Thursday, November 21, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Monday, October 21, 2013
Anya's Journal
Anya’s Journal
August 20, 2013
Dear Journal,
I know I haven't wrote to you in a while, not since the war started. You’ve missed out on a lot. Our country is in really bad shape, and a lot of people have been killed. There’s a lot of shooting, especially recently. My parents are thinking about taking Aza and I out of the country so we won’t get hurt, but I don’t want to leave Syria. I really think things will get better, hopefully soon.
I’m eleven now, and Aza will be seven in a few weeks. He doesn’t remember much about how the war started. I was told that a lot of people didn’t like Asaad, so they rebelled against his regime. And we’ve been fighting within ourselves ever since. My city isn’t far from the capitol, so our family and the whole city have been antsy. We could be attacked any second, and about half our population had evacuated already. But we’ve stayed here so far, hoping the U.N will help us and this will all be over.
August 21, 2013
Dear Journal,
Things have gotten worse. Today I heard that a town called Ghouta was attacked with gas. I know it doesn’t sound so bad, but it was sarin gas. Sarin gas can make you extremely sick and even kill you, and it did. It killed nearly 1,500 people. We’ve been keeping stocks of it in our country, and it’s believed that the rebels used it on Ghouta.
Why did they have to bomb that town? Why did they have to involve innocent people in their problem? It’s not all of our fault it came to this. Most of us just want it to end. But everyone is dragging this stupid war on much longer than it should. I think my parents were talking about leaving Syria, but I’d miss it. After all, this is our home. I don’t want to think about leaving, because I’ve lived here my whole life. But what if something like what happened to Ghouta happens to our city?
August 22, 2013
Dear Journal,
Today at around seven thirty in the evening, my parents sat down with Aza and I and we had the dreaded conversation: leaving Syria. It went something like this…
“Aza, Anya, we need to talk with you.” Both Aza and I had thought that our parents found out about the fancy plate Aza had broke while playing ball in our living room. But we’d kept it a secret. Aza gave me a look that said, Thanks for telling on me. I look back to him and mouthed, I didn’t!
Our parents brought us in to the living room and I thought, Yep, we’re caught, but my parents didn’t seem angry, just a little stressed and sad.
“I know you two love Dumayr, and I know you want to stay in Syria, but it’s getting really tough right now. We need you two to be safe, so we need to evacuate before Dumayr is attacked. You two know what happened to Ghouta, and we do not want that happening to us.” Mother explained.
Aza and I slumped down into chairs.
“We’re leaving?” Aza asked.
“Why?” I complained.
“We told you why. Now don’t make this harder than it already is. We don’t want to go either, but we need to protect you two,” Father said. “We’re leaving for Lebanon in four days. It’s best that you start packing and saying goodbye to your remaining friends. We may not be back for a while. Maybe never.”
So that’s pretty much how my night went. I knew I couldn’t see my friends again, which made me really sad. And we would be leaving my home, with all my toys and clothes. I would miss dressing up in my pretty dresses. I would miss playing with Aza, because he and I always played together when we were bored and it was really fun. Even though we could still play if we left, it wouldn’t be the same because we loved playing hide and seek in our house.
I really wanted to complain to my parents, but what would be the point? Besides, Aza and I never argued with our parents. And the choices were to leave Syria and live, or stay in Syria and live (or die) in hell.
August 23, 2013
Dear Journal,
It all happened so fast. I’m really afraid, Journal. The regime and the rebels decided to fight in our city! Now the roads are barricaded and a lot of people are trapped, including me and my family. I’m scared that we’ll run out of food and if we go outside we’ll be shot. But if we stay in our houses the rebels might break in and take our food and shoot us. There seems to be no way out.
I prayed a lot recently. I prayed for deliverance, for peace, for my family’s safety, and for the war to end. As I’m writing this to you I am huddled in a corner in the darkest part of our living room. I see Aza trying to peek at the activity through the blinds, but Father pulls him away. Mother is quietly trying to pack some belongings in case we have to make a break for it. If anyone can hear our pleas, help us, we need you.
August 24, 2013
Dear Journal,
The situation I thought couldn’t get any worse did just that. I really can’t put much of this into words, but I’ll do my best. It went like this…
“Mother, why can’t I just look outside?” Aza pouted and folded his skinny arms over his chest.
“No one can know we’re here,” Mother said strictly. “If someone does find out, then we’re at the mercy of the rebels. They could break into our home, take our belongings, and kill us. Now step away from the blinds.”
Aza huffed and crept away from the window and sat on the couch. “Then what are we going to do?” he asked. “I’m bored.”
“You could help finish packing,” I offered. “We might make a break for it.”
“Yeah, adventure!” Aza hopped up and yelled excitedly.
“No, not an adventure, an escape.” Father corrected.
That made Aza sad again. He slumped back onto the couch, and mumbled, “I just want to have a little fun.”
Poor Aza, war is always the toughest on little kids. I’m not that old either. He was just trying to shine a little light in the darkness.
Later, I went to talk with Aza. I told him that Father wasn’t trying to be mean, he and Mother were just stressed about the war like everyone else.
“I just don’t want everybody to be mad. I want things to be better like they used to be.” Aza complained.
“I know, Aza. It’s horrible for everyone.”
While the rest of my family was sleeping, I was wide awake, listening to the gunshots and screaming outside. They seemed louder than the other night. Like they were closer to our house now. I pulled my covers up to my nose and I heard a loud banging on our door.
I heard a loud crack as our door was broken in. Shouting filled our home as I heard my parents rush to the scene. I pulled my blanket over my head and I felt rough hands pull me out of my bed and drag me down the hall to where my family sat in fear. I saw Aza with a rock from his collection in his hand, and only a moment later I knew what he was going to do.
He chucked the rock as hard as he could and it connected with a sharp crack against the head of one of the rebels. The man fell to his knees with his forehead bleeding, and he did not move again.
The other rebels stood in shock for a moment and then angled their guns at Aza, and fired at my baby brother. The bullets peppered his pajamas and he looked at me one last time before he fell face first on the newly bloodstained floor.
"Aza!" I screamed. I tried to rush over to him but my mother grabbed me and held me back. "No! No! Nooooo! Aza!" I slumped on the floor and covered my face with my hands. I started to cry. Aza was my baby brother. I couldn't believe he was dead just because he wanted to protect us. It was that single little act of defiance that I will remember Aza by forever.
August 24, 2013
Dear Journal,
The rebels eventually lets us go when they found out that we were no threat to them. But Aza was still dead. Our family sat in shock and horror as the rebels left our destroyed home.
We decided to bury Aza’s body. I watched as his little body was gently set into a box, and lowered into the hole my father had dug. I stood numbly aside, thinking that no one deserved a fate like that, especially a little boy. Especially not my baby brother!
I felt the warm tears slide down my cheeks, and I felt my throat close up as my breathing became staggered.
“Goodbye Aza,” I whispered. And we covered the hole, sealing Aza in the dirt forever.
August 25,2013
Dear Journal,
My family and I left Syria today. The fighting in our city diminished, so we decided to go. We said goodbye to the home I grew up in, and said goodbye to Aza one last time. We packed our few belongings and we started on our journey to Lebanon, to more peaceful territory. I know I will miss Syria, but I know that we will be safer in Lebanon. But I also hope that I won’t have to miss Syria for long. Every war has to come to an end.
Until next time
-Anya
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Anya lived in Syria for eleven years; her whole life actually. But the last few years had been scary for everyone. Her country was at civil war, and situations are only getting worse. She heard that a nearby city named Ghouta had been bombed with a horrible gas called sarin. Her parents, city, and all of Syria are getting antsy, so when her city is attacked, that's when her family draws the line. They are driven out of Syria to a refugee camp in Lebanon, where they will wait until the war is over.
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