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

The Power of a Decade

I remember my excitement for 2010 I had just turned 11 and the world seemed to be my oyster, I had a whole plan set out for myself. I was a hardheaded child with a plan, a well thought of plan, I was going to graduate high school at 17 and start university directly after, as a law student of course, and Harvard was the obvious choice. Nothing seemed too far, nothing seemed unreachable, every dream I had was valid, every dream was a possibility. It is hard to reminisce the past, how all that energy is long gone, I blame this war for it.  In February of 2015, I was sixteen preparing for my AS-Levels to elevate my chance of getting into a league school, my life revolved around books and studying, I would stay put for six hours straight without budging studying maths day in, day out. I missed out on so much all for an exam I never took because the moment this aggression began all hell broke loose, everything was cancelled and I was left to panic and cry that my life plan wou...
1 comment
Read more

Gold Mind

It is one thing to state you love yourself and a whole different thing to literally love yourself. At eighteen I’ve learned that loving yourself is such a hard battle, yes, a battle. A battle between the taste you’ve acquired and the tang you deserve. You can’t transcend into a higher level if you are held back by all the expectations. No, this can’t be blamed on society this is us. We chose to let our happiness constantly be a verdict made by whoever we have grown fond of. It is time we arise from the rubble we have created subconsciously. What we have become is our own doing. Playing the blame game takes us nowhere and I know this very well, I’ve been playing it for as long as I can remember. I know writing how strong I wish to be won’t actually make me strong, and I know actions speak louder than words, but I believe having my words visible to the world might pressure me to pressure me. We are stronger than we think we are and yes, maybe we’ve long lost who we truly are, but nothin...
1 comment
Read more

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