Summary

Subhi Najar recounts his emotional and tumultuous journey from war-torn Syria to the Netherlands, reflecting on the pain of leaving his homeland, the struggle with homesickness, and the hope for a peaceful future.

Abstract

In late August 2013, amidst the threat of US intervention in Syria and personal anticipation of starting a new life in the Netherlands, Subhi Najar hastily departs from Damascus due to rumors of border closures. The journey is fraught with emotional and physical hardships, including the loss of his mother's homemade hot chocolate at a checkpoint, a symbol of love and safety. Arriving in the Netherlands after a grueling border crossing and a long flight, Subhi grapples with the scars of war and the complexities of homesickness. Despite the challenges, he finds solace in the beauty of his new surroundings, the wisdom of literature, and eventually, love. Subhi's narrative is one of resilience, the transformative power of patience, and the enduring hope for a better tomorrow where peace prevails.

Opinions

The author views the act of leaving Syria without proper goodbyes as a privilege, suggesting a sense of relief in avoiding the emotional weight of farewells.
The loss of the homemade hot chocolate at the checkpoint is portrayed as a profound personal violation, symbolizing the loss of dignity and emotional connection to home.
The author reflects on the widespread corruption in Syria, highlighting the necessity of bribing an officer to cross the border as a regrettable but unavoidable reality.
Subhi draws parallels between his journey and that of Don Quixote, seeing himself as a warrior of light embarking on a quest for fairness, beauty, and love.
He acknowledges the enduring nature of emotional wounds from the war, which he believes take longer to heal than physical ones.
The author expresses a belief in the transformative potential of pain, suggesting it can lead to wisdom, art, and a more patient and determined approach to life.
Subhi's experience of finding a sense of home through love in the Netherlands contrasts with the lingering memories of his beloved city of Damascus, indicating a duality of belonging and longing.
He concludes with a hopeful vision for the future, inspired by a quote about entering splendid cities with burning patience, signaling his commitment to cultivating love and peace in his new home.

Last Day….First Day and in between

Homesickness, Trauma & Hot Chocolate

The end of August 2013 was approaching. The whole world awaited an attack from the US on Syria after allegations that the Syrian regime had used chemical weapons against its citizens. As well, I had been impatiently awaiting to leave for The Netherlands via Lebanon to start a new chapter in my life and say goodbye to the war (or so I thought).

As a result of the new dynamics on the ground and rumors that the Syrian-Lebanese borders would be closed, I decided to leave without proper planning. I believe that not planning for sad goodbyes is a privilege. It took me just two hours to prepare two bags and choose a couple of family pictures, look at every detail in my room and hug my parents and sisters and let their tears cover my checks, and leave in a friend’s car. A cup of homemade hot chocolate was the last thing my mother gave me (made with love, as she always said).

At dawn, in a city of war, fear, and horror of daily death, misery, and American strikes (that never came), we had to drive to reach the highway to the border. At the first checkpoint, the officer took my hot chocolate and began drinking it while laughing. It was more than chocolate, milk, and hot water. It was the last thing my mother made for me with love and devotion. A part of my heart and dignity was taken from the roots of my soul when the man took it from me. It was impossible for me to say “ NO” because “ NO” meant the end of the journey, and maybe the end of me as a person.

Our journey, which normally took less than one hour, extended to more than three hours because of 7 checkpoints of soldiers on the highway causing chaos in the car and the luggage.

At the borders, we saw thousands of people waiting while officers shouted at them horribly. As the sun spread its rays over us, I could just hear their shouts and the cringe of the babies and kids.

In order to pass the border, I offered 5 dollars to one of the officers (This type of corruption is very widespread there, unfortunately). He wanted 10 $and we settled on 8$. In the middle of all the vehicles, a white Honda Civic (the car of my friend) moved between them and left the border.

In those moments, I cannot describe how I felt. The last morning in Syria, the last scene of Syria, the last morning birds in Syria…what crossed my mind was the lyrics of the song by Chris De Burgh (Borderline).

After leaving the borders, surviving wars, and saying goodbye to the horrible machine of blind killing and that savage monster called death. I thought that since I was naive at that time.

I am a War Survivor

When The Hands of Death Opened the Doors of Different Life

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I had just left Syria and after 22 hours I had reached Schipol airport, carrying two bags and a heart half eaten by the sadness yet full of hope that would never die.

Thanks to the endless windmills on the road to Maastricht, my new city, I remembered Don Quixote(the hero of my childhood) and all the books of chivalry that “ spoiled” his mind and forced him to leave for fairness, beauty, and love. A similar route was followed by me. Reminding myself that I had no shoulder to cry on, I started to feel better. I needed to gather myself, be strong and patient and be a warrior of light as Paulo Coelho said “ to make these decisions with courage, detachment, and — sometimes — with just a touch of madness.”

When I left the war, I thought that the pain would diminish and the memory would fade away, especially when the wound was still fresh. However, I was wrong. Although time would heal the wounds of the bodies, they would leave some scars, whereas the wounds of the heart and spirit would take longer to heal, and their scars are bigger and deeper than those of the body and the whole world. Despite surviving the war, I fell into a complex trap of homesickness and memories.

Eventually, you will know that the fruits of the pain make the juice of wisdom and sometimes art and that failures make you more patient to achieve what you want and what you deserve.

In the Netherlands, I moved between several cities and many houses and never felt at home until I found love, and the eyes of the woman that I love and her heart became my shelter on rainy days, my garden in the spring, and my new home, though it is hard for me to forget the home of Jasmin (my city Damascus) that I left nine years ago.

I am still dreaming of a day where “In the dawn, armed with a burning patience, we shall enter the splendid cities.” Until that day comes, I will continue cultivating love in my new home and dreaming of that city where peace, love, and no harmful people can steal my hot chocolate anymore…

Subhi Najar is an Alchemist of words, Little Prince, Public Speaker, storyteller, content Creator, and war survivor.

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