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Damascus - Assad or Scorched Earth
All windows of the taxi were open and the cool wind blew into my face. The streets were empty and the night dark. It was long after midnight, when I was on the way to catch the early morning flight out of Damascus. My mind was full of memories of the last weeks. I saw my cousin in Beirut before I crossed the border into Syria. Homs, Hama and Damascus, the bustling bazaars, full of spices, fresh fruits and colorful clothes, minarets touching the clouds in the sky and the proud, friendly Syrian people. I got an invitation for tea at every street corner, and was listening to the stories of the people. Stories about proud and freedom, and a regime, which was torturing its people. The dark night was full of hope. I had to come back soon to be part of the change. A change which was beyond anyones expectations. A change I am still part of, although without being in Syria. When I see the cities in rubble, the markets empty and the people hidden in the bombed out buildings I feel a deep sadness. A sadness, which you can only feel, when there are strong ties to a place. A place which was paradise and is now hell. A place which nobody leaves untouched. Syria - no wind takes you away.