Same stories, different faces.

“My friend Majd , you are alive and soon you’ll be among your family and friends… I am sure of that… Sure I will see you again”

That sentence above was written by a friend of mine on another friend’s Facebook wall. The guy was supposed to be in “Doma” a place which witnessed exchanging fires and shelling with the terrorists yesterday. They couldn’t hear anything from him since then.
The words written reminded me of another guy named “Mohammad”, an old mate of my brother Ali. When I mention his name I recall his picture as a little boy. He was a very short boy, much shorter than my brother which made him always look younger than the rest of the boys.
He used to come over to our house at village wearing a white shirt usually and black pants with his brown hair tidily combed from the right to the left like the traditional old days.

His white pale skin makes you feel he’s sick maybe´-or-he needs to eat more. It always caught my eye how organized that boy was, how he rides the bike with his straight spine and how he folds his handkerchief gently and slowly, unlike the other boys he was shy. I never actually thought this little white rabbit is going to be a strong grown up.

Unlike my expectations, that little boy became a strong grownup with a little mustache and a beard. I saw his picture on Facebook. I said smiling “Oh look who’s become a big man now!” then I noticed he was carrying a riffle maybe longer than the boy I used to know (him). I knew later that he was one of the guards and officers protecting Al Kindi Hospital in Aleppo. The comment below said “the present absent, Mohammad, we are waiting for you… your friends and lovers "… I was frozen for sometimes, my eyes were hanged on the comment and couldn’t say a single word. I haven’t seen him since a very long time but… that was different.

A day before the explosion , It was the first time to know from his sister Maram that he was there . I knew that he is at home wounded in combat with the terrorists and insisted to join his mates in the field . Mohammad was also “lost” after the big explosion of Al Kindi hospital. The explosion eliminated the hospital, nothing was left there. And Mohammad is “lost”. The stones of the hospital couldn’t stand against the flames but his friends , family’s hope and faith could. They are still WAITING for him.

Two months ago was Mohammad and today is Majd. Those who are “lost” may never get back. They may like their absence and obscurity. But who knows, they also may find their ways back. I hope the road is clear and lit for them to be back someday.

I pray… and am sure they will find the way back home…..Their spirit tells us they all, the lost and the martyrs will come back with the butterflies of Spring and the raindrops of Winter…..

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