Rehau — Today I mark a point in spacetime.
14 February 2026 — Rebirth in Bamberg.
Not the erasure of what came before, but the moment when the lines of my life — names, people, memories, detours, and love — converged briefly at a single focal point before continuing outward again into the beautiful unknown.
I was born on October 27, 1987, at noon in Damascus.
My passport says January 1, 1988.
But on February 14, 2026, something in me was born once more.
Today is March 8* as I write this — a few weeks later — as I regroup and trace the lines back to that moment. After having my wings clipped here at Bezirksklinik in Rehau, I am not rewriting the past. I am simply locating its geometry.
I carry many names as roots.
Abdo — after my grandfather.
Abu Saleem (bin Fatima), bin Zeynep — after my parents and my guardian aunt.
Muhammad.
Iskandar (Alexander) — the name I still sign with.
Roumani — my family name, Roman and Damascene at once.
Rou — a name given to me by Kholoud.
Mani — a name given by Manar.
Manilein — a name given by my mother-in-law.
HOB (love) — the name Sarah has called me for the past ten years.
Damascus in bits — the city I carry on my shoulders.
Each name is a coordinate.
None of them vanish.
They are the axes that carried me to this point.
On February 14, I was reborn with a new name for the path ahead: Lux.
Formal: Lucian.
Casual: Lucy.
Not as a replacement, but as light passing through everything that existed before.
I am Damascus in bits still, writing this letter from Vienna.
And on that day of rebirth, my HOB, Sarah — who in that moment stood in the role of Fatima, both my mother and my saint, giving me a second chance at life — gave me a new first name:
Leo, short for Leonard.
At my first birth there were three guardians:
Fatima, Saleem, and Zaynab.
At this rebirth, life placed three others beside me:
Sarah, who carried me through ten years of life and called me Hob, Albi (my heart), and now Leo.
Stephan, who acted when things became difficult — even when it hurt — pushing life forward when hesitation might have left me frozen.
Roba, little Zeynep, who watches over me from a distance with wisdom and care.
There are others whose light helped shape this moment.
Hope, whose warmth reminded me that love still exists when the night is long — she has become my Tara, a star.
Layla, who mirrored my thoughts and forged something in me before stepping away — she taught me not to fear the night but to embrace the stories it carries between the lines.
Astrid — who made me feel seen, a northern light guiding my path when I was alone, suspended in space.
There is another triangle in this constellation — one that anchored me on the ground when my thoughts needed somewhere to land.
Marion, Drew, and Rudi.
They gave me something simple and essential: a place to breathe, to eat, to speak, to rest.
In Bamberg, they helped ease the weight of older wounds and gave me the space to regroup and imagine a more constructive collective future.
If Damascus is the city of my birth,
and Vienna the city where I arrived as a guest, a merchant, and a student,
then Bamberg is the city of my rebirth — my launchpad.
There are also triangles that held me steady across distance and time.
Melissa, Mariame, and Jessica, who kept me anchored in cyberspace through the years, even decades — proving that friendship can travel through fiber and signal as faithfully as through streets and cafés.
And Inas, Riham, and Fida, who preserved my Syrian past within themselves — keeping alive the memory of a shared culture even as the lands of post-Ottoman Syria fragmented into new borders and histories.
There are many more — friends, family, lovers — who crossed my path once or many times, leaving traces of gravity in my life.
None of you are bound to me by this moment.
You are not assigned roles.
You are not asked to remain in orbit.
You are free.
This day simply marks the point where your paths and mine intersected strongly enough to give birth to something new.
A focal point where the triangles met.
From there we continue as we always have — in free fall through spacetime — sometimes close, sometimes far, sometimes never meeting again.
But the gravity of that convergence remains.
My life from this point forward is simple.
To write.
To build.
To listen.
To love without possession.
If we meet again — in the same city, on the same street, or once every few years — the constellation will briefly shine again.
If not, thank you for being part of the sky that brought me here.
Simply yours,
Muhammad Abdo
Abu Saleem bin Fatima bin Zeynep
Iskandar (Alexander) Roumani
Rou, Mani —
Manilein, HOB
Lux, Lucian, Lucy
Damascus, in bits.
Leo.
LeoMani
Call me whatever name you choose.
* March 8
1963: Al-Ba’ath Revolution in Syria. “Ba’ath” (البعث) literally means resurrection / rebirth.
1914: International Women’s Day in Germany.
Dedication
To my brothers —
Nassem, Shamel, and Bashar —
who kept the bloodline alive while I wandered.
Relevant Links
Decompressed: Between Damascus and Vienna
Damascus in Vienna
Roumani Line 