They Stole Our Lives

1|Radiya

SANAA, YEMEN- 2016

16-year old, Radiya Mansour, tapped the pen on her table while looking for all the unsaid words she had left behind. She had always utilized writing as a refuge from distressing reality. Rooted in her fragile personality, reserved and intellectual, she believed that what's left vaguely unsaid is to be told on paper to those who would listen. This was her shell, where things were safer and more peaceful than real life.

Overcome by fear, she is urged to get up and check the outside from the window. A simple habit that was formed to accommodate the daily life they sustained over time. Bombs and explosions could knock on their doors as they did to every resident of their city and the whole country. Checking out the window and blending into large crowds was a must. All of it traces back to when it happened, since then the fear of anything was buried deep inside everybody's restless hearts. Every moment was precious, every millisecond. Nobody would deny that.

A tall building collapsed before her eyes, all pieces falling to the ground while scattering the smoke all around the area just in seconds. Covering her mouth, she gasped in fear. Her insides felt like a can of pop wanting to overflow but giving out to her fears was a loss, nothing of such sort was needed during a time of despair as now. She imagined how it may have felt in those families' shoes. It was dark and lost as she had never been to. Her mind went deeper, visualizing it all out, her mom would be crying their names as it depended on her life.

"Saba, Radiya, Akram, Ahlam, Ammar! Where are you? Oh my God."

How tragic would have it been if she wouldn't hear that cry, at the least? She realizes the emotions connected to such traumatizing experiences. Grateful that she wasn't the one to be hit by that bomb, that she was able to breathe clean air currently, that she had food unlike others starving in famine and hunger, she was grateful for every blessing she had and could have lost by now. One of the biggest things she was blessed with included life. Death was humanity's way, no doubt.  Everybody is doomed to die at a certain point. Although, the longer one lives, the more blessed.

"Radiya? What are you doing?" Akram, Radiya's younger brother who towered over her, suddenly was standing beside the doorway. She didn't notice him coming to check on her. All her focus had been laid on the outside while his footsteps made their way towards her quiet space, her outer shell.

He smiles to hide the worried expression on his face. Faked perfectly though worry always engulfed him. Everybody inside feared something and almost everything. For those staying outside, it's even scarier.

"Nothing," Radiya says. "I was just a bit bored" she added, slowly closing the curtain to stop her brother from seeing the besmirch outside.

He plops down on his soft bed, looking at her work and then back at her. His mind was searching for something positive to bandage the wounds with. Anything to wind down the ambience.

"Your work seems hard," He faked a laugh, hoping it sounded real. Both of them knew each other's pain, worried about one another ultimately, even if they hadn't said it straight up to each other. To fix the damage the surroundings had caused them, they fake laughter and actions. Even emotions. Tragic how war changes a person's personality to a whole new one that nobody had asked for, one that is backed with anxiety and lingering trauma.

Radiya sat beside him, squeezing his hand softly. Her brother, in return, smiled at her heartwarmingly. They were just some kids who needed some love and not trauma. Life had given them one another and sorrow as a companion. Responsibilities tore their parents away from them. Life ripped their hearts away from their rib cages. Everything was misplaced in chaos.