'Moadamiyeh: A Syrian story of exile'

The very last thing on our minds was to find ourselves displaced from the land of miracles.

“Are you watching the news?” Assad’s gangs will expel the people of Homs,” my friend in the media office told me. I grieved, but I could not fully understand what that meant.

At the time, there was a ceasefire with the regime in Moadamiyeh after bombs, chemicals or hunger killed thousands of civilians, and hundreds more were detained.

We became used to seeing death and blood as the siege continued, and slowly, we lost faith in the so-called principles of the international community.

In 2015, the picture became clearer. Regime forces and sectarian militias came from Idlib and began expelling the people of Al War, in the suburbs of Homs. Our fate was not far off from being the same, but the decision at the time was to remain firm in our demands of freedom and the removal of Assad.

Soon, we woke up to news of the expulsion of those in neighbouring Daraya. All we could think then, were flashbacks to the videos we watched for Homs. The opposition began to crack, and the failings of the world became clearer; the time for our decision had come, mass destruction, or expulsion.

Yes, there was an option – an option of annihilation.

When Ghassan Bilal, one of Assad’s generals, threatened, “either you, 45,000 civilians get annihilated, or you leave the city,” pointing at the FSA fighters and the activists, it was a decision of mass destruction.

There was never a choice really to begin with. Sacrificing your home and memories appears far more rational than seeing your people being killed.

Around two thousand began their day of hell, packing their bags in the midst of tears and cries. The irony here, was the laughter of the SARC employees, not caring as thousands said goodbye to their families.

As the buses came, we were split into two groups. We waved, with tears in our eyes to our families, while looking at the black spot in the future; the north of Syria. My mother’s last words never leave me, “Please, don’t forget us.”