Why? Syrians ask themselves why anyone deserves their predicament

Life doesn’t make sense any more, and I now view the word "justice" like all those extinct dinosaurs. Nowadays all I think of is the word “why” without even attaching it to any other word or phrase. When you are a Syrian, you do not need to ask more or say more, and I bet that no one in the whole wide world can ever give an answer when a Syrian stands up to shout "Why?".

I have always felt that our death has not made any real noise, that any action on this sad piece of land has no reaction that’s equal to its severity at all – rather, there is no reaction in the first place – and that we are dying silently as if Syria were swimming alone in the void. I have always seen it as a painful thing, and now that the whole world is watching our death after our sad piece of land screamed and swallowed us whole along with our resilience, the scene became even more painful. Everyone sees us, everyone counts our corpses, everyone looks at our cold faces under the rubble, and yet we continue to to die in full view of the entire world. I felt how much uglier death under the spotlight is, than death behind the curtains.

We are dying silently as if Syria were swimming alone in the void. Everyone sees us, everyone counts our corpses, everyone looks at our cold faces under the rubble, and yet we continue to to die in full view of the entire world

I cannot forget that night, and I will never be able to, even though I suffered from war like all Syrians, and narrowly escaped death many times, and left dozens of homes behind in search of safety, but that night was something else, a different tragedy and a different feeling. It is the feeling that everything has failed you, even your land, and escape becomes impossible, as the word "safety" disappears completely, and the world in your eyes turns into a big monster that you do not know when it’ll pounce on you to kill you. The moment the earth shakes beneath your feet, you want to scream, cry and run, but the concept of directions disappears in your mind, leaving you with no right or left, and you realize in an instant that you are just a gray color, and just a number that you fear will not be tallied with the numbers. All you can do is just run towards your family members, hold them, look at their faces as if it's a moment of farewell, and scream inside: "No.. No, oh God, no".

You suddenly realize how weak you are and how close death may be, and the walls of your house turn into a "bogeyman" as if you had lived your whole life without a real shelter, and even though this feeling did not last more than a minute, and even though I emerged from this minute in one piece, without any damages to the house or its inhabitants, from that moment to this very instant, I am in shock. I see myself every night under the rubble, watching all the death and destruction others have documented, and I become even more terrified.

No one in the whole wide world can ever give an answer when a Syrian stands up to shout "Why?"

I know that I, and all the survivors, survived by chance. Do you know what it feels like to have survived by chance? That means that all those martyred by the earthquake are us, all those that were injured are us, and all those affected and left stranded in the roads and shelters are us, but it was mere chance that made them so, instead of us.

I didn't think I would need so long to be able to talk about this disaster. Every night I would try to write anything to say to people, but I couldn't. I wasn’t even able to offer words of solace or consolation. I couldn't do anything other than all this silence, sadness and constant fear.

Nowadays all I think of is the word “why” without even attaching it to anything else. When you are a Syrian, you do not need to ask more or say more, and I bet that no one in the whole world can ever give an answer when a Syrian stands up to shout "Why?"

It’s a great sadness that you do not know how to divide, and you just want to keep crying and crying, and even more difficult is your feeling of helplessness. What is the meaning of me still being alive and not being able to save a frightened child under the rubble of the house he thought was safe? What is the meaning of me trying to sleep every night when there are voices screaming for help that I can't hear, hold or respond to? What is the meaning of me being here alive, of all of us being here alive, while there are hundreds like us who were alive but are now under the rubble? They waited a long time for someone to look for them, for someone to find them, waited so long so that they wouldn’t be let down. Do you know what it feels like to wait for another chance in this life and no one comes to find you?

I know how much people and countries sympathized and stood in solidarity with us in this disaster, and I saw real sadness in the eyes of dozens of people I know from different Arab countries. I know that thousands have cried for us, but I also know that we are disappointed and let down, and that we have always died like those in traffic accidents, and that we have always been mere numbers or nationalities. There is no difference between us in terms of faces, ages, dreams and fates, and while everyone abroad is waiting for a moment in their life to be a hero, here we only dream of staying alive, even if we are just extras or chess pieces in the hands of heroes.

This world is cruel and unfair, but it hasn’t been cruel to anyone the way it's been to us, nor has it wronged anyone the way it's wronged us, and even worse is that it's still doing this. We can only submit, surrender, and reach out our lifeline to the world

I don't know when this sad story of ours will end, and I don't know until when we’ll keep talking about death and only death, until when we Syrians will keep crying for each other, until when will the world keep crying for us, and until when will we continue to ask for help and aid. I don't know when we will start over. I don't know when will we be able to dream again and live again and feel like we exist again. I don't know when will we have real names, names, faces, ages and dreams.

When can we say "we are Syrians" without meaning or sounding like "we’re dead"?

This world is certainly cruel and unfair, but it hasn’t been cruel to anyone the way it has been to us, nor has it wronged anyone the way it has wronged us, and what is even worse is that it is still doing that, and we can only submit, surrender, give up, and reach out our lifeline towards the world, and wait for all of you to see us, hear us, and find us. We survivors aren’t actually survivors at all... We are also waiting for someone to find us, waiting for someone to bring us back to life, what we are living through is not life at all, but only a postponed death.

And do not ask "Why?". I searched for the answer a lot and found only one answer that wasn’t convincing at all: Because we are Syrians... But what did we ever do?

* The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author’s and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Raseef22