Marah

I was brought up as a rose is tended to in a loving environment, one that’s given fresh water and nurtured by a gentle breeze. It left in me the senses of youth and tranquility, which, until now, I thought would always be present. I didn’t know that the world around me was filled with ugliness. As time went by, I realized that I had been deceived by my life because my family had forever taught me to believe in ideals that do not exist.

I experienced the same strange feelings as when my father died, when relatives turned into strangers, and when friends turned into enemies. My mother argued with me about this realization, convincing me, once again, that every person has their own set of circumstances and reasons that would explain their situation, excuse their actions, and relieve them of any guilt or blame.

But then I saw the ugliness with my own eyes. My city was filled with bad people who had lost their humanity, who didn’t care about a child going hungry or being cold, and who didn’t care that the blood of innocent people was being shed as they blindly followed their greed for money and wealth.

I left my city in search of a better and purer world. Unfortunately, I have only encountered the worst here. Everywhere I turn, I see degenerate people whose lack of morals and deceit I’ve never been accustomed to tolerating or accepting. They are a different breed. For a minute, I thought they might belong to a different planet. They are nothing like any other person I had met or known. This was particularly true in university, where one can find all kinds of people. I found myself making up excuses for everyone, silencing what I believe in, and not knowing how to get myself back on the right track.

I soon started a new job—the one I told you about—which allowed me to meet different kinds of people. One customer was an arrogant, ignorant man with no manners. He thought everything could be bought with money. His first visit to the shop upset me, as he said some things I didn’t like. Then, I had decided to keep quiet and did not comment. On his second visit, he tried to harass me in such lowly fashion that I couldn’t help but slap him out of rage. The store manager held me accountable; he only cared for the reputation of the store, and the customer was a man of means. But I didn’t budge. I insisted that I wasn’t in the wrong. That alone would have cost me my job if it weren’t for the company owner, a lovely old man who intervened and put an end to the situation with a few wise words.

After the customer left, the old man pointed out that I shouldn’t repeat what I did, and that I must learn to control my anger. He said power lies in the ability to exercise self-restraint, and asked that I be stronger and wiser to face the city life that was very different from the quiet countryside where I came from.

I returned home, my mind racing. One is asked to change to be able to survive, but what does this change consist of? And where does it take me to? Am I meant to become a monster fighting in a jungle full of predators, or am I meant to give up my principles and go with this overpowering tide that’s pulling me elsewhere? Or am I meant to adapt to my new environment to be able to survive in these unfamiliar settings?

I asked my mother to explain to me what the required change was, and she told me the story of the falcon. When a falcon turns 40, it either chooses to succumb to death or it decides to go through a painful transformation where it breaks its claws and beak, and plucks its old feathers that had been hindering its flight. My mother explained the amount of pain and hardship the falcon must go through to allow itself to live on for another 30 years. It was only then that I realized that one must change on the journey of self-improvement. One must rise up to the challenges to be able to survive in a changing world. I will do my best to change for the better, and when I am where I want to be, I will work on eradicating all of the misconceptions out there. Only then I won’t be marginalized and weak, but I will be stronger thanks to the positive transformation I went through. ♦

Marah’s diary is produced in collaboration with Syria Deeply, a digital news outlet covering the Syrian crisis. It was translated from the Arabic by Mais Istanbelli.