Life is hard in Syria especially northern cities attacked by crucial terrorism group ISIS. These are contents from a dairy written by a regular Syrian boy named Sima. He was ten at the time experiencing poverty and conflict with terror activities of ISIS. This dairy was later discovered by an ISB student, which later led to publication.
013/4/5 a fine day
I noticed the spectacular date today, the calendar says 201 3-4-5 which I find pretty interesting, in this time of the year, the climate is roasting hot and dry, but it isn’t hard to get use to.
As it has been always, my Sister wakes me up and I go to school. It was only my third month of school, and the things we learn at school are so easy, I felt like I knew them when I was born! I want to learn more complicated things, in order to help dad earn more money, and when I have enough money to feed our family and cattle’s, I want to have an army to work for me to kill all the ISIS men. So we can all live in peace.
chool felt like years, and I thought that I grew old when I sat in my wooden chair, if you could call it a chair. When school did somehow end, I went to dad’s construction area and helped dig massive holes, dads construction area is near the beautiful Euphrates river, its clear blue water makes me feel happy, even when I know the water is contaminated with germs, I would still take a gentle sip from the lake, to chase away any feelings of thirst. I couldn’t really hold my metal spoon at dinner because my hands were covered with blisters, which were done by my shovel.
2013/4/6 a horrible day
I fell asleep in math class today, this maybe was the second time I ever fell asleep in school, maybe the third actually, or maybe it’s
the forth. My bubble of dream was popped open when I heard a women scream so loudly a boy could hear it while standing on mars!
When I looked sheepishly around, the class was crowding at the window; I remember my eyes widen when I looked out and saw a bleeding head standing directly on the ground. It was looking nearly too much like my uncle, I thought, it couldn’t be! My uncle is a journalist in America! He wouldn’t suddenly come back without a single message! A group of horrible men marched away in the same uniforms, laughing in a baleful voice. After that, I sprinted home just in time to see my family’s blank, solemn faces, no one spoke for the length of 5467 seconds, I counted numbers to avoiding the inference of uncle’s death. When I was just about to count the next second my sister’s sentence of truth shot through my heart like a bullet, “Sami, Uncle Elliot’s dead.” A few more sentences confirmed it.
2013/4/7 the next day
My dad and I were attending my Uncles funeral. My dad was putting flower on my uncle’s grave. We moved to Damascus later that day. On the plane ride I glanced silently as the golden images of the blazing dry al-Badiyah desert, as they passed by, down on the ground, as soon as we landed in the busy, hot Damascus, we quickly set up the stock, to earn some money.
2013/4/10 a tough day
Everyday was hard since we moved to Damascus; there was no school because our job was gone. And the miserable thing is I have to wake up earlier than normal to set up the stock. No matter what, the painful hardship and the blazing summer won’t bother us, unlike the rich families, we don’t need wealth and fancy vehicles and houses, we just need to survive, live no matter how hard it is. Wealth can be destroyed and removed, but the knowledge to keep us alive is forever in our heart. With the thought of that, the day passes quickly.
Think about it
What would the schools be like if they often get attacked by ISIS? They comparing to ISB.
What would you feel like you wake up finding out your uncle died?
Would you complain about the new life in Damascus if you were Sima?