Skip to main content

Two steps forward, one step back


We grow so accustomed to certain rituals, like the way we have our morning coffee without a touch of cream, but I never thought I would find death so routine. Three years into an unjust war against my country and each day turning into another dozen of funerals, yet here I am sipping my coffee and staring at a screen as if nothing is happening. It’s not that I am unmoved by the reality of what’s going on, rather I’ve been programmed into an object that finds death nothing out of the ordinary. The daily raids that steal these lives no longer fill me with sadness but the void is filled with hatred and rage towards not only the coalition that’s attacking us, but also the people who watch the suffering silently and believe -yes, truly believe- that they are allowed to be so unbiased. Three years into this war and here I am done with my first year of university but have absolutely no future to think of, not a single plan for the next few years other than praying that my backyard won’t double as my graveyard. So many events have occurred and so many people have died, so many people are still dying but I am still alive, and I don’t know why. Why I was chosen to live an extra day. As the time passes I come to realization that the extra day is a test and I promise to surpass the misfortunes of my life in a war-bound country. I will stick to my choice to stay here under the shower of air raids and I’ll move forward, step by step to make my journey worth while, to make a difference. "To make a difference" this is why I blog even if I rarely do so, because I honestly get to a point where I no longer want to type all I want to do is sleep and hope for the best, but I don’t want my backyard to be my graveyard, I don’t want today to be my last day. I want the chance to dream of a thousand other tomorrows, I want the opportunity to apprise and to inspire. I don’t want to take place behind a set of unwritten words and hope my voice is heard, I want to speak of these stories ten years from now. I want the infants I see today to have someone left from these times to tell them of all what we have endured and all what we’ve surpassed. The mountains of grief and melancholy we’ve climbed. I want to beat the odds and make it through to tell them what a journey Yemen has passed in the struggle towards freedom and sovereignty. Yes, I believe that someday, one day we will have won this battle against the world’s cruelest leaders. 
Artwork by: Ahmed Jahaf 

Comments

  1. arreumbAugust 27, 2018 at 1:26 PM

    "Others" are not different from the killers, they know every detail of the crimes perpetrated in Yemen, the bombs on schools, weddings, funerals, hospitals, busses crowded of children.
    "Others" know perfectly well that cholera, lack of food, of water, of medicines is mainly a consequence of the bombs that they sell to those criminals: they share the same responsibility for those crimes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. UnknownAugust 30, 2018 at 6:48 AM

      I'm so sure of your ability to visualize the misery along with the pride of this gracious nation to the word though I no longer have any respect for .
      I am so proud that Iam your MAMA .

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Journey of Blissful Pain; The Prisoner Release Arrangement

Her tears were enough to reignite the flames of my rage, a fragile soul made of roses and daisies in such pain, unable to connect the dots between this man and the dad she knows from worn out photographs her mother keeps in the top drawer of her dresser that is slowly falling apart, she gazes into her father's eyes and it finally clicks that this is her dad, the man in the picture is real, this is the very first time she set her big, brown eyes on her dad, and she breaks down into showers of tear turning her face from pale to scarlet, filling every inch of her body with inexperienced joy. The mothers falling to their knees, eyes clouded with tears in complete denial that this day has finally shined upon them, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and she patiently waits holding on by her faith in God, she sees her son and breaks down, he might be injured and his legs are at the brink of being amputated, but in that moment nothing matters but him, he is h
Post a Comment
Read more

Eight years later; the story goes on

The silence is frightening, like the calm before the storm. I am so used to their sounds, their thunders, now all I hear are my thoughts. As I wait for the silence to pass, this calm is now the unknown. I hear the airplanes passing and I can't help but shiver reminiscing when it all started eight years ago, when all I knew was silence that was cut off, always in a sudden, to hear a speeding warcraft above my head about to take away the lives of tens of people at once in a matter of seconds. How can I justify or explain to myself that these are not war crafts these are airplanes, the airplanes that used to sound so natural to me. The airplane that little children would wave at just eight years ago, those same children are teenagers now, and the children today would never wave at an airplane because it never is an airplane, it is always a hovering, killing machine about to take out little kids just like them. Times change and although there is a truce there is no serenity, just the f
Post a Comment
Read more

Steed Sorrow

In her eyes I saw pain, I saw the feeling of helplessness that I have seen too many times before. In her eyes were wails and screams, the image of a broken soul. She stood so tall yet so frail like the slightest breeze of air could shatter her to pieces. Her bloody body standing above her little one with nothing to do but to accept the pain and to dwell in the sorrow.   Wars are never easy and the losses are never predictable, the only thing guaranteed is pain. Over 1800 days have passed and the only thing that has been stable is the pain. The only constant in our lives is pain. These horses were more than just animals to us Yemenis, these Arabian horses resembled both nobility and courage which are the two components Yemenis are made of. In the past fifty years Yemenis were portrayed and conveyed as savage illiterates who have no morals, all of which are false allegations. In the past five years I have got to know my people because nothing brings people closer together than commo
Post a Comment
Read more