Here I stand useless, on the divided island-country that is Cyprus. My toes are hidden deep beneath the sand and peace appears to be surrounding me but 300 km east, there you are- strong in your desire for better days, yet feeble in your plight and rightfully so. For now, this is the best I could do to get as close to you as I could without raising suspicion. Those around me don’t want me to help you. They say doing so wouldn’t result in anything ‘sustainable’. They say my actions could never alter your struggles but I haven’t lost faith in you. How could I knowing that just 300 km away, there is a genocide transpiring. You are helpless and without any tools for survival and here I am, hoping I can figure out a way to help you.

I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I am with you. I am writing to let you know that my heart hasn’t stopped aching for you since March 15, 2011. I know I cannot begin to comprehend the horrors you have seen, nor could I ever fathom what you are feeling this very second. I can’t imagine how many loved ones you have lost. I can’t imagine what it’s like to wake up to air raids, if you even sleep. Do you sleep? I know I can’t. How could I sleep when I know you are trapped within the confines of a country that you no longer recognise?

I am aware of the United Nations’ reprehensible decision to stop counting casualties. I am sorry the greater part of humanity has grown heartless and chosen to abandon you because you don’t share their culture, their language, their religion, or skin tone. I have learned that people tend to be afraid and hate what they can’t understand. I understand if their vile decision to stop counting casualties makes you feel invisible- as if you may as well have been born nameless.

I know your children are being swallowed whole by the sea. You are losing precious treasures to the Mediterranean as they try to flee a war-torn land hopeful of reaching refuge in Europe. Just 300 km away. Just 300km my way, if you could send them to me, I’d keep them safe and restore their spirits, feed them all the dolma and hummus their stomachs could bear. I’d keep them here. For you. By the time you come for them, I will have made sure they have forgotten the sound of air raids, the sound of shellings and the sight of barbarous acts.

I know you never expected for any of this to happen. You never thought all you’d have left from your years are the memories you hold on to for dear life. I meet people today who tell me stories about Syria pre-war. They depict what Syria was like but they hold this distant ambivalent gaze in their eyes. It’s almost as though I can see them scattering inside their own minds, trying to find the images to correlate the words that are about to come spewing out of their mouths. The West hasn’t really seen you post war- what they see on the media isn’t even the half of it. If only they had seen you in your prime, my dear Syria, when you smelled of jasmine and mint tea.

In the West, people have adopted a selfish rhetoric. They say you are not welcome there. They want you to stay in ‘your country.’ If only they knew… then maybe they’d understand. I wish they could feel what you feel. I wish they could ache how you ache. I wish they could see the horrors you see. Then, I am sure they would feel foolish- guilty beyond belief, even. They don’t try to make sense of your struggles because it’s unfathomable to them. I am not justifying their ignorance and would die before ever doing so.

Do they really believe you chose this life of misfortune? Do they really think you’d willingly leave your beautiful home, if you had a choice? To the West, your beautiful country is seen as nothing more than a ‘war zone’. They’ve completely disregarded the fact that it is your home. They call you cowards. They don’t understand your struggle, they haven’t seen what you’ve seen.

The closest the West has ever gotten to danger is watching a war documentary on Netflix. The media has romanticised your pain and profited in ways you’d never imagine. The White Helmets. The West donated millions to the White Helmets because they have been brainwashed by mass media. The people of the West are the real cowards, though. Surely you and I understand this. The West are cowards for not even trying to make sense of your struggle. Perhaps they have forgotten their ancestors struggles? Perhaps they have forgotten that all 7 billion of us and counting, are interconnected immigrants.

The West is greedy. They don’t want you on ‘’their’’ land. Who are they to say it’s their land? It’s our land. Yours, mine. You don’t pick the life you’re born into and you certainly don’t get to pick what land you’re born onto. They are afraid you will take their economic wealth, as if it’s the most important kind of wealth. They are afraid of you because they envy you- they will never have your cultural wealth or your intellectual wealth. They call you ‘Muslim scum’ and ‘welfare parasites.’ Perhaps miseducation is the root of Western ignorance. As if your religion has anything to do with your right to live. The grocery clerk in the West calls you ‘welfare parasites’… though you hold a Ph.D and were once a doctor prior to the war.

You are the strong ones, you are the heroes.

My dear Syria, you are the strongest nation I know and I haven’t even had the honour of meeting you, yet. Do not lose hope during your odyssey to safety.

My dear Syria, you have inspired me and countless others. You’ve risked your lives for a just cause, which is more than most could ever say.

My dear Syria, you are not your governments ill-actions. My dear Syria, in my eyes, you are family. You are not just Syrians. You are humans.

My dear Syria, I know you don’t get to choose the life you’re born into.

‘’Fight for your world, not your country.’’