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.

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