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We held our heads high and planted lemon trees in acts of defiance, praying that when they came for us, it’d be a bullet to the head. Because that was far more merciful than what awaited in the bowels of their prison system.
The Arab proverb has never been truer: The worst of outcomes is what is most hilarious.
When I leave, it won’t be easy. It’s going to shred my heart to ribbons and all the pieces will be scattered along Syria’s shore, with the cries of my people haunting me till the day I die.
No matter what happens, you remember that this world is more than the agony it contains. We can have happiness, Salama. Maybe it doesn’t come in a cookie-cutter format, but we will take the fragments and we will rebuild it.
Fear is a cruel thing. The way it distorts thoughts, transforming them from molehills into mountains.
It reminds me that as long as the lemon trees grow, hope will never die.
