Why oh why, I don’t care about you, Syria.
I don’t. I sincerely don’t. About its men, women, gay or straight people. its submissive or its courageous people. Its prisoners of conscience or its enemies or its leaders. I don’t understand what is it exactly I feel about you. I mean I don’t really hate you, obviously I don’t like you, but why do I follow your news so much? why do I feel excited when my reader mentions your name? like hey, I know this place better than I know any other place on this planet. Like I have the feeling, that because I know a lot about you, I have this illusion that I care about you, or even that we are related. But see, we’re not related. See here at this very point that I just wrote, I wrote so many sentences then I deleted them. Not because I want my sentences to consist with each other and actually make sense to the readers, but rather, I don’t think I am writing what I truly feel. I really don’t know how I feel about this space called Syria.
I mean I am not talking about Syria as a state or as a geographical space, I am talking about people I know from this space, from Damascus, Homs, Aleppo, Layakiya, Rakka, Sueida, Hama, Salamiya and I don’t know what. Are these Syrian people? or they’re sharing somewhat collective images of the same type of communal and state corruption in schools universities, work and societies which they do belong to and hate so much?
I mean fuck, the other day there was a bloggers meeting, we were from different Syrian cities and we fucking share the same feelings, depression, observations, it’s all over Syria, this feeling of being a Syrian is so overwhelming that you can’t really escape not even if you left this shit hole for years.
Don’t get me wrong now, we’re different, we’re not the same, our opinions differ, our readings and interpretations to these realities differ, but do you understand, that we do understand each other perfectly?
I mean, we do. You tell me a story and I nod my head, I understand. I know.
We are so different in opinions, but we fucking have a lot in common, a lot, and I think that’s something, if not everything.
I met amazing inspiring people two days ago, I met my favorite Syrian writer today, Yassin Haj Saleh, I met a nice smart guy today, I related a lot to what they’re saying, but I think I have a serious problem.
I don’t care. I said that out loud today, that I don’t care, someone told me that Razan maybe because you’re Palestinian, I felt so foreign to this word. Palestinian. I mean, my life would be so much easier if I were, but what does that even mean? to be a Palestinian or Syrian? I mean, I think being an Arab makes so much sense than being a Syrian, and being a Palestinian is like a political statement to me than anything else, since really, it’s a phenomenal thing to be a Palestinian, like you’re a Palestinian-in-the-world but not in Palestine.
I don’t care. I gave up long time ago. I can’t care any more. But I don’t want to leave here and live somewhere else. It’s like I want to be stuck in here, I don’t want to move on. Perhaps there is no moving on. Perhaps it’s a dream that will never become true, you moving on.
Oh I would love to dump you, Syria. I don’t want to dump Palestine, but with you, it’s not about wanting or not wanting, I think I can’t.
Even if I did someday, hit the ball.
And it’s not a coincidence, to write this post in English, in Syria, by someone who thinks that her English is not good.