The War Within
There was a whoosh and suddenly the window glass was broken. The weather had gotten worse than what the newsperson had said and I wasn’t the only one afraid of the deteriorating conditions.
My mother, my younger sister and I were huddled close for warmth to avoid our teeth from clattering. The broken window had made it impossible for the candle and the fire in the hearth to still keep burning. It was a particularly cold night and staying close was the only chance we had of keeping ourselves warm. With the anarchy all over the world, the one in our city was the worst and it wouldn’t be shocking if everything came to a halt.
In all my life, tonight was the first time that I got to experience a complete city blackout. The radio was making a crackling sound of a broken signal that increased Layla’s, my younger sister, headache so it was safe to say that we had no clue what it was about – other than the weather of course.
It was rather an unfortunate night.
We could feel it in the laden air, the sadness in the forceful wind; even the leaves could tell you that the future wasn’t any better than the storm itself.
The landline wasn’t working and my mother’s phone had died half an hour earlier.
I looked over to Layla as I heard her whisper, “I miss him.”
I nodded my head but I could see it in my mother’s eyes how much she missed him too. My mother has always been the type of person who relied on and the way she relied on this family and especially my father, alarmed anyone who was too close to witnessing. Sometimes my mother’s friends had voiced out their concern, saying everyone was bound to meet the Creator eventually, and if she was the last one to go, she wouldn’t live too long to tell what happened to the deceased. I hoped such a day never came. In fact, from the day I had heard them say this, I have made a special effort, never to disappoint both, the Creator and my mother.
I looked out the window to see a stray cloud chase the moon as if to find solace from the truth that was to unleash its hell on the city of Aleppo. My mother and sister had grown quiet; I presume both were lost in their own worlds. For their sakes, I hoped it was a happy place; for mine, I later regretted not being in one at that particular moment.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door that broke the eerie silence. My mother picked up Layla in her arms and we all walked to the door.
I wish the universe had given us a sign- had stopped us from opening the door that kept us from the messenger. The ground could have gaped open, the sky could have shuddered, the rain could have screamed in its pitter-patter – anything, anything could have happened. However, it didn’t and I knew from the forlorn expression on the messenger’s face that this was it – this was the hell they talked about.
He seemed unsure as if he couldn’t find a way to relay the information. The curiosity mixed with tension was gnawing at my insides and when my mother spoke, I knew she could feel it too.
“What happened? Oh God, just tell me what happened!”, she pleaded.
“Ma’am. . . Please. I think you should take a seat.” He offered, knowing well himself that she wouldn’t listen.
“No please, just say it. You’re scaring me.” She begged, shuddering at probably her racing thoughts. We all were.
I put my arm around her and Layla, who was clutching my mother’s shawl as if her life depended on it, to offer a little comfort.
“Um… There was… I’m sorry but Waleed is no more. He made us proud.”
The wind stilled, the trees bowed, the storm rested, as our minds became clouded, as our hearts stopped beating, as we felt the universe offering us its condolences. Our father, and to my mother, her husband, had left us amidst the bloody times in the burning city of Aleppo. The messenger said he made the nation proud, but how?
Oh God, how is someone’s death celebration-worthy? The truth is, we are alone now and we have lost any hope or promise for a secure future that we had before. With him gone, there doesn’t seem any reason for us to continue living. I felt my mother shaking in my arms and it broke me out of the shock to allow the tears to fall.
I lost my father.
My mother lost a husband.
My sister lost her father. She was too young to lose my father.
We lost him to war.
Each realization stabbed me in the gut and pierced its way through my heart.
The nation was proud, he said.
Does it matter what this nation lost? He’s gone! He’s dead because of this nation; a pointless war . He’s never coming back.
I realized then that the war was meant to initiate a war within ourselves – because it hurts too much; it scrapes away every source of happiness and leaves the only pain behind. It demands you to fight yourself – to fight the evil around you, to stand tall to it, to see it to the end of its darkness. The war we create for ourselves is the only thing that keeps us going- that helps us cling to the last bit of light; to the last bit of hope; of happiness.
This is the war within ourselves.
Rameesha Syed is a student of Politics and International Relations at TMUC. She is a freelancer, a poet, a blogger and basically everything that comes under the banner of writing. She runs her own blog by the name of MeeshaSlays on WordPress, Facebook and Instagram. Rameesha dreams of becoming a magazine editor one day and she will do anything to accomplish her goals.