telling me to shut up.

I closed my mouth with my hands and they kept on beating me until I was about to faint.
They told me to stand up, which was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, then one of them dragged me downstairs and back to the cell.

Cellmates told me to move and jump so my feet won't get swollen, and I did my best, then they helped me to the shower to wash my feet and hands with cold water, and that helped ease the pain quickly.

I sat in the cell, full of pain and anger, I felt unbelievably weak. I was broken. And worst of all, I knew this was just the beginning.

So many thoughts came to me, I wondered if I'll ever leave this place alive, I wondered how my old parents are doing back home not knowing where I was, and that only made me feel worse, but then I decided to try to make myself feel better.
I tried to accept the fact that I'm here and there's nothing I can do about, that I will  be beaten and humiliated more, and finally that I will stay in that cell for a year, so I shall get used to it.

Few minutes before the first meal of the day, a guy was brought back and his feet were extremely large from all the beating he took, he couldn't even put them on the floor, and once he was shoved inside the cell, a man went to him and started massaging his feet, other brought him water in their hands so he wouldn't faint, and they told him he had to start standing up right away or he might get much worse.

The first meal that day was the same meal they've been serving almost every day in that security branch. The same inedible bread, but this time with some cooked burghul. I tried to take a bite of each and I still couldn't swallow either. I immediately gave them away to other prisoners, but then there was a surprise! They brought us little green pears after the meal! Oh how happy I was with my pear. Finally something I could eat. And I did. I enjoyed every tiny bite of that pear, and I ate it whole.

After this feast the old timers told everyone to stand up and gather near the cell's door and they washed the floor. They had a (akecath?) and a cloth to dry the floor with. They even had some precious dish washing liquid which once I saw I decided I must have some to take a shower with.

Few minutes later names were called again, and surprisingly mine was included. I didn't think they're interrogate me twice in the same day!

I got up and headed to the door, and the exact same scenario happened, except this time I already knew what was coming. 

Blindfold on, head down, hands to the back, kicks insults and jokes. This time the jokes were smarter, in a way. They asked me about my hair and if it's a musician thing, and I said yes, so then they demanded I sing a rap song for them, and that was the weird thing because I thought I obviously looked like a metalhead! But anyway I didn't sing and they didn't really wanted me to, they're just having fun kicking me and making jokes because I look different.

Then up to the interrogation room, with the same officer and his stick.

I was told to kneel on my knees again, and the officer asked me if I changed my mind yet. I told him I'll tell him everything.
He wanted to know about the money transfers I received, so I told him about every single one and how much it was and how we spent it, and that's when he got angry and started yelling. He said these aren't the transfers he's talking about, he wants to know about the millions brought to me by hand and I delivered to terrorists. He said he had witnesses and recorded tapes of telephone conversations. My answer was that I have no idea what he's talking about and that I'm certain there are no such tapes. That's when he dragged me out again and told me that I've seen nothing yet, he told me that I haven't tasted pain, and that he'll send me down there to the torturing room and forget about me for a month, then he'll see if I change my mind or not.

I begged him, please don't, I swear I have no idea what he's talking about and I told him to look at my clothes, shouldn't I wear better clothes if I really had millions coming to me?
He yelled and told them to take me down and "give me a ride". I never was this scared in my life. This is where many were tortured to death. I told him I have something to say.

He sat me down on the floor and told me that he knew I was going to change my mind, and he told me to give him the names I gave money to, and how much and where.
I told him I have no idea what he's talking about and that's not what I have to say.

He told me to say what I want to say then, and I did.
I told him that all the things he said about me and my family are false, we're not financing terrorism or anybody, as we can barely cover our own life expenses, and then I told him that if he doesn't believe me, or if he thinks I'm lying then why send me downstairs and torture me? I won't confess to something I didn't do, so he could take out his gun and shoot me in the head right there, right now.

I meant every word I said. I thought to myself, I'd rather get killed quickly than under torture. I don't fear death, I've made my peace with it long ago, but torture is another story. If I was gonna be killed, let me try to make it fast and painless.

He remained quiet for a couple of minutes, then he told me he'll give me one more chance till tomorrow morning to confess, then they dragged me back to the cell without beating.


Back in the cell, I sat down and repeated everything I went through in my head to see if what I said was the best thing to say or not. I prepared myself for another round of interrogation the next day and decided I should get some sleep, but once again I couldn't get any sleep that night either.

Three nights without any sleep, without contacting anyone, and all I had was a little green pear. I sure wasn't physically ready for the following day.

Chapter 15: Dunkelheit

After yet another joyless Christmas, life didn’t change much. I went to the bakery on December 26^th morning and stood in the huge line for hours, and around 8:30 AM a young activist (16-17 years old is my guess) with his friends came and filmed the people waiting for bread for a couple of seconds, and I believe I show up clearly in his footage. One day I will look for it in YouTube, and I hope I’ll find it.

The next day I did the same thing and I stood from 8:30 till 10:30 only to get the ticket for bread. During those two hours I had breakfast (Manaeesh from a nearby stand and tea) and there was a women standing next to me. She was dressed in black and she looked miserable -like we all do these days- and she was talking about a dream she saw that night. Said she saw her 15 years old son playing football with his friends in front of their house. Then I found out that her son was killed at a security checkpoint months ago, and that they left their house afterwards. She was smiling while her eyes were filled with sadness, and said she’s glad he’s a martyr, and he’ll be waiting for her in heaven.

I didn’t say a word, but I thought to myself, what a strong woman and what a sad life she’s living. I didn’t ask about her or her son, simply because there are thousands of similar sad stories in my city and all over Syria.

I didn’t wait to actually get the bread cause that will take about 7 hours, so I went shopping and around 11 AM I saw the well known professor Tayyeb Al Tizini. We talked for a few minutes, and this wasn’t the first time I meet him. I met him once before back in March 2011. Only few days after I was attacked and beaten by security force. Back then he saw the marks on my face and told me he knew what happened without asking me. Such a decent and respected man.

I went home, then back to the bakery hours later, only to get my precious bread at 7 PM after another 4 hours in line. So in total, I stood six hours to get bread. Still better than seven.

December 29^th. I was out and in line at 8:45 AM, but this time it wasn’t the familiar bread line, as it’s Saturday and the bakery is closed. This time I was waiting for gas. I was able to hand them the empty container at 2:15 PM. I paid for the new one and went home, since those won’t be ready until next week.

News about the massacre in Deir Balbaa arrived while I was in line, and the stories I heard were so horrible I didn’t want to believe any of them just to stay sane.

December 30^th, I decided to go to the bakery earlier than ever, and I was there at 4:45 AM, found 37 people in line in front of me. At 6 I got one pack and went home sick with a bad cough because of the freezing cold weather.

8:50 AM fighter jets started flying over the city and four minutes later they did multiple attacks.

Jets came back again in the afternoon, and I found many security forces members fully armed in every street I’ve been to that day, and many areas in Homs lost electricity.

December 31^st. The last day in this horrible year. I was so sick, we had no electricity, and heavy shelling didn’t stop all day.

At exactly midnight Assad’s forces celebrated New Year’s by shooting randomly for several minutes, and some kept shooting till 1 AM.

I could hear the shooting sounds coming from at least four different checkpoints.

Happy New Year. Indeed.

2012 was the worst year of my life. And I believe it’s been the worst year in Syria’s entire history. The country is torn apart. Cities are destroyed. Tens of thousands were killed and many more were detained.

January 1^st 2013: Worst first day ever. No electricity at all, very cold weather, and we’re out of bread since I was too sick to go buy bread for days. We bought some expensive not so delicious bread from nearby.

January 2^nd: No electricity.

January 3^rd: No electricity.

January 4^th: No electricity.

January 5^th: We finally got electricity back, but not entirely as it was ON/OFF all day.

January 6^th: After Assad’s speech security forces opened fire at 12:55 PM. Heavy shelling between 4 and 7 PM. Electricity was ON/OFF. No internet connection since early morning anywhere in the city.

January 7^th: No electricity. Very cold weather. Heavy shelling.

January 8^th: No electricity. Very cold weather. Heavy shelling.

January 9^th: No electricity. Very cold weather. Heavy shelling. With an extra: Snow.

January 10^th: No electricity. Very cold weather. Heavy shelling. Snow. But later that night we got electricity back, well, sort of. It was so weak we couldn’t turn on a single lamp.

January 11^th: No electricity. Very cold weather. Heavy shelling. More snow. We emptied the freezer and put food in snow on the balcony. March 2012 déjà vu.

After 5 P, shelling got worse and my house was shaking.

January 12^th: I was finally able to take a shower after 11 days without hot water because we had no electricity.

January 13^th: I really hate to repeat myself a hundred times, but: No electricity. And most people are now out of heating fuel. (Diesel? We call it Mazoot but I’ll stick to “fuel”)

January 14^th: You guessed it! No electricity.

January 15^th: No electricity, obviously.

Went o the bakery at 7:30, went back home at 9 empty handed since they didn’t give tickets to anyone because they said the bakery was out of fuel. While heading home I saw them giving lots of bread to security forces from a different door with my own eyes, while hundreds of men, women, and children are still waiting in this freezing weather waiting for the fuel to arrive so they can eat.

9:24 AM, a bullet came through a window, shattered the glass all over the carpet and sofas, then hit the wall, then jumped into the heater and smashed the fuel container’s cap into pieces. Gladly it didn’t hit the container itself which was full.

While cleaning the mess caused by that bullet, news came about a two massacres, one in Aleppo University which saw some huge peaceful demos against Assad months ago, and the second in Houla which saw one of the worst massacres we’ve ever witnessed.

We couldn’t follow the news since we had neither electricity nor internet connection.

January 16^th: I don’t need to type those two words anymore because we always have NO ELECTRICITY.

January 17^th: Waited since 4 PM till 1 AM for fuel and went home without a drop. We got electricity for a few hours at night.

January 18^th: Back to No electricity. Heavy shelling at 12:45 PM.

January 19^th: I saw troops in many vehicles, all armed and chanting for Assad. “We choose only three, God, Syria, and Bashar”, “Shabiha forever, for your eyes Assad” and so on.

They kept driving, chanting loud, and waving their guns for a while.

Of course we have no electricity and no cellphone coverage as it comes and goes with electricity.

10:15 AM rapid shooting, not from regular guns, but from much heavier artillery my father told me, and some shelling as well.

Some of my far relatives left their houses in Bayada after Assad’s troops started shelling that area to the ground and moved to a village called Haswieh. That entire family was killed in the air strike few days ago and were all buried under ruins, and no one was able to pull them out.

I’ve never met those people, but even if they weren’t my relatives at all, their story is still as depressing to me.

January 20^th: We lost electricity when we woke up and cellphone coverage as well.

Shelling started early.

Someone I know told me a story about a soldier he knows who wanted to defect and was delivered a dead body to his family before he even tried to. My mother knows the soldier’s mother, but she decided not to call her and ask about the story due to the horrific times she’s in.

Shelling kept going into the night.

January 21^st: We got electricity and cellphone signal. Hallelujah!

Around 11:40 AM, shooting was very close to my house. Meters away to be exact.

January 23^rd: Electricity company vehicle was going through Hamra cutting illegal cables which most people rely on to overcome the lack of legal electricity.

January 24^th: It’s war here this morning. Excessive shelling and heavy gunfire. My house’s doors and windows got opened because of nearby shelling. I could hear the rockets being launched, then flying in the air making a funny whistling sound, then hitting their targets. I’m so sick of living like this. Of waking up like this.

Electricity is still an issue, bread, fuel and gas as well, but we’ve seen a couple of warm days and that made everything better.

Shelling didn’t stop all day and it was targeting many areas, mainly Qusoor, Jobar, Sultanieh, and Khaldieh.

Inshaat, Hamra, Ghouta, and Dablan were shaking because of the shelling even though they weren’t targeted.

Waar has been seeing more and more fighting in the past few weeks.

But it wasn’t all bad as my neighbors brought us some delicious chocolate cake that kept me happy for a few minutes. Try eating a chocolate cake in the dark. It’s a lot of fun.

Shelling was back in the evening, then again at night. I went to bed heating awfully loud explosion sounds. The same sounds I woke up to.

I can’t help but to confess that the regime was able to change the focus of the world from our demands (Freedom, equality, and democracy) to restoring peace and stopping the bloodshed. Their viciousness paid off in the short term, but it will eat them up in the end.

January 25^th: War continues since 4 AM, but from one side as it always is. FSA never strike back heavy. Either because they don’t have the weapons for it, or because Assad’s forces usually attack from inside civilian areas. I believe it’s the first reason.

Friday prayer came and with it came massive gunfire in many directions, and again, no firing back.

In the afternoon, security forces were walking the streets and opening fire randomly while shelling continued.

Around 4 PM, cement barriers were installed back in different main streets and smoke was seen over Qusoor, Bughtasieh, and Jorat Al Shayyah. It’s April 2012 all over again.

At night, all that’s left was sniper shots. Lots of them.

January 26^th: Unlike the previous two days, shelling and shooting didn’t start at 4 AM, and when they did start around 10 they weren’t as heavy. Sniper shots were heard every few seconds.

I walked around a couple of neighborhoods and talked to people. Saw some cement barriers with the Syrian flag painted on. Heard stories about security forces raiding houses and moving into a couple of empty ones. They pit a lot of guns in empty houses and moved in, a man told me. He said he saw that happening, but I couldn’t confirm that story.

I also saw many new security forces vehicles. Most of them are regular cares with shaded windows or plates that say “Assad’s Syria” being driven by the most obvious pro Assad thugs, with loud music coming out from them.

I heard about an all female security checkpoint close by, but I didn’t go check it out.

People kept calling and telling us to leave before it’s too late, and saying that some families were kicked out from their homes by Assad’s troops. That all happened before, but this time we didn’t even consider leaving. We emptied out emergency bags long time ago. We made our choice. We’d rather die than become refugees.

No electricity in the past 24 hours. No fresh water in 20. We’re getting a very weak cellphone signal in particular corners in our house. Land line are working fine.

My tablet arrived to Damascus, finally! After travelling though three countries (UAE, KSA, and Lebanon). I was planning on going to Damascus to get it, and other things we don’t have in Homs (Mainly medicine), but the bus I usually go on board didn’t have fuel in days and wasn’t going to travel anywhere. I looked for other busses, but then I was afraid something might happen while I’m away, so I decided to stay home.

January 27^th: Morning shelling and gunfire. Still no electricity at all. No water after 11 AM.

Students from a couple of schools couldn’t go to class since Assad’s troops reoccupied their schools. Other schools took some of them in.

We got electricity at 2 PM, and it lasted less than an hour. Then it was on and off all night.

My mother said something that really got to me. She said she’s glad that grandma (her mother) passed away and didn’t see these days since she hated darkness so much and kept the lights on all the time. She would’ve really hated this month on a whole different level than us. May she rest in peace.

January 28^th: We received a present from someone we know and it was a pack of bread he brought from a pro Assad area. He said it took him a minute to get his car filled with bread in that area. He also said that he found fuel and gas widely available there and in such cheap prices.

Electricity was ON/OFF all day. I’m glad I bought safety gadgets to protect our electric devices.

I walked around a couple of neighborhoods, saw some new checkpoints, and some old ones, and many security forces in new areas, but I believe that the stories people are telling were exaggerated. Talking about clashes in many streets is completely false. Assad’s troops however did in fact occupy some buildings and schools, as I saw myself, but not as many as most people think. I personally only believe what I see, and that’s why I don’t talk about other areas unless I go there.

The situation in my areas is worse than ever, but I believe we haven’t seen the worst yet. Plus, we got used to a certain amount of daily gunfire and shelling. The presence of security forces is what bothers me the most.

I did a couple of things that I can’t tell now. I’ll write them down to publish when possible.

January 29^th:

I woke up early since I went to bed early because we had no power, like always. I got dressed and went out.

Once again, I walked around many areas, Hamra, Ghouta, Inshaat, Tawzea Ijbari, Dablan, and Abdulhamid Droubi Street.

In Hamra, they had no electricity. Security forces were at the birds square and there was heavy traffic in Malaab street towards Safir hotel. A couple of security forces vehicles and armed members were checking cars on both ways.

In Ghouta, they had no electricity. Security forces were at the Fares square and the traffic light near Shater Hasan, and more near Sahha (Health Department). I walked towards Nizar Quabbani Street, and didn't go all the way because I saw army vehicles and heard shelling sounds coming from there. I talked to people and they confirmed that some houses were occupied by the troops. They said that only two families didn't leave the houses they asked to be emptied because they had people with special needs.

In Dablan, I could rarely see someone walking. The street was a ghost street, after being the most popular one in the city. I saw troops heading to Abdulhamid Droubi street and heard heavy sounds coming from there, so I didn't even try to go in.

 After that I tried to get near Jorat Al Shayyah and I saw security forces in a checkpoint, those decorated the ruins of a nearby destroyed building with flags and photos of Assads'. Seeing that made me realize how proud they are of what they're doing. Of the destruction and the killing.

In Inshaat, they had no electricity, security checkpoints in front of Safir hotel and on Tripoli Street. Many vehicles and cement barriers there. I could go online there, and I did a tagged tweet with my location for reasons I'll tell later.

In Tawzea Ijbari (Inshaat near Baba Amr), they had no electricity. Security checkpoints and armed troops in Brazil street. They occupied a restaurant nearby and secured it with sand barrels, and decorated the area with photos of Hafez Assad, Bashar Assad, and their chants.

I went home, and we had no electricity when I arrived. I wasn't stopped by any checkpoint, but that didn't help my deep depression because of what I saw.

Later at night, I got so depressed and nothing could help. Not chocolate, not the dark humor, and not the nice replies I got on twitter. I had MLK on my mind. Free at last. I hope we'll celebrate being free soon.

January 30^th: Had breakfast without electricity. Jets were all over the sky at noon. Heard about a young man of my relatives who was killed by a sniper’s bullet while walking in one of the “safe” neighborhoods.

We got enough electricity for me to finally turn the long notes I take daily to this post. Perhaps I will add what will happen tomorrow and end January. The darkest month in my life.

Electricity was on all night for the first time in 2013, and that’s why I was able to look at some old photos of Homs, and that’s when I got an idea about doing a photo blog post showing the old photos and new photos for the same places to show the destruction we’re seeing and how the city never saw such cruelty in its history. I started organizing photos using some of the ones I took myself over the two past years while my eyes were filled with tears. I saw my city get destroyed. Every Syrian has.

January 31^st:

2 AM: explosions and shooting started and lasted until 5 when I finally could fall asleep, only to be awakened by the beautiful sound of a fuel container truck at 7.

I chased it and was successful to buy 20 whole litters. That’ll keep up warm for about three nights. I paid 40 pounds a litter while it was 26 pounds few weeks ago. The official price is 37. The unofficial price could go up to 85 and into pro Assad’s deep dark pockets. All the money and the blood in the world won’t fill those pockets.

After 10, the power streak ended and we were back to a playful ON/OFF electricity which is much better than no electricity at all. New things get added to our suffering list.

1.5 billion were promised to help the UN aid the Syrian refugees. I wonder how much will be actually delivered, and how much will be stolen on the way, and finally, what percentage will pro Assad areas who aren’t in need get.

Another month went by like a nightmare, taking with it a lot of Syrian blood, and leaving plenty of hate and destruction. I’m not looking forward to February, March or April since they were the worst months in 2012.



Note: You can find Chapter 14 here: http://www.neareastquarterly.com/index.php/2012/12/31/a-homs-diary/