For a good period of time, I used not to be concerned with dates, I did not remember them, but there are some that were forcibly graved in my mind, graved by sighs and sadness.
3-8-2014 was the first time consecutive attacks on Douma took place. The first time a warplane bombed and people gathered then the ambulance came to rescue the casualties but the warplane came back and hit the same place.
It was a difficult day with intense shelling. Mohammad’s working place was opposite the bombed site.
Mohammad did not come to my mind. I thought he was inside safe during bombing or he would not go to work if he was still at home.
The bombardments stopped but Mohammad did not show up. The bombardments stopped but no one saw Mohammad. Mohammad was martyred and no one will ever see him. Mohammad was killed directly by the bombings. I was waiting for someone to at least tell me that he was only injured and give me hope to see him again.
I was choked, I felt the bitterness of defeat. For a moment, all our memories from school times until siege passed my mind.
Mohammad was my desk mate at school though we were not similar. Our acquaintance in the ninth grade was not good at the beginning because we were different in temper; he was calm, I was active. This difference made our relationship stronger and us friends.
Mohammad is a lovely person. You feel comfortable seeing him and delighted dealing with him.
We used to resort to him to relieve the siege pressure and remind us of hope – though our reality tells the opposite. He told us that siege taught us and talked about his steps after the siege ended.
Mohammad did not finish his study during the siege. He was obliged to work but he was hoping to continue. All the neighbors and relatives at school age used to ask him from the curriculum if they had difficult matters to understand. Mohammad felt he was helping by this and that what made him happy.
His words were the reservoir that helped us continue and we used to fill it every now and then.
Near his working place, there was a marble deck, the witness on our meetings, laughs, memories and later on our defeat. I could not sit there alone without you. When I was walking in your street, I was eagerly looking to the deck hoping to see you, say hi even casually, or invite you on Mloukhia that you liked.
Two days ago, there was a match between Barcelona and Real Madrid. I wished you had been with me to see it live and to laugh on the old days when we could only see a brief of the match in the best case.
Many things I would like to say to you. Your photo with Taher became real and now you were brought together again in another place. Taher was also martyred.
Take care of each other.
Forgive me, I can no longer visit your grave. Your grave that had been the meeting point for the whole coterie. Those who were angry of each other used to come to your grave and solve their disputes. We were ashamed of you or maybe we wanted to seem good for you not to worry about us.
We kept asking about your family and relatives and saying hi to your neighbors as we used to do when waiting for you to get downstairs. We were trying to say that Mohammad was still among us and we would continue like that.
Many things were changed since you left. Many people were martyred; No’man the Falafel seller on the corner. Our house where we used to spend our evenings was shelled. Your neighborhood cannot be distinguished. Shelling is killing the people and memories. Sometimes I envy you that you are still holding the good memories.
We left al #Ghouta and everything behind.
You do not know how difficult for me to leave you, to leave the deck that brought us together, to leave our supply of Mloukhia.
The photo is for Martyr Mohammad al Saydawi with the Martyr Taher.
Martyr: Mohammad al Saydawi 1995- 2014
Martyrdom Date: 3-8-2014
Martyr’s Friend: Bara’ – 24 Years Old