As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow

We don't have to stop living because we might die.

Every lemon will bring forth a child, and the lemons will never die out.

It reminds me that as long as the lemon trees grow, hope will never die.

I stare at him for a few more minutes, my heart expanding with love for him. We'll be OK,' I whisper, letting the night capture my wish. We're owed that at least. A life of not scanning rooftops, of not being relieved the ceiling didn't cave in on us during the night. He and I are owed a love story that doesn't end in tragedy.

When I die, I'm going to tell God everything.

Bury me before I bury you" I did.

Might. What a word. It holds infinite possibilities of a life that could have been. So many options stacked one on top of the other, like cards waiting for a player to pick and choose.

This is the land of your father, and his father before him. Your history is embedded in this soil. No country in the world will love you as yours does.

Do you see the colours, Salama?' Kenan whispers. The sunset is gorgeous, but it pales in comparison to him. He's drenched in the dying day's glow, a kaleidoscope of shades dancing on his face. Pink, orange, yellow, purple, red. Finally settling into an azure blue. It reminds me of Layla's painting. A colour so stark it would stain my fingers were I to touch it. As the sun sinks, in those few precious moments when the world is caught between day and night, something shifts between Kenan and me. 'Yes,' I breathe. 'Yes.

With all the destruction happening down there, it's so easy to forget the beauty that's up here. The sky is so beautiful after rainfall.

Know that even in death, youʼre my life.

Survivor's skin is a remorse we are cursed to wear forever.

And to all the Syrians who loved, lost, lived, and died for Syria. We will come back home one day.

Just on the other side, safety- not freedom. I'm leaving freedom behind, and I can feel the earth's grief when I get out of the car. The tired weeds try to encircle my ankles. begging me to stay. They murmur stories about my ancestors. The ones who stood right where I stand. The ones whose discoveries and civilization encompassed the whole world. The one whose blood runs through my veins. My footprints sink deep into the soil where theirs have long since been washed away. They plead with me: It's your country. This earth belongs to me and my children.

He’s…honest. With everything. His thoughts, his expressions. He’s kind. It’s a rare kindness, Layla. I’m sure he still dreams. Maybe he’s the only one who still dreams. Maybe he’s the only one in the whole city who still dreams at night. And when he looks at me, I feel…I feel like I’m being seen, and there is…there is a tiny bit of hope.

He and I are owed a love story that doesn't end in tragedy.

Salama, you've done everything. The rest is up to God. To fate. If you're meant to be in Munich, you will be, even if the whole military rips this place apart. And if you're not, then not even a private plane landing in the middle of Freedom Square to whisk you away will do that.

Empires have collapsed throughout history. They rise, they build, and they fall. Nothing lasts forever. Not even our pain.

There are enough people hurting you,” he whispers. “Don’t be one of them.

You asked me if you could see colours again, Salama. If we deserve to see them. I think we do. I think you can. There's too little of it in death. In pain. But that's not the only thing in the world. That's not all that Syria has. Syria was once the center of the world. Inventions and discoveries were made here; they built the world. Our history is in the Al-Zahrawi Palace, in our mosques, in our earth

I want my mama. I want her to soothe away my sadness and kiss me while calling me ya omri and te’eburenee. My life and bury me.

She grins and links her hand through mine. "That right there,' she whispers. "I want you to hold on to that. No matter what happens, you remember that this world is more than the agony it contains. We can have happiness, Salama. Maybe it doesn't come in a cookie-cutter format, but we will take the fragments and we will rebuild it.

Fear is a cruel thing. The way it distorts thoughts, transforming them from molehills into mountains.

It doesn't hurt for you to think about your future. We don't have to stop living because we might die. Anyone might die at any given moment, anywhere in the world. We're not an exception. We just see death more regularly than they do.

كلُّ ليمونة ستنجب طفلاً ومحال أن ينتهي الليمون Every lemon will bring forth a child, and the lemons will never die out

For every life I can’t save during my shift, one more drop of blood becomes a part of me. No matter how many times I wash my hands, our martyrs’ blood seeps beneath my skin, into my cells. By now it’s probably encoded in my DNA.

Time is the best medicine to turn our bleeding wounds to scars, and our bodies might forget the trauma, our eyes might learn to see colours as they should be seen, but the cure doesn't extend to our souls.

We are stripped from our choices, so we latch onto what will ensure our survival.

Grief isn't constant. It weavers, tugging and letting go like the waves on the sea.