One year, 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days of War. Of days passed in darkness with the only precious thing we had: hope. Nobody in my family knew, but that day was the first year anniversary of war. Of the thing that obscured my life. Our life.
War was so cruel. It didn't listen to you. That hand called War took all you cared about, it was like a machine that could guess what you loved the most and take it away from you: your house, your dad, your sister... We live in an apartment shared by 46 other people now because War took our house, our home. We don't have my dad with us because War wants him to fight in the army. We don't have my sister because War killed her by a bullet who traversed her rooms window. I begged War to stop. I tried to talk to it... But it is cruel. It is evil. It always wants your sadness. Most of my days I thought about what I did to deserved this, what I did to loose my everything, but I never managed to find an answer.
I sat on the carpet, that was my bed now, and took out one of the two books I brought with me: "The Book Of Quotations" which was a book where you could find as many quotations as you liked. When I had a sister we loved to find one quotation every morning to make our life better, I still loved doing it, it inspired me everyday, I mean it inspires me as much as you can be inspired in the middle of a war... I open to a random page and start reading:
-"It's all about finding the calm in the chaos", Donna Karan
-"Don't worry about failures, worry about the chances you miss if you don't even try", Jacks Canfield
-"We can't win a battle we didn't even start" I relate to this one so much, such a beautiful quote, such a meaningful quote. I've always thought about these guys on TV (when we had one) who talk about "winning" the war for our country, about how all of us will win one day, about winning this war and having peace in Syria again but how can I win something that I didn't even wan't to happen? I look down to see who wrote this sentence, this beautiful sentence... The last memory of my life is that one. The explosion, that last thought. And after that moment I simply die. I have always wondered what death meant, how it felt, let me tell you it doesn't feel like anything, it feels like pain for a second but then you realize that you are dead and calm down, however it felt better for me to be dead than to be in war. To be in war isn't living, no not at all. It is knowing that you are undead but that doesn't mean that you are alive.
I am in somewhere now, thinking about how things could be different, about how it is so unfair that life cannot be subjective, that I cannot be the one and only master of my own life and decide to make my own life subjective and I start imagining a different future for myself.
YOU ARE READING
Life Is Subjective
General FictionMona is a 13 year old Syrian girl that dies during war, and thinks about how it would be to rewrite her story.
