My Ravaged Wound

Posted on by Mani

Adapted from my 2016 bittersweet Arabic diary. Original Arabic version further below. Image by ROMAN ODINTSOV

Context

I wrote this text shortly after that night with Maya. She came into my bed, stripped down to her underwear, kissed me softly without crossing further, and fell asleep beside me. She let me hold her close, allowed me to touch her body, yet never allowed me to cross into full possession. She made me fall in love, then left in the morning — and never returned.

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The devil between the Details and the Big Picture

Posted on by Mani

Originally published at the Foundation for Economic Education (FEE) under What War and Terror Do to Principles: A Young Syrian Recounts the Years in His Smoldering Homeland. Feature image by Ahmed Akacha

GRAZ – I lived in Syria for three out of the four and half years of war. I’ve never been physically harmed, even though there were several close calls. In another sense, though, I’ve come to realize this war has killed so much in me that I’ve turned into something completely unfamiliar; something that often works like a calculator.

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The Thin Line Between Us And The Enemy

Posted on by Mani

This article was originally published on the Daily Caller

DAMASCUS – I was just a freshman in late 2008 when Israel waged a major offense against Gaza. Just like most Syrians, I thought of that battle as my own. We have never distinguished ourselves from the Palestinians, not even during our current war. I recall being so outraged by the Israeli assault that I wrote a satire attacking not only Israel but also the entire Arab World for not doing enough to help the people of Gaza.

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Damascus’ White Battles

Posted on by Mani

DAMASCUS – When you reside in a city where snowfall is a rare event, occurring perhaps once or twice a year, or even less frequently, each occurrence becomes a moment of excitement. I remember, back then, whenever it snowed, we gleefully played with the white fluff for a single day before it inevitably melted away by the following day, if not sooner. Fond childhood memories linger of those times when I felt a twinge of sadness as the snow vanished before my eyes.

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