Chaos permeated the place. Too many cables, journalists, security good-looking men in their elegant uniforms, blond tall men in their tuxedoes walking and talking while pretty women who running breathlessly holding notebooks and many other things! My eyes were jumping everywhere trying to survey it all but couldn’t figure things out! I felt like watching one of flashy cheap movie. 

Listening to the chaotic organized people talking German made me even more panic. My salty tears into my heart tasted bitterly saltier but I managed to stop tears from rolling down over my freezing cheeks.

 

My second day in Friedland camp after a sleepless night; the roaring train accelerated my fear. No exits from this place and no place for me among thousands of refugees. How tired!

 

He was standing there smelling his aftershave. He looks VIP but not blond! The black hair and the friendly smile encouraged the easy talk. Just a few minutes but they were enough to remind me myself and to change my destiny. His words explaining the existence of the featureless shack surprised me then I heard myself talking and involving in his project as if I am part of it. When he left to join his people, the VIPs, I smiled sadly remembering that I handed him my business card as if I haven’t left my Syria."Crazy me! Ground yourself woman! You are a number and the White Card!"

 

A wave of memories overwhelmed my soul but "no way back", I promised myself. I stepped out of the tragedy of the war in my home which make young people die fighting each other instead of their enemies. I am here to live my culture of love, reconciliation and peace. It is my choice and I will make it. "Life should be achieved not waited for", this is what I kept lecturing over my students’ heads and now it is the high time to stop preaching. My soul road map is clear and my destiny is ahead.

 

When my weakness make my mouth salty and bring tears into my eyes, I take a long breath so I could feel the women patience on the borders, near the check points, in the food lines, in that crowded rubber small boat holding their children and their tears. I could hear those women brave but despaired hearts beating loud reaching heaven. Then I become strong like that Syrian woman who is not bent by poverty, displacement or bereavement. She rises always from ashes to gather her children meal bite by bite and let her soul fly again. 

I am from Syria, the Lady of thousands years, which suffers from crazy selfish and illogical war where hearts, souls and minds have been and are being destroyed. Too many media headlines, UN reports, politician speeches, statistics, pro & cons refugee activities and the war mill is always harvesting the future or just mocking the children who were born in a plastic tent near the no- man border or in dump dark forest.

 

At my Home, March brings spring, the most pleasant season and the time of rebirth, new beginnings and inspiration. March proved itself with me in Germany! The business card was the turning point and I am working for Friedland Museum. I pay taxes and go to work. I am doing life.