Under The Olive Tree

‎I was sitting under the olive tree again, just like every other day. I felt a little sad, but somehow, I smiled today. People passed by and looked at me they always did. I think they know I sit here every day. The wind was warm, and the leaves whispered above my head. I stayed there for a while then I went home.‎‎I am Riham, just a little kid, merely twelve years old, living all alone, as everyone around me is busy surviving and fighting their own battles.

Today, the weather feels slightly better than in the past few days.‎‎I have to go find some food for myself. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday. But that's normal now hunger has become a part of life. The bombs have started falling again. Many have already given up, holding on only for the sake of their families. Yet, some brave journalists still risk everything to show the world what's happening.‎‎The doctors, too, haven't given up. I wonder how courageous they are. Every day, more injured come in and more don't survive. Children, elders it never ends. The world knows what's happening here, but still, no one does anything. I keep wondering, what did we ever do to deserve this?‎‎It was a month ago when they bombed our neighbourhood. I only had my mother and older brother. My father was martyred when I was just one. My mother raised us alone until this genocide began. I lost both of them too. Now, I am completely alone.

Strangely, it doesn't even scare me anymore. You get used to everything even the sound of warplanes. They come anytime and drop bombs everywhere.‎‎We weren't truly at peace even before that. Armed soldiers were always around. They could shoot anyone, anytime. I used to ask my mother why. She and my teachers told me that this land was once ours, and that long ago, it was handed to us with honour when Umar ibn al-Khattab had conquered it.‎‎There was a time I went to school regularly, slept peacefully, and had three meals a day. Not anymore.‎

I don't know what we have done? And what will happen in future?