Years back, when I was in Syria during my most miserable days, I was heading to a friend’s house. As I was passing the bus garage, an old man with a dusty cloths approached me, he seemed tired and weak, then asked me in a shy shaking voice: Could you spare 25 Liras (About a quarter Dollar or a little bit more) for a bus fare? I want to go home.
At that time, I only had a quarter in my pocket, and although I didn’t need it that day but I couldn’t give him the only amount of money I had with me. So I said no I can’t. Then I continued my way.
Late at that night I couldn’t look at my face in the mirror, and I kept thinking: I preferred to keep a 25 Liras than give it to the old man who wanted to go home. I started to justify my act by thinking that someone will give him the 25 Liras, there is not just me in the street. But I could’t get rid of the guilt that my responsibility as a human was to help that man who approached me to go back home.
Today, I weigh my humanitarian responsibility better, as there are millions of Syrian refugees inside and outside Syria, in their name I shout it loud and clear: Take a responsibility, let these people go back home. And they will not be able to do that as long as the evil is dwelling inside Syria. An evil represented by Assad and his thugs.
We just wanna go back home.
We just want to go back home.